He needed to stop at the Riverwood Trader and legally purchase the Golden Claw from Lucan Valerius, or, if the thief Arvel the Swift had already struck, Aerion would simply have to hunt the fool down in the ruins. Aerion smiled over the rim of his wine glass, listening to the crackle of the hearth fire. The pieces were all on the board, and tomorrow, he would begin to sweep them away.
After the long, mentally exhausting evening of securing alliances and finalizing secret contracts, Aerion finally retreated to the quiet sanctuary of his rented room on the second floor of the Bannered Mare. The heavy wooden door clicked shut, sealing away the boisterous noise of the tavern below.
He unbuckled his heavy iron weapons, placing them carefully into the invisible void of his spatial inventory, and let out a long, heavy sigh. Lupin, already curled up on the small woven rug by the hearth, cracked one amber eye open to watch his master before letting out a soft, contented huff and drifting back to sleep.
Aerion stripped off his outer robes and collapsed onto the straw mattress. The sheer volume of maneuvering he had accomplished in a single day would have broken a lesser man, but his integrated Altmer resilience and his gamer's drive kept him focused.
He closed his eyes, mapping out the treacherous path he intended to walk tomorrow, and quickly fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.
The next morning, Aerion awoke just as the first pale, bruised hues of dawn began to bleed through the cracks in the wooden shutters. He sat up, the phantom aches of yesterday's brutal training sessions entirely wiped away by the regenerative properties of his leveling system. The rustle of his blankets instantly woke Lupin.
The cinnamon colored fox stretched his front paws far out, letting out a high pitched yawn that ended in a sharp little squeak, before eagerly trotting over to Aerion's boots, ready for whatever the new day held.
Dressing quickly in his fine, dark threaded robes and ensuring it was securely fastened, Aerion descended the creaking wooden stairs. The main room of the Bannered Mare was entirely devoid of the roaring crowds from the night before.
Instead, it was filled with the quiet, industrious sounds of the morning preparation. The air smelled strongly of wood ash, pine resin, and the beginnings of a hearty venison stew.
Hulda was already present behind the main counter, her sleeves rolled up as she vigorously scrubbed the polished wood with a damp rag, preparing the inn for the endless stream of patrons that would soon filter through her doors until late into the night.
Saadia was nearby, quietly sweeping the soot from the massive central hearth, while a couple of other hired workers were carrying heavy casks of ale up from the cellar.
Aerion approached the counter, his soft footsteps barely making a sound on the floorboards. "Good morning, Hulda," he greeted her smoothly, his melodic voice cutting through the quiet morning ambiance.
The innkeeper paused her scrubbing, turning around with a mildly surprised, yet warm smile. "Well, good morning to you as well, Aerion," she replied, wiping a stray lock of hair from her forehead. "You are up incredibly early today, much early than usual. The sun has barely touched the roof of Dragonsreach. Most of the mages I've met prefer to sleep until noon."
Aerion let out a small, self deprecating smile. "I find that the early hours are the most productive, especially when one has a long journey ahead," he responded gracefully. He leaned slightly against the sturdy wooden bar.
"In fact, that is precisely why I am down here. I would like to purchase a substantial amount of provisions. Breads, fresh apples, a half dozen sweet rolls, and a generous portion of roasted meat and smoked fish, if you have it. Please pack it well, it is for an adventure."
Hearing the sheer size of the requested order, Hulda's eyebrows shot up. She looked at the High Elf, assessing his travel ready attire. "That is quite a haul, Aerion. It sounds like you are preparing for a long trip. You aren't leaving Whiterun for good, are you?"
"Nothing quite so permanent, I assure you," Aerion replied, shaking his head. "It may take a couple of days, or perhaps less if the roads are clear and the weather holds. But one must always be prepared when traveling the wilds of Skyrim."
Hulda nodded her head in absolute agreement, her merchant instincts taking over. "You have the right of it there. The roads are not as safe as they used to be. It will take me a moment to gather all of that together, as we have just started firing up the ovens. If you don't mind waiting?"
Aerion waved his hand dismissively. "It is perfectly fine, Hulda. I am in no immediate rush. I can wait."
While Hulda immediately turned to task Saadia with gathering the dried goods and the smoked fish from the pantry, Aerion remained at the counter, observing the methodical morning routine of the inn and exchanging casual, pleasant conversation with the innkeeper.
Lupin, meanwhile, sat patiently by a stool, occasionally sniffing the air as the smell of fresh bread began to waft from the kitchen.
About fifteen minutes later, the heavy iron latch of the inn's front door clicked loudly, and the heavy timber swung open, letting in a rush of crisp, freezing morning air.
