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(A/N: Don't forget to give those power stones to Skyrim everyone!)
...
He wasn't just a wealthy High Elf paying their wages anymore. He was their boss, their artillery, and their healer. He was a leader worth dying for. Aerion mentally looked at his newly earned attribute point to his ever growing reservoir, completely satisfied with the morning's incredibly profitable harvest.
The acrid stench of scorched fur and the heavy, metallic tang of freshly spilled blood hung thick over the training yard, a visceral testament to the violence that had just transpired.
Aerion dismissed the crackling, residual arcs of lightning from his fingertips, letting out a slow, steady breath as the adrenaline of the battle began to recede. He didn't stand on ceremony, nor did he retreat to a pristine corner of the farmstead to watch his new employees toil.
Instead, he reached down, deliberately rolled the wide, embroidered sleeves of his fine robes up past his elbows, and waded directly into the gory aftermath of the skirmish.
"Grab that one by the hind legs, Valdar," Aerion instructed calmly, stepping over a pooling slick of dark crimson to grip the thick, matted scruff of a massive timber wolf that had fallen near the archery targets.
Valdar, the hulking youth from Riften, blinked in genuine surprise before scrambling forward to grab the beast's heavy hindquarters. "You don't have to muddy your robes, boss," the young man grunted as he lifted. "We can handle the hauling. You did enough by cooking half the pack before they even reached the shield wall."
"A commander who refuses to bleed or sweat with his company is no commander at all, Valdar," Aerion replied, his voice smooth but carrying an undeniable weight of authority. "He is merely a merchant buying lives. Heave."
Together, they hoisted the heavy carcass, carrying it over to the designated pile where the unburned wolves were being gathered. Across the yard, the rest of the mercenaries were doing the same, their initial shock at seeing the aristocratic High Elf performing manual labor quickly dissolving into a quiet, profound respect.
Once the grisly task of sorting the dead was complete, Aerion wiped his bloody hands on a rough rag offered by Erlend. He stepped back and looked at the semicircle of exhausted, battered, but victorious men and women standing before him.
"Gather around," Aerion called out, his voice easily cutting through the morning wind.
The mercenaries quickly formed up, their postures straighter than they had been before the attack.
"You held the line flawlessly," Aerion began, meeting the eyes of every warrior present. "You did not break, you did not panic, and you protected the assets behind you with absolute discipline. This is exactly the caliber of steel I was looking to purchase. To that end, your hard work will not go unrewarded."
Aerion paused, letting a faint, approving smile touch his features. "Every single man and woman standing here today has earned a bonus of fifty septims. You may collect it from Captain Sinmir before the day is out. You can use it to drown yourselves in mead at the tavern tonight, or you can save it to upgrade your personal gear. You have bled for it, you may do whatever you wish with it."
For a brief moment, there was dead silence. Fifty septims was a small fortune for a common sellsword, equivalent to a month's wages for a standard city guard or a dock worker in Solitude.
Then, the yard erupted.
Runa Shield-Breaker let out a sharp, joyous whoop, slamming the haft of her battleaxe against her shield. Torsten threw his head back and laughed, while Rashid al-Dan spun his dagger with a wicked, delighted grin.
The air filled with a chorus of loud, chaotic cheers and overlapping words of profound gratitude directed at the High Elf.
"Alright, alright, settle down you loud mouthed brutes!" Sinmir suddenly bellowed, stepping forward and waving his massive hands to quiet the roaring company. He shook his horned head, though a proud smirk was clearly visible beneath his thick beard.
"Do not let the coin deafen you! This bonus is proof of the sheer generosity the boss has for those who follow orders. So you lots had better prove that this hard work wasn't just a fluke! The next time something comes out of those hills, I want to see it dead before it even reaches the grass! Understood?"
"Yes, Captain!" the mercenaries shouted in rough, enthusiastic unison, the morale of the company skyrocketing to absolute heights.
With the men dismissed to their tasks, Aerion turned his back to the company and reached casually into the leather satchel hanging at his hip. In reality, he was accessing his mental inventory interface.
With a practiced thought, he manifested a medium sized sack containing exactly five hundred septims, and a secondary, smaller leather pouch containing one hundred septims.
