If you want to read 20 Chapters ahead and more, be sure to check out my P-Tang12!!!
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(A/N: Don't forget to give those power stones to Skyrim everyone!)
...
Aerion didn't stop to admire the crowd. He adjusted the heavy canvas bag on his shoulder, his golden eyes locking onto a specific wooden storefront just off the main square. "Come, Jenassa," Aerion instructed smoothly, stepping out of the main flow of traffic. "Our first stop is Belethor's General Goods. It is time to turn this valuables into some septims to increase my capital."
The transition from the freezing, lethal heights of Bleak Falls Barrow to the warm, bustling safety of Whiterun's streets was a jarring but welcome shift. As Aerion, Jenassa, and Lupin walked steadily through the lower districts of the city, the afternoon sun cast long, golden shadows across the cobblestones.
The frigid wind that had threatened to freeze the marrow in their bones just an hour ago was now a distant memory, replaced by the humid, earthy scent of the tundra and the comforting smell of woodsmoke from dozens of hearths.
Aerion walked with the fluid, effortless grace of an elven aristocrat, adjusting the heavy canvas sack slung casually over his shoulder. Jenassa followed closely behind, her dark leather armor still bearing the faint scuff marks and dried blood of their subterranean war.
Lupin, fully recovered from his terrifying encounter with the giant arachnid, effortlessly wove his way through the dense legs of the pedestrians, occasionally pausing to sniff at a passing merchant's cart before bounding back to Aerion's heels.
The market square in the Plains District had waned slightly from its chaotic midday peak, but it was still heavily populated. Off duty guards leaned against the stone well, while late day shoppers haggled over the remaining cabbages and cuts of meat.
Aerion bypassed the open-air stalls entirely, leading his companions toward a sturdy, two story wooden building with a sign depicting a set of weighing scales. Belethor's General Goods.
Pushing the heavy wooden door open, the sharp chime of a brass bell announced their arrival. The interior of the shop was just as cluttered and claustrophobic as Aerion remembered, filled from floor to ceiling with a chaotic assortment of ancient tomes, iron ingots, folded linens, and bizarre trinkets. The store was currently quite busy; several local citizens and a passing Imperial courier were browsing the cramped aisles.
Standing behind the main counter, wearing a velvet doublet and a slick, practiced merchant's smile, was Belethor. Beside him, aimlessly moving a stack of wooden bowls from one side of a shelf to the other, was his sole employee, the simple minded Sigurd.
At the sound of the bell, Belethor looked up, his eyes sweeping over the heavily armed Dunmer before landing on the towering High Elf. His greasy smile instantly widened into an expression of profound, mercantile delight.
"Ah! Welcome, welcome!" Belethor greeted loudly, throwing his hands wide. "If it isn't my favorite patron! The very gentleman who sold me that absolute mountain of mammoth cheese! To what do I owe the pleasure today, sera? Looking to buy? I'd sell you my own sister if I had one!"
Aerion offered a polite, shallow nod, weaving his way through the other browsing customers to approach the wooden counter. "Good afternoon to you as well, Belethor. I am not here to purchase today. Rather, I have come to sell a few items I managed to gather during a recent... excursion into the wilds. A bit of bandit clearing and a brief delve into an ancient Nord crypt."
Hearing the words 'ancient Nord crypt' and 'bandit clearing,' the innate, ravenous greed in Belethor's eyes shone like polished glass. The other customers in the store naturally paused their browsing, turning their heads slightly, drawn in by the undeniable allure of adventurer's loot.
"Is that so?" Belethor purred, leaning eagerly over the counter, his hands rubbing together in anticipation. "Well, you have certainly come to the right place! I am always deeply interested in the spoils of adventure. Let us see what you have brought me, shall we?"
Aerion didn't waste time with dramatic flourishes. He unslung the heavy canvas bag from his shoulder and dropped it onto the wooden counter.
THUD.
The sheer, undeniable weight of the sack made the sturdy timber groan in protest, the heavy, metallic clink of solid gold and silver echoing sharply through the quiet shop. The surrounding customers immediately stopped pretending not to look and openly stared, edging closer to the counter.
