If you want to read 20 Chapters ahead, 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!)
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As they retreated, Lupin scrambled down the thick fur of the Blizzard Rest mammoth's leg. The fox sprinted across the mud, scrambled up Revan's tail, and practically dove into the leather saddlebag. Lupin poked his little cinnamon head out, his dark eyes wide, securing front row seats to the impending, earth shattering sumo match between the two titans.
The shallow, geothermal valley of Bleakwind Basin suddenly felt entirely too small.
The two alpha mammoths lowered their massive, domed heads, presenting their towering, deadly ivory tusks.
For a moment, there was absolute silence, save for the bubbling of the geysers.
Then, they charged.
They let out deafening, ear splitting trumpets that echoed violently off the surrounding rocky hills, a sound so loud it vibrated deep within the chest cavities of the onlookers.
CRASH!
The impact of the two prehistoric behemoths colliding was akin to an avalanche striking a stone fortress. The ground beneath Aerion's horse literally buckled and shook, a localized earthquake generated entirely by raw, crushing kinetic force. Their massive tusks locked together with the grinding, sickening shriek of bone scraping against bone.
Jenassa's horse whinnied in terror, forcing the Dark Elf to expertly rein the beast in to keep it from bolting. She stared at the wrestling titans, her crimson eyes wide with profound, unadulterated awe.
"By the Webspinner..." Jenassa breathed, her voice barely audible over the roaring of the beasts. "I have killed my fair share of large game, Patron, but I truly did not expect a fight between two mammoths to possess such... apocalyptic impact."
Aerion, sitting calmly atop Revan at a safe distance, nodded his head in absolute agreement. "It is the raw, unfiltered power of nature, Jenassa. There is no magic here. Only sheer, undeniable mass and muscle."
As he watched the two towering beasts push against each other, their thick, muscular trunks wrapping around opposing tusks in a desperate bid for leverage, Aerion's mind began to drift. He wasn't just watching an animalistic dominance display, his highly strategic, deeply ambitious mind was watching a demonstration of military logistics.
'If I can fully domesticate a herd of this size,' Aerion imagined, his golden eyes narrowing as he visualized the future. 'I could do vastly more than just harvest their cheese and shave their ivory. I could weaponize them.'
He pictured the towering beasts clad in massive, interlocking plates of heavy iron and refined Dwarven metal, their vitals completely protected from conventional arrow fire.
He imagined strapping reinforced leather howdahs to their broad backs, providing elevated, heavily armored firing platforms for his mages and archers.
He envisioned unleashing a coordinated charge of armored mammoths against a fortified Imperial or Stormcloak shield wall. They wouldn't just break the line, they would utterly pulverize it, acting as living, breathing siege engines and heavy, unstoppable tanks on the battlefield.
It would bolster the sheer destructive power of his private mercenary company to a level that rivaled the Jarl's entire standing army.
But to achieve that glorious, terrifying vision, he needed space. He needed infrastructure. He needed the Tundra Homestead.
And to get the Tundra Homestead and the legal right to march prehistoric war beasts around the central plains, he needed the absolute, unshakeable blessing of Jarl Balgruuf the Greater.
Aerion closed his eyes for a moment, tuning out the roaring of the mammoths. He turned his mind inward, beginning to meticulously craft the political pitch he would deliver to the throne of Whiterun.
He formulated the exact economic arguments, highlighting the massive, taxable revenue that a monopolized mammoth dairy farm would bring to the city. He anticipated Proventus Avenicci's inevitable bureaucratic objections regarding safety, and mentally drafted the perfect, unassailable counters, promising to personally fund the perimeter defenses and share a highly generous percentage of the profits directly with the Jarl's coffers.
He practiced the exact melodic inflections, the charismatic pauses, and the subtle, psychological weaves of intent required to make a reigning monarch believe that giving a High Elf a private army of monsters was actually in the city's best interest.
Aerion opened his eyes, a sharp, deeply satisfied smile touching his lips. The final piece of his diplomatic arsenal was prepared. Balgruuf wouldn't stand a chance.
The tremendous trembling of the ground suddenly reached a violent crescendo.
Out in the mud, the fight had reached its conclusion. The slightly larger Blizzard Rest bull had the weight advantage, but the original Bleakwind alpha possessed the tactical experience of its home terrain. The Bleakwind bull expertly shifted its weight, driving its opponent's back legs into the slippery, sulfurous mud near a geyser.
Unable to find purchase, the Blizzard Rest mammoth slipped. The Bleakwind alpha immediately capitalized, driving its massive tusks upward and letting out a booming, victorious trumpet that shook the remaining snow from the distant trees.