He pulled his hand from the satchel, miraculously holding both heavy pouches, and handed them over to Sinmir.
"The larger sack is the bonus pay for the company, as promised," Aerion said quietly, ensuring only the Nord could hear him. He then tapped the smaller pouch. "And this is for you, Captain. For holding the center and ensuring my investment didn't get their throats torn out on their first day."
Sinmir took the heavy gold, his eyes widening slightly at the sheer weight of it. He looked at Aerion, a deep, unwavering loyalty cementing itself in his gaze. "Thank you, boss. I'll make sure the coin gets distributed fairly, and I'll make sure they earn every single piece of it tomorrow."
"Sinmir! Praise the Divines, is it over?"
The frantic shout came from the direction of the main farmhouse. Severio Pelagia was cautiously emerging from behind the heavy timber doors, looking pale but entirely unharmed.
Flanking the older Imperial farmer were his two primary assistants, a lithe, sharp eyed female Bosmer carrying a small iron dagger, and a sturdy, broad shouldered male Nord gripping a heavy iron pitchfork.
Severio hurried across the dirt path, his eyes widening in absolute horror and awe as he took in the sheer scale of the carnage.
To his left, Gwaering and Rashid were already elbow deep in their grim work, expertly running skinning knives down the bellies of the wolves to preserve the valuable pelts.
Nearby, Signy and Jora were butchering the prime cuts of meat, packing some into crates with heavy handfuls of rock salt to make long lasting jerkies, while Titus Varr was already skewering several fresh, thick cuts over a hastily built campfire for the company's lunch.
"By the Emperor's throne..." Severio breathed, staring at the mountain of dead predators. He turned to Sinmir, a wide, deeply relieved smile breaking across his weathered face. "Sinmir, I do not have the words. Since the day I first broke the earth to open this farm, I have never seen so many wolves suddenly attack in broad daylight like that. If you and your men hadn't been here... they would have slaughtered the livestock, and then they would have come for us."
"You don't need to thank us, Severio," Sinmir replied, crossing his massive arms over his breastplate. "It's exactly what we're here for. Though, I can't take all the credit. My scout, Gwaering, says this isn't normal pack behavior. He reckons it's because of the civil war."
"The war?" Severio asked, furrowing his brow.
"Aye," Sinmir nodded grimly. "Both the Legion and the Stormcloaks are marching armies through the holds, hunting down the elks and the deer to feed their camps. The natural prey is disappearing. That's why the wolves are grouping up into these massive packs to hunt bigger, more dangerous prey. They're starving, and desperate beasts don't care about fences."
Severio let out a long, exhausted sigh, his shoulders slumping as the reality of Skyrim's political landscape crashed against his livelihood. "This civil war has been nothing but a curse for business," the landlord complained bitterly, shaking his head.
"The prices of grain and salt are fluctuating in the market like a ship caught in a storm. The roads are crawling with bandits going rampant because the guards are too busy preparing for sieges. We've even got trolls coming down from the mountains and hills more frequently. And now, the wolves are organizing into armies. It feels like the whole province is tearing itself apart."
Severio rubbed his temples, trying to ward off a headache, before gesturing to the two workers standing rigidly behind him.
"Forgive my complaining, Sinmir," Severio said, adopting a more professional tone. "I wanted to properly introduce you to my main hands. This is Nimriel," he pointed to the Wood Elf, who offered a curt, polite nod. "And this is Gloth," he added, gesturing to the sturdy Nord, who awkwardly tipped an imaginary hat.
"When I am not present at the farm to oversee the harvests, you can communicate directly with the two of them regarding any logistical matters or supply needs," Severio explained. "And, of course, they will report any danger, strange movements, or suspicious activities around the perimeter directly to you and your men."
"Understood," Sinmir nodded, giving the two assistants a firm, respectful look. "We will keep the perimeter tight. You can rest easy, Severio."
Aerion watched this entire exchange from several feet away, standing near the smoldering campfire. He remained perfectly silent, playing the role of the detached, wealthy magical backer to absolute perfection. He didn't need the farmer's gratitude, he needed the farmer's land and the strategic foothold it provided just outside the city walls.
Satisfied that the base of operations was secure and the command structure was functioning flawlessly, Aerion decided it was time to depart. He stepped forward, offering a polite, brief nod to Severio, before turning to his captain.