Aerion turned his head. Stepping through the threshold was Jenassa. The Dunmer assassin was clad in her full, impeccably maintained set of dark leather armor, a heavy traveling cloak draped over her shoulders, and her deadly hunting bow slung casually across her back. Her crimson eyes scanned the dimly lit room for a fraction of a second before locking onto Aerion.
"Aerion," Jenassa greeted him plainly, her gravelly voice smooth and devoid of any subservient titles.
Aerion let out an internal, profound sigh of relief. In the rush of finalizing their contract the night before, he had completely forgotten to explicitly instruct her not to call him 'Boss' or 'Patron' in public. Fortunately, the cynical mercenary was naturally perceptive and deeply cautious, intuitively understanding the need to maintain an innocuous cover identity in a crowded room.
"Jenassa. Good morning," Aerion returned the greeting warmly, gesturing to the empty wooden stool right beside him. "Please, take a seat. The provisions are almost ready."
As the Dark Elf silently crossed the room and sat down, her armor creaking softly, Hulda returned from the kitchen carrying a large, heavy canvas sack. The innkeeper paused, her eyes widening slightly as she took in the sight of the lethal looking Dunmer sitting shoulder to shoulder with the aristocratic Altmer.
"Oh, my," Hulda said, a knowing, slightly amused smile touching her lips as she set the heavy bag of provisions on the counter. "It looks like you have made a new friend, Aerion. And a Dark Elf, no less. You certainly keep interesting company."
Aerion let out a soft chuckle, his golden eyes remaining perfectly calm. "Indeed, Hulda. Jenassa is a friend and a highly capable traveling companion who will be accompanying me on this little trip." He turned slightly, gesturing between the two women. "Hulda, this is Jenassa. Jenassa, this is Hulda, the proprietor of the finest establishment in Whiterun."
Jenassa offered a curt, polite nod, her expression remaining an unreadable mask of professional detachment. "A pleasure, innkeeper."
"Likewise, I'm sure," Hulda replied smoothly, knowing better than to pry into the business of heavily armed travelers. She patted the canvas sack. "Everything you asked for is in here. The bread is fresh from the oven, the roasted meat and smoked fish have been tightly wrapped in waxed cloths to keep them from spoiling, and I threw in an extra sweet roll for your little fox. That will be eighty septims for the lot."
Without missing a beat, Aerion reached into his leather satchel. Channeling his mental command, he pulled exactly eighty gold coins from his spatial inventory, the metal clinking musically as he placed the heavy handful onto the wooden counter.
"My thanks, Hulda," Aerion said graciously. "Keep a room warm for my return."
"Safe travels to the both of you," Hulda called out as Aerion turned away. Lupin, recognizing the tone of departure, let out a sharp, happy yip of a goodbye toward the innkeeper, earning a delighted chuckle from the older Nord woman.
Jenassa, acting the part of the hired muscle with flawless natural grace, immediately reached out and hoisted the heavy canvas bag of provisions onto her shoulder, not even grimacing at the weight.
The three of them, an Altmer, a Dunmer, and an abnormally intelligent fox, left the warmth of the Bannered Mare and stepped out into the bustling Whiterun market.
Despite the early hour, the square was already filled with a chaotic mix of people. Local vendors were loudly hawking their wares, while groups of ragged, shivering refugees from the surrounding hold, displaced by the escalating civil war and the sudden rise in bandit raids, huddled near the well, purchasing meager scraps of food.
They walked briskly down the winding stone steps, bypassing the residential districts and heading directly toward the main iron gates of the city. As they walked, avoiding the heavy wooden carts of passing merchants, Jenassa slightly closed the distance between them, keeping her voice low.
"So, Aerion," she murmured, her red eyes scanning the rooftops and alleyways out of sheer habit. "You have bought the provisions and secured our supplies. Where exactly are we going?"
"Our first stop will be the lumber village of Riverwood, located to the south," Aerion replied softly, his long legs eating up the cobblestones. "Specifically, the Riverwood Trader. I have a certain... Item to acquire from the proprietor there. Once that is secured, we will head directly north of the village, up into the freezing peaks."
Jenassa frowned slightly, processing the geography. "North of Riverwood? You mean Bleak Falls Barrow?" She looked at him, genuine surprise coloring her tone. "You intend to delve into that massive, abandoned Nord crypt?"
"I do," Aerion nodded his head once, a gesture of absolute finality.
A slow, wicked smile spread across Jenassa's scarred face, a look of pure, unadulterated bloodlust that made her look truly terrifying. She gripped the strap of her bow a fraction tighter.
"The last time I gathered intelligence on that region, that ancient ruin was being used as a fortified camp by a highly aggressive clan of bandits," Jenassa said, her voice dropping to a harsh, eager purr. "They raid the roads and hide in the shadows of the dead. They are the perfect canvas, Patron."