The Blizzard Rest bull stumbled backward, lowering its head and trunk in a universal, animalistic gesture of submission. It let out a low, rumbling huff, acknowledging its defeat.
The hierarchy had been violently, definitively established. The original alpha would remain the absolute leader of the newly expanded, six-mammoth herd.
"An excellent bout," Aerion murmured. He clicked his tongue, guiding Revan forward into the basin, Jenassa following closely behind.
Aerion rode right up to the massive, panting beasts. He projected his Animal Affinity like a warm, soothing blanket over the exhausted combatants.
"Well fought," Aerion praised, reaching out to gently pat the thick, coarse fur of the victorious Bleakwind alpha's trunk. The massive beast rumbled happily, leaning into the touch of its magical shepherd.
Aerion then turned his attention to the defeated Blizzard Rest bull, projecting a wave of comforting, validating emotion to ensure the beast didn't become despondent or isolated from the pack. He patted its side, acknowledging its strength.
With the peace restored, Aerion projected his final, absolute commands into the collective consciousness of the massive herd.
"You will stay here in the basin, and you will keep yourselves and the calves safe," Aerion instructed, his intent clear and undeniable. "If there is danger, a like a massive bandit raid, you are to protect each other. Retreat if you must. But if the threat corners you, or if it is a threat you can easily crush... you have my permission to go on the offensive and absolutely neutralize it. Leave nothing but red stains in the mud."
The alpha mammoth tossed its tusks, letting out a short, powerful blast from its trunk to signal its complete agreement with the new standing orders.
Satisfied that his incredibly dangerous, highly valuable assets were secure, Aerion nodded his head. "Excellent. I will return for you all soon."
As Aerion turned Revan around to leave, Lupin, who had been watching the entire spectacle from the safety of the leather saddlebag, decided he needed to have the last word.
The tiny cinnamon fox popped his upper half out of the bag, puffed out his chest, and let out a series of incredibly loud, rapid, high pitched yips, as if issuing his own, highly authoritative commands to the towering behemoths.
The sheer absurdity of a ten pound fox barking orders at a herd of prehistoric siege engines was not lost on the mammoths.
In a display of profound, inter species amusement, all six mammoths actually turned toward the horse, raised their massive trunks into the air, and let out a deafening, unified trumpet of acknowledgment.
Aerion let out a heavy sigh, shaking his head at the ridiculous antics of his furry glutton. "You are going to give them a complex, Lupin. Settle down."
Lupin let out a smug little huff and retreated back into the warm depths of the saddlebag.
With their business in the basin concluded, Aerion and Jenassa spurred their horses into a steady trot, riding out of the geothermal valley and back onto the sweeping, golden plains of the tundra.
They headed directly south, allowing the horses to stretch their legs across the flat terrain. After an hour of hard riding, the massive, ruined stone structure of the Western Watchtower loomed into view, marking the intersection with the main, paved trade road.
They turned east, following the cobblestone artery back toward the capital.
The journey was peaceful, the crisp afternoon air carrying the scent of blooming mountain flowers and tilled earth. As they rode, the massive, sprawling cabbage and wheat fields of Pelagia Farm eventually appeared on their left.
Aerion cast a brief, evaluating glance toward the large, repurposed storage barn that currently served as the barracks for his mercenary company.
He didn't stop. He could see Torsten, Titus, and the others running drills in the yard, which meant Sinmir had the perimeter perfectly secured. He would check on his troops tomorrow. Today, he needed a hot meal and a soft bed.
They continued up the road, arriving at the Whiterun Stables just as the sun began to dip heavily toward the western mountains, painting the sky in brilliant, bruised shades of purple and burnt orange.
The stablemaster, Skulvar Sable-Hilt, hurried out to meet them, wiping his hands on his tunic.
"Welcome back, travelers," Skulvar greeted them warmly, taking the reins of their exhausted horses. "Looks like you've ridden them hard. I'll see they get a double portion of oats and a good, thorough brushing tonight."
"My thanks, Skulvar. They have earned it," Aerion nodded, flipping the man a generous silver tip.
Aerion scooped Lupin out of the saddlebag, tucking the fox securely under his arm, and began the walk up the sloping, winding cobblestone path that led toward the massive, iron-reinforced main gates of Whiterun.
As they walked, several merchants and late-arriving travelers passed them on the road. Almost immediately, the hushed, excited whispers began.
The attention wasn't entirely focused on Aerion's High Elf heritage or Jenassa's intimidating scars. This time, the eyes of the commoners were locked entirely onto the left side of Aerion's waist.
The Glass Sword he had looted from the giant camp was a masterpiece of Elven smithing. The translucent, vibrant green Malachite blade caught the dying, golden light of the sunset, refracting it like a captured star.
The gilded moonstone hilt gleamed with undeniable, ostentatious wealth. In a province where most men fought with pitted iron and heavy steel, carrying a pristine Glass weapon was akin to walking around with the deed to a small castle strapped to your hip.
"By the Gods, look at the blade on that Elf," a passing Imperial merchant whispered to his bodyguard, pointing openly. "Is that genuine Malachite?"
"Must be worth a fortune," the heavily armored guard muttered back, his eyes tracking the weapon with undisguised envy. "Could buy a knighthood with that much glass."
Aerion completely ignored the pointing and the whispers, maintaining his aloof, aristocratic posture. He didn't care if the plebeians stared, the sword was a tool, and a highly effective one at that.
They reached the drawbridge. The Whiterun city guards, recognizing the mage Altmer, and noting the incredibly lethal looking green sword at his hip, didn't bother to stop them or ask for identification.
They simply offered crisp, respectful nods and waved them through the heavy wooden gates.
As the gates closed behind them, the bustling, familiar sounds of the city washed over them.
The moment they were safely inside the walls, the adrenaline of the long journey and the intense magical leveling from the College of Winterhold finally crashed down on Aerion.
He let out a long, heavy sigh, his shoulders slumping just a fraction beneath his dark robes. His highly refined, magically fortified body suddenly felt incredibly heavy, the sheer caloric expenditure of processing so much arcane knowledge finally catching up to him.
Right on cue, his stomach let out a loud, highly undignified grumble.
Jenassa, walking beside him, raised a scarred eyebrow. "It seems even the most powerful mages require sustenance, Patron."
"Indeed they do," Aerion admitted, offering a tired smile. "Come. Let us hurry. The Hearth awaits."
They walked briskly through the Plains District. The sun had fully set now, and the braziers lining the streets were being lit by the night watch. The open, air market was mostly empty, the vendors having already packed away their stalls for the evening.
Aerion saw Arcadia locking the heavy wooden door of her alchemy shop, and Belethor pulling the shutters closed on his general goods store.
They bypassed the quiet market and ascended the short stone steps leading into the Wind District, heading directly for the warm, glowing windows of the Bannered Mare.
Aerion pushed the heavy tavern doors open, instantly assaulted by a wall of glorious, roaring heat, the smell of roasting pheasant, and the deafening noise of a packed house.
The inn was completely full. It seemed even more crowded than it usually was on a busy Fredas evening. Every single wooden table was occupied by boisterous Nords, tired merchants, and off duty guardsmen laughing and sharing tales over overflowing tankards of ale.
Mikael the bard was currently standing on a chair near the hearth, aggressively strumming his lute and singing a highly embellished, entirely inaccurate ballad about the Dragonborn.
Navigating through the sea of patrons, Aerion and Jenassa made their way toward the main bar counter.
Standing behind the polished wood, looking slightly flustered but incredibly happy, was Ysolda. She was wearing a new, clean apron over her fine clothes, expertly pouring two foaming tankards of mead simultaneously.
When Ysolda looked up and saw Aerion approaching through the crowd, a massive, brilliantly radiant smile broke across her face.
"Aerion! Jenassa! You have returned!" Ysolda cheered, quickly setting the tankards down and wiping her hands on her apron. "Welcome back to Whiterun! It has been nearly a week. I was beginning to worry the snows of the Pale had swallowed you whole!"
Lupin, recognizing the friendly merchant, let out a loud, happy yip from Aerion's arms.
"And welcome back to you too, little one!" Ysolda laughed. She reached under the counter, retrieving a perfectly baked, heavily glazed sweetroll. She tossed it in a gentle arc over the counter.
Lupin leaped from Aerion's arms, catching the pastry flawlessly in mid air before landing gracefully on the floorboards, immediately tearing into his sugary prize.
Ysolda turned her attention back to the two weary travelers. "You both look absolutely exhausted. Long roads demand a hot fire. What can I get for you? Food? Drink?"
"A great deal of both, if you please, Ysolda," Aerion requested, letting out a tired breath.
Seeing the High Elf and the intimidating Dark Elf waiting, two off duty guards sitting at the counter quickly grabbed their drinks and vacated their stools, not wanting to crowd the man carrying a glowing green sword.
Aerion and Jenassa gratefully took the empty seats.
"We will take two large bowls of the beef stew, two full portions of whatever meat you have roasting on the spit, and two flagons of