"I will leave you to manage the camp, Sinmir," Aerion said smoothly. "Ensure the men are fed and the perimeter is established before nightfall."
"It will be done, boss," Sinmir promised, offering a crisp, completely unironic salute.
With a soft whistle, Aerion called for Lupin. The fox, who had been aggressively sniffing at a severed wolf paw near the butchering station, immediately abandoned his prize and trotted dutifully to Aerion's side.
Together, the High Elf and his familiar turned their backs on the bloody farmstead and began the steady walk back up the winding dirt path toward the towering stone walls of Whiterun.
The journey back was peaceful, the crisp afternoon wind sweeping away the stench of the battle. As Aerion approached the heavy, iron reinforced wooden gates of the city, the guards recognized him and stepped aside without a word, allowing him entry into the bustling interior.
Just as he passed through the massive archway and stepped onto the cobblestones of the Plains District, he spotted a familiar figure. Ysolda was walking briskly toward the gates, a large, woven wicker basket clutched tightly in her hands, her face flushed with the exertion of the day's business.
The moment her eyes landed on the tall High Elf, a bright, genuinely enthusiastic smile broke across her face.
"Aerion!" she called out, shifting the basket to her hip and waving her free hand. "It is so good to see you! I was just heading out to check on the caravans."
"Ysolda," Aerion greeted her warmly, returning the smile. Recognizing that the main thoroughfare was crowded with merchants, guards, and travelers pushing their way through the gates, he gestured gracefully to the side. "Shall we step out of the current? I would hate for our conversation to be trampled by a passing horse, or overheard by idle ears."
Ysolda nodded quickly, understanding the need for discretion. She followed him into a small, relatively quiet alcove formed by the stone exterior of the guard barracks and the city wall.
"How are your endeavors progressing?" Aerion asked, leaning casually against the cold stone, crossing his arms over his chest. "How are things with the Khajiit caravans?"
At the mention of her business, Ysolda practically vibrated with energetic enthusiasm. Her eyes sparkled with the thrill of commerce.
"It has been absolutely incredible, Aerion," she began, her words tumbling out in an excited rush. "After I presented them with the two mammoth tusks you provided, the entire atmosphere changed. Ri'saad was ecstatic. He didn't just accept me as a trading partner, he took me under his wing. He has been personally teaching me the Khajiit ways of trade, the subtle negotiations, and the hidden supply lines."
She leaned in closer, dropping her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "We have been trading intensively. He has even begun connecting me with their wider trade network, not just the caravans here all over Skyrim, but he is actively trying to contact their deep connections back in Elsweyr for me! The profits have been... well, they have been more than lucrative, to say the very least. I am moving goods that no other merchant in the Whiterun market can even access!"
"That is exceptional news, Ysolda," Aerion said, genuinely pleased that his initial investment in her had yielded such immediate, explosive returns. "You have clearly proven your worth to them. But tell me, with these new profits, how goes the progress of your personal savings? Are you getting closer to purchasing the Bannered Mare from Hulda?"
Ysolda's bright smile faltered just a fraction, a brief flash of mercantile frustration crossing her features. She adjusted the heavy basket on her hip.
"It is moving much faster now, thanks to the caravans," she admitted, sighing softly. "But the Bannered Mare is the most profitable establishment in the entire hold. Hulda's asking price is exorbitant. Even with my new margins, it is still going to take some time. Perhaps several months of aggressive trading before I have the capital to buy her out completely."
Aerion remained silent for a moment, his golden eyes analyzing the young merchant. Several months was far too slow. He was already building an small force and establishing a spy network, he needed a secure, completely compromised base of operations for him and his mem inside the city walls immediately.
The Bannered Mare was the beating heart of Whiterun's gossip and information flow, and he needed Ysolda sitting behind that counter sooner rather than later.
"Several months is a long time in a province teetering on the edge of open war," Aerion said smoothly, his voice taking on a persuasive, calculated cadence. "I propose an acceleration of your timeline, Ysolda. I would like to offer you the financial assistance necessary to purchase the inn by the end of the week."
Ysolda's eyes widened in sheer shock. "You... you want to help buy the inn for me?"