Aerion reached in and untied the leather cord, pulling back the heavy waxed cloths to reveal the contents.
Belethor actually let out a small, breathless gasp.
Aerion began to methodically pull the items out, lining them up on the counter one by one. First came the jewelry, the Gold Garnet Rings, the plain Gold Ring, the exquisite Copper and Onyx Circlet, the Silver Rings, and the Silver Garnet Rings.
The metal was slightly tarnished by centuries of tomb dust, and a few of the rings bore dark, crusty smears of dried bandit blood, but the craftsmanship was undeniable.
Next came the raw gemstones, the perfectly cut Sapphire, the gleaming Amethysts, and the deep, blood red Ruby, catching the ambient light of the shop and fracturing it into brilliant colors.
But it was the final items that truly sent a shockwave through the room. Aerion reached deep into the bag and hauled out the heavy, rectangular metal bars. Five solid Gold Ingots and two solid Silver Ingots slammed onto the wood.
The sheer volume of wealth looked like a king's ransom, or a hoard guarded by an entire clan of high level highwaymen. Whispers broke out among the watching citizens. Sigurd stopped moving his bowls entirely, staring at the gold with a slack jawed expression.
"By the Nine Divines..." Belethor breathed, his hands hovering over the ingots as if afraid they might vanish into thin air. He swallowed hard, his merchant's brain rapidly calculating profit margins, tariffs, and resale values.
He looked up at Aerion, his smile now completely genuine. "Why, this... this is an incredibly lucrative haul. A big bounty! Though, I must say..."
Belethor tapped a silver ring with a manicured fingernail, pointing out a dark stain. "They are a bit dirty. And there is a rather significant amount of... well, dried blood on the jewelry. That will require quite a bit of elbow grease and polishing before I can put them in the display case."
"The dirt and the blood are merely proof of their authenticity, Belethor," Aerion countered smoothly, his golden eyes locking onto the Breton merchant. "The rings, the necklace, and the circlet are not enchanted, but as pure jewelry, the metalwork is pristine and the stones are flawless. They will fetch a massive premium from the nobles in the Solitude court once you export them. Now... how much are you offering for the lot?"
Belethor wiped a bead of sweat from his upper lip, leaning back to cross his arms, trying desperately to regain his haggling leverage. "Well, considering the sheer weight of the raw gold, the fluctuating market prices due to the civil war, and the manual labor I will have to invest in cleaning them... I could offer you a very generous two thousand septims for everything on the counter."
Jenassa let out a sharp, derisive snort from behind Aerion, resting her hand on her dagger. "Two thousand? The gold ingots alone are worth more than that melted down, you greasy little—"
Aerion smoothly raised a hand, silencing his bodyguard without looking back. He turned his full, overwhelming Persuasion Skill directly onto Belethor.
"Two thousand septims is an insult to both my intelligence and your own undeniable business acumen, Belethor," Aerion began, his voice dropping into a deep, hypnotic cadence, lacing every syllable with the absolute power of his highly leveled Persuasion skill.
He tapped the Copper and Onyx Circlet. "This piece alone is Imperial craftsmanship, likely First Era. It belongs on the brow of a Jarl's wife. And the raw gold? We both know that with the Stormcloaks controlling the eastern mines, raw gold is becoming incredibly scarce in the central holds. You aren't just buying jewelry, Belethor, you are buying a monopoly on high end luxury goods in Whiterun for the next three months."
Belethor blinked, the psychological pressure of the Altmer's sheer confidence pushing him back. "Now, hold on a moment, sera, I have overheads—"
"I will not haggle over coppers," Aerion interrupted, his tone turning hard and unyielding. "You will pay me exactly four thousand, eight hundred septims for this haul. In exchange, I guarantee that the next time I clear out a ruin or butcher a bandit chief, you will be the absolute first merchant I visit. Deny me, and I will walk across the street and hand this entire fortune, and all future fortunes, directly to the merchant stalls, or Arcadia, or Adrienne, or even perhaps take it to the Khajiit caravans outside the walls."