Aerion cast a sidelong glance at his new bodyguard, a genuine smile touching his own lips. "You are not afraid of delving into a crypt filled with cutthroats, traps, and potentially worse things lingering in the dark, like a draugr?"
Jenassa shook her head, a dark, cynical laugh escaping her throat. "A bunch of desperate, unwashed bandits are nothing but meat for my daggers and targets for my arrows. And as for you..." She looked him up and down, evaluating his fine robes. "Your reputation as a giant killer has saturated this entire city. If even half of what they say is true, then a pack of common bandits and the dead will be nothing more than ash before your magic. As long as we remain cautious, we will paint those stone halls red."
Aerion smiled openly, deeply appreciating her morbid, unshakeable confidence. She was exactly the scalpel he needed.
As they talked, they finally reached the massive main gates of the city. The guards nodded respectfully to Aerion, and they passed through the heavy iron portcullis, walking out onto the wooden drawbridge and crossing the rushing, frothing waters of the moat.
They navigated the winding stone pass that led down from the city's elevated plateau, stopping short of the main road as they approached the sprawling wooden fences of the Whiterun Stables.
Aerion walked straight toward the main stable building, where Skulvar Sable-Hilt was currently packing fresh hay into a feeding trough.
"Good morning, Skulvar," Aerion greeted the rough looking stable master with polite formality. "I have need of mounts today. How much for two of your finest horses, fully saddled and ready to ride?"
Skulvar paused his work, leaning heavily on his pitchfork. He looked at the High Elf, then at the heavily armed Dark Elf standing silently behind him, and finally at the fox sitting patiently by their boots. The Nord let out a gruff cough, returning the greeting.
"Good morning to you, Elf," Skulvar grunted, his eyes narrowing as he mentally calculated the price. "You want the finest? They don't come cheap. A solid, war trained horse with a proper leather saddle will run you exactly one thousand septims each. So, for the pair of them, you're looking at two thousand septims. Firm."
"Deal," Aerion replied instantly, not even attempting to haggle.
Before Skulvar could even register his shock at the complete lack of negotiation, Aerion reached into the small leather satchel resting on his hip.
Tapping into his spatial inventory, he materialized two heavy, tightly drawn leather pouches, each bulging with the exact weight of one thousand gold coins. He pulled his hand free and casually tossed the incredibly heavy pouches through the air.
Skulvar dropped his pitchfork and scrambled to catch the flying gold, the heavy sacks slamming into his chest with a dull, incredibly satisfying thud. He instantly felt the undeniable, staggering weight of the fortune.
"I want two of the absolute best you have in the stables," Aerion commanded smoothly. "Strong lungs, steady temperaments, and capable of handling rough, mountainous terrain."
Skulvar clutched the gold to his chest, a massive, greedy smile splitting his weathered face. "By the Gods, you don't play games, do you, Elf? Of course. I'll saddle up my two finest immediately."
As the ecstatic stable master hurried off into the dark, aromatic interior of the main barn to fetch the mounts, Jenassa stepped closer to Aerion, her crimson eyes narrowed in deep, profound suspicion. She stared fixedly at the seemingly ordinary, entirely flat leather satchel resting on Aerion's hip.
"Alright, Patron, I must ask," Jenassa murmured, her gravelly voice tight with curiosity. "Where in the name of Oblivion do you pull so much physical gold from? You paid me a staggering three thousand septims yesterday evening, and now you casually produce another two thousand from a bag that looks like it couldn't hold more than a few apples. How exactly does your satchel hold that much weight without tearing the leather to shreds?"
Aerion turned his head, letting out a low, knowing smirk. His golden eyes danced with absolute, arrogant amusement. "I am a master of the arcane arts, Jenassa. I have magics that make such a thing a trivial matter, especially one of my lineage. But do not worry yourself with the mechanics of how i brought out my wealth. For now, simply enjoy the luxury of the horse. It will drastically cut our traveling time to the village and the crypt."
Jenassa let out a soft, impressed hum, shaking her head at the thought of such sheer, terrifying utility of magic, but wisely chose not to press the issue further for now.
A few moments later, Skulvar returned from the barn, leading two magnificent, heavily muscled beasts by their leather reins. One horse possessed a dark, shining black hide that gleamed in the morning sun, while the other was a sturdy, muscular light brown mount with a thick, blonde mane. Both were equipped with high quality, tooled leather saddles and spacious, heavy duty saddlebags.
"Here they are," Skulvar boasted proudly, handing the reins over. "Fed, rested, and ready to run to Solitude and back if you ask them to."
Jenassa took the reins of the brown horse, swinging herself up into the saddle with the fluid, effortless grace of a seasoned mercenary who had spent half her life on the road. She adjusted her bow and settled comfortably into the leather.
Aerion, however, faced a slightly more complicated challenge. He took the reins of the brown horse. In his past life as a human on Earth, he had never ridden a horse. He had never even been close to one.