"Not a gift," Aerion corrected gently, raising a slender finger. "An upgraded partnership. I will provide exactly half of the required capital to meet Hulda's asking price. In exchange, I simply become a shadow co owner of the establishment. On paper, and to the public, you will be the sole, undisputed proprietor of the Bannered Mare. Everyone in Whiterun will only know that the ambitious Ysolda finally achieved her dream. I will remain entirely behind the scenes, drawing a modest percentage of the profits, and utilizing the inn's network for my own discrete purposes."
Ysolda stared at him, completely taken aback by the sheer scale of the offer. She opened her mouth, closed it, and then firmly shook her head, taking a step back.
"No, Aerion. I... I can't," she stammered, her fierce Nord independence flaring up. "There is absolutely no need for you to do that. I don't want to damage our current partnership with such a massive debt. You have already been incredibly kind to me, giving me those two pristine mammoth tusks to secure my caravan connections. And frankly, I haven't even repaid that initial debt yet!"
She gestured frustratedly with her free hand. "I haven't been able to gather the information you asked for! The specific movements of the caravans, the deeper rumors of the civil war, the unusual artifacts finding their way into the city, I haven't delivered any of it to you because I am still solidifying my trust with Ri'saad. I cannot accept thousands of septims from you when I haven't even fulfilled my end of our first bargain."
Aerion smiled, a warm, disarming expression designed entirely to lower her defenses. He didn't push aggressively, he flowed around her objections like water around a stone, bringing the full, devastating weight of his leveled Persuasion skill to bear.
"Ysolda, please, calm your pride for a moment and look at this logically," Aerion said, his voice dropping to a soothing, deeply reasonable purr. "I completely understand that such valuable information is not easily gathered. Trust takes time to build, especially with the Khajiit caravans, and I never expected you to compromise your budding relationship with them by demanding secrets too quickly. You are doing exactly what you should be doing."
He took a slow step closer, holding her gaze, his words weaving a web of undeniable logic and mutual benefit.
"Furthermore," Aerion continued, his tone turning conspiratorial, "you must realize that I do not lose out in this arrangement. Investing in real estate within the safety of Whiterun's walls is a financially sound decision for me. I have some money currently sitting idle, putting it to work by purchasing a stake in the most profitable tavern in the hold is simply good business. By helping you, I am helping myself."
He gestured toward the distant roof of the Bannered Mare, visible over the market stalls. "Think of the efficiency, Ysolda. Once you own the inn, the merchants, the travelers, the guards, they will all come to you. The information I desire will literally walk through your front doors and order a drink. You won't have to chase rumors, they will be served to you on a silver platter. We secure your dream, and we secure my intelligence network, all in one swift stroke. Why wait months for what we can achieve soon?"
Ysolda stood frozen, the heavy wicker basket forgotten in her hands. She bit her lower lip, her ambitious mind warring fiercely against her stubborn independence.
She desperately wanted the inn. It was her life's ambition. And Aerion was right, his logic was flawless, his terms were incredibly generous, and the mutual benefits were staggering.
The silence stretched between them for a long, agonizing minute as the bustling noise of the city flowed past their secluded alcove. Finally, the fierce, unyielding pride in her eyes softened, replaced by the sharp, decisive gleam of a master merchant making the deal of a lifetime.
"A shadow partner," Ysolda breathed, her voice trembling slightly with a mix of excitement and trepidation. "I am the face. You are the silent backer. Half the capital."
"Exactly," Aerion nodded.
Ysolda let out a long, shaky exhale and extended her hand. "Alright, Aerion. You have a deal. We buy the Bannered Mare together."
Aerion took her hand, shaking it firmly, sealing the fate of Whiterun's greatest tavern.
As their hands separated, a brilliant cascade of golden notifications flooded Aerion's mental interface, rewarding him handsomely for breaking through the independence of one of Skyrim's most stubborn merchants.
[Persuasion Skill Leveled Up to 55!]
[Persuasion Skill Leveled Up to 56!]
[Persuasion Skill Leveled Up to 57!]
[Persuasion Skill Leveled Up to 58!]
"I will procure the funds in several days," Aerion promised smoothly. "Go to the caravans, Ysolda. Enjoy your trading today. Because soon, you will need it to be negotiating with Hulda."
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[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 58), 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 = 60,651