The threat of losing a steady, immensely wealthy supplier of premium dungeon loot entirely shattered Belethor's resistance. The Breton looked at the gold, looked at the terrifying Dark Elf glaring at him, and finally let out a defeated, yet incredibly excited sigh.
"Four thousand, eight hundred," Belethor agreed, wiping his brow. "You drive a terrifyingly hard bargain, my friend. But... it is a deal. I will fetch the coin."
A brilliant, cascading waterfall of golden text flooded Aerion's mental interface, the system rewarding him handsomely for breaking a master merchant with pure logic and overwhelming presence.
[Persuasion Leveled Up to 72!]
[Persuasion Leveled Up to 73!]
[Persuasion Leveled Up to 74!]
[Persuasion Leveled Up to 75!]
[Persuasion Leveled Up to 76!]
[Persuasion Leveled Up to 77!]
Belethor hurried into the back room, returning a moment later with a massive, bulging leather pouch that clinked with the unmistakable, beautiful sound of thousands of gold coins. He handed it over the counter with a slightly pained, but mostly thrilled expression.
"Pleasure doing business with you, as always," Belethor said, already reaching out to greedily pull the gold ingots toward his chest. "Do come back!"
Aerion took the heavy pouch. With a smooth, practiced motion, he slipped it into the inner pocket on of his robe, instantly transferring the massive sum into the infinite void of his spatial inventory.
"May your profits be high," Aerion offered a polite farewell, turning on his heel.
As Aerion, Jenassa, and Lupin exited the shop, the interior immediately erupted into chaos. The citizens who had been pretending to browse suddenly swarmed the counter, clamoring over each other to offer Belethor coin for the freshly acquired gems and the Imperial circlet.
Stepping out into the cooling evening air of the market square, Aerion led them away from the crowds, walking slowly toward the stone steps of the Bannered Mare. As they walked, he leaned slightly toward Jenassa, lowering his voice so only the Dark Elf's sharp ears could catch his words.
"Excellent work today, Jenassa," Aerion praised quietly. "Before we retire, we must establish your living arrangements. I have two options for you."
Jenassa fell into step beside him, her crimson eyes scanning the nearby rooftops out of sheer habit. "I am listening, Patron."
"You may take up residence at the Bannered Mare, where I currently reside. I will, of course, cover the full cost of the room and your board indefinitely," Aerion offered. He then paused, letting the true depth of his operations bleed into his next words. "Alternatively, you could stay at Pelagia Farm, just outside the city walls. I currently employ a private guard company there. It is essentially a heavily armed mercenary outfit that acts under my direct command. You could bunk in the barracks with them."
Jenassa actually stopped walking for a fraction of a second, her boots scuffing the cobblestones in genuine surprise. She looked at the High Elf, her entire perspective of him violently shifting.
She had thought him a wealthy, eccentric, highly lethal wandering mage who liked to play patron to assassins. But an entire, privately funded mercenary company stationed just outside the walls of a major city? He wasn't just an adventurer. He was a player in the board of power who slowly building an army in the shadows.
She mulled over the tactical implications of the revelation for a long moment, her mind racing. Staying at the farm would offer camaraderie with other killers, but it removed her from her primary objective.
"I will stay with you at the Bannered Mare," Jenassa finally decided, her tone decisive and deeply respectful. "My contract is to ensure your life is not prematurely ended. If I am stationed outside the city walls, the commute back and forth significantly increases the windows of opportunity for someone to slip a dagger between your ribs. A bodyguard is useless if they are not guarding the body. I will stay close."
Aerion nodded his head approvingly, pleased by her sharp, pragmatic reasoning. "A very wise choice. I prefer my shadows to be within arm's reach."
They continued up the dirt steps and pushed through the heavy wooden doors of the Bannered Mare.
The atmosphere inside was a stark contrast to the quiet, deathly chill of the barrow. It was the peak of the busy evening hour. The tavern was roaring with life, heat, and the smell of roasting meats. Mikael the bard was loudly strumming his lute by the fire, struggling to be heard over the boisterous laughter and drunken arguments of the tightly packed patrons.