Yet, as he approached the massive beast, the innate physical muscle memory of his Altmer vessel, a body that had presumably been trained in aristocratic equestrian arts before his soul took over, began to twitch in his limbs.
Before mounting, Aerion gently picked up Lupin. The fox wriggled slightly in protest, but Aerion firmly, yet carefully, tucked the creature into the spacious right side saddlebag, leaving Lupin's bright orange head and front paws poking out of the top flap so the familiar could enjoy the view without risking getting trampled.
Taking a deep breath, Aerion grabbed the pommel of the saddle, put his boot in the iron stirrup, and hauled himself upward.
The motion was incredibly awkward, a jarring conflict between his human mind's total ignorance and his elven body's instinctual knowledge. He landed heavily in the saddle, entirely off balance, the horse shifting uncomfortably beneath his erratic weight.
From her perch on the brown horse, Jenassa let out a rare, genuine snort of amusement. Even Skulvar, counting his gold by the fence, paused to raise an eyebrow at the clumsy display.
"Keep your back straight, Patron," Jenassa advised dryly, guiding her horse closer. "You are slouching like a sack of potatoes. Grip the beast firmly with your thighs, not your calves, and loosen your death grip on those reins. The horse can feel your tension. You have to move with the animal, not fight it."
Skulvar chimed in from the fence, pointing the blunt end of his pitchfork. "She's right, Elf! Let your hips sway with the stride. If you lock up, you'll be bouncing out of that saddle before you even reach the meadery!"
Aerion, swallowing his pride, instantly applied their advice. He straightened his spine, adjusted his grip, and relaxed his tense muscles, allowing the Altmer memory to fully synchronize with his conscious thought.
Within a few moments of shifting and settling, the awkwardness evaporated. The system's adaptive nature took hold, and he suddenly felt profoundly anchored, as if he had been riding for years.
He found the perfect center of gravity, and the black horse immediately calmed down beneath him, sensing the confident command of its rider.
"Much better," Jenassa nodded approvingly.
"Let us ride," Aerion commanded, nudging the horse's flanks with his heels.
They set off at a steady, rhythmic trot, leaving the stables behind. As long as they didn't push the horses into a full, chaotic gallop, Aerion found the ride to be surprisingly smooth and entirely manageable.
They rode south, the cobblestones of the city path giving way to the packed dirt of the main provincial road.
They passed the sprawling, fertile fields of Pelagia Farm, where Aerion could see the distant, armored figures of Sinmir's mercenaries actively patrolling the perimeter, keeping the farmers and the road around the area safe.
Further down the road, the sweet, intoxicating smell of boiling honey and fermented yeast filled the air as they rode past the massive, churning water wheel of the Honningbrew Meadery.
Reaching the major crossroads, guided by the ancient, weathered stone signposts, they turned right, leaving the open, golden plains of the tundra behind.
The road began to slope uphill, winding its way into the dense, ancient pine forests that bordered the massive, roaring expanse of the White River. The air grew significantly colder, filled with the sharp scent of pine needles and damp earth.
They rode in comfortable silence for the better part of half an hour, the rhythmic thud of hooves masking the sounds of the forest, until the dense treeline finally broke.
Before them, nestled perfectly in the lush, forested valley against the banks of the rushing river, was the quiet lumber village of Riverwood. Aerion spurred his horse forward, their mounts' hooves clattering loudly as they crossed the sturdy stone bridge that served as the entrance to the village.
_____________________________
[Main Panel] Name: Aerion Race: High Elf (Altmer) Health: 200/200 Stamina: 200/200 Magicka: 330/330 Level: 57
Skills: Animal Affinity (MAX LEVEL), Fast Skill Levelling (MAX LEVEL), Fast Magic Mastery (MAX LEVEL), Destruction (Fire/Lightning) (Level 37/37), Persuasion (Level 63), Smithing (Level 22), Sneak (Level 16), One Handed (Level 64), Restoration (Healing) (Level 14), Two Handed (Level 65), Lockpicking (Level 9), Archery (Level 72), Alteration (Level 4), Enchanting (Level 19), Light Armor (Level 40), & Block (Level 60)
[Inventory Panel]
1x Steel Dagger, Long Bow, Potions of Minor Stamina, Small Sack, Poacher's Axe, Copper and Onyx Circlet, Mammoth Tusk, Iron Shield, Steel Mace, & Steel Warhammer
2x Gold Garnet Rings, Gold Ring, & Scroll Of Fireball
3x Silver Garnet Rings, Silver Rings, & Sapphire,
4x Lockpicks, Potions of Minor Magicka, & Amethyst
6x Potions Of Minor Healing & Ruby
8x Iron Arrows
Weight: 92 KG / 400 KG
Septims = 55,571