As the tall, golden skinned High Elf and the deadly looking Dark Elf stepped into the room, accompanied by a bright orange fox, the usual patrons instinctively parted ways, creating a respectful, slightly intimidated path for them to walk through.
Aerion's eyes swept the room and immediately locked onto a large, sturdy table near the back corner.
Sitting around the table, nursing massive tankards of mead and tearing into roasted pheasant, was Sinmir, flanked by a couple of the heavily armored mercenaries Aerion recognized from the farm, Torsten Iron-Arm and the scarred Imperial, Titus Varr.
Sinmir looked up, wiping foam from his thick beard. Recognizing his employer, the massive Nord captain quickly stood up, offering a sharp, respectful nod that commanded the immediate attention of his men.
"Aerion," Sinmir greeted him loudly, deliberately using his name rather than 'Boss' to maintain their cover in the crowded tavern. "Good to see you in one piece."
Aerion approached the table, returning the greeting with a warm smile. "Sinmir. Torsten. Titus. It is good to see you all enjoying a well earned rest. In fact, this is excellent timing. I would like to introduce a new friend to you all."
Aerion stepped slightly to the side, allowing Jenassa to step forward into the torchlight. The massive, battle hardened Nords sized up the lithe, heavily scarred Dunmer assassin.
"This is Jenassa," Aerion introduced her, his tone was low and perfectly measured to convey respect while subtly highlighting her status. "She is a highly capable specialist who has recently joined my... inner circle. Her position is one of close personal security. She walks the same path you do, simply in a different pair of boots."
The subtle phrasing was not lost on Sinmir. He understood instantly that this Dark Elf was not a subordinate to be ordered around by the mercenary company, she was an equal, a personal bodyguard answering only to Aerion.
Aerion then turned to Jenassa, dropping his voice to a low, commanding murmur meant only for her ears. "Jenassa, the man standing before you is Sinmir. He is the Captain of my guard company at Pelagia Farm. These men are Torsten and Titus. They hold the perimeter while you hold the shadows."
Sinmir extended a massive, calloused hand toward the Dark Elf. "Any friend of Aerion's is welcome at our table. You look like you know how to handle that steel on your hip, Jenassa."
Jenassa took the Nord's massive hand, her grip surprisingly strong and firm. "I know how to put it through a man's throat, Captain," she replied, a dark, cynical smirk playing on her lips. "I suspect we will get along just fine."
Torsten let out a booming laugh, slamming his tankard on the table. "I like her already! Sit down, Elf, let me buy you a mead!"
"I will leave you to get acquainted," Aerion smiled, stepping back from the table. "I need to speak with Hulda."
Leaving his assassin to bond with his heavy infantry, Aerion wove his way through the crowded room toward the main counter. Hulda was frantically wiping down wooden plates and shouting orders toward Saadia in the kitchen, but she paused and offered a warm, genuinely relieved smile when she saw the High Elf approach.
"Aerion! Praise the Divines, you have returned safely from your journey," Hulda greeted him, wiping her hands on her apron. "The roads are treacherous right now. I hope your adventure was fruitful?"
"Incredibly so, Hulda, thank you," Aerion smiled, returning the greeting. He leaned casually against the polished wood. "I have a request. I would like to rent a room for my friend, Jenassa, for the next ten days."
As he spoke, he casually reached into the inner pocket of his robes, seamlessly accessing his spatial inventory, and materialized a small, heavy pouch. He placed it gently on the counter. "One hundred septims, I believe, is the standard rate?"
Hulda smiled warmly, picking up the pouch. She didn't even bother untying the string to count the coins, Aerion had already proven himself to be incredibly wealthy and impeccably honest in his dealings.
"Indeed it is," Hulda nodded, tucking the gold under the counter. She reached onto a pegboard and pulled down a heavy iron key attached to a block of wood. "It will have to be one of the smaller rooms downstairs, just off the main hall to the left. As you know, you currently occupy the only large suite upstairs."
"That will be perfectly fine," Aerion said, taking the key with a nod of gratitude. "My thanks, Hulda."
Aerion turned away from the bar and walked back toward Sinmir's table. To his mild surprise, Jenassa was already deeply engrossed in a tactical conversation with Torsten about the most effective way to pierce heavy iron armor with a dagger, the two killers having clicked remarkably well over their shared profession.
Aerion held out the key, and Jenassa smoothly plucked it from his fingers with a nod of thanks.
Just as Aerion was about to pull up a chair and join them, a sudden, violent commotion erupted near the roaring central hearth.
"You hear me, you overgrown cow?!" a slurring, heavily intoxicated Nord voice shouted, cutting through the ambient noise of the tavern like a blunt axe.
Aerion turned his head. Standing near the fire, swaying aggressively on his feet and clutching a half empty bottle of cheap ale, was a massive, bearded Nord laborer. He was pointing a filthy, accusatory finger directly at a woman sitting alone at a nearby table.
Aerion immediately recognized the target of the drunk's ire. It was Uthgerd the Unbroken.
The massive, battle hardened Nord woman was clad in her full, heavy steel plate armor, looking incredibly imposing even while sitting down. Her scarred, severe face was set in a mask of dangerous, simmering calm as she slowly took a sip from her tankard, completely ignoring the screaming man.
"You think you're so tough because you wear all that shiny steel?!" the drunk Nord spat, taking a staggering step closer to her table, emboldened by the liquid courage and the sudden silence of the surrounding patrons. "We all know the truth! You couldn't even make it into the Companions! You're nothing but a rejected, bloodthirsty brute who couldn't control her temper! A disgrace to true Nords!"
Sinmir tensed, his hand dropping to the hilt of his sword, but Aerion smoothly placed a hand on his captain's heavy shoulder, silently ordering him to stand down.
Aerion watched the scene unfold with a cold, analytical certainty.
He knew exactly who Uthgerd was, he knew her tragic backstory with the Companions, and he knew just how phenomenally violent her temper could be when provoked. The drunk Nord had just crossed an unforgivable line, and Aerion knew, with absolute, unwavering certainty, that the foolish man was about to spend the rest of his life drinking his mead through a spoon.
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[Main Panel] Name: Aerion Race: High Elf (Altmer) Health: 320/320 Stamina: 310/310 Magicka: 450/450 Level: 65
Skills: Animal Affinity (MAX LEVEL), Fast Skill Levelling (MAX LEVEL), Fast Magic Mastery (MAX LEVEL), Instant Shout (MAX LEVEL), Destruction (Fire/Lightning) (Level MAX/62), Persuasion (Level 77), Smithing (Level 22), Sneak (Level 26), One Handed (Level 67), Restoration (Healing) (Level 37), Two Handed (Level 65), Lockpicking (Level 23), Archery (Level 72), Alteration (Level 4), Enchanting (Level 19), Light Armor (Level 53), Block (Level 60), Illusion (Level 6), Pickpocket (Level 8)
Shouts: Fus (Force)
[Inventory Panel]
1x Steel Dagger, Small Sack, Poacher's Axe, Mammoth Tusk, Iron Shield, Steel Mace, Steel Warhammer, the Golden Claw, Calm Spellbook, Arvel's Journal, Inkwell & Quill, Thief Book, Scroll Of Summoning (Wolf), Scroll Of Healing, Steel Dagger of Minor Souls, Weak Potion of Paralysis, Ancient Nord Bow, Dragonstone, Ancient Nord Battleaxe Of Blaze, & Potion of Minor Pickpocketing
2x Iron Mace, Steel Axe, Steel Greatsword, & Lockpicks
3x Iron Greatsword, Steel Sword, Scroll Of Fireball, Glowing Mushrooms, & Potions of Minor Stamina
4x Potions of Minor Magicka & Spider Eggs
5x Lesser Soul Gem
8x Iron Arrows & Ancient Nord Arrows
9x Potions Of Minor Healing
Weight: 109.07 KG / 455 KG
Septims = 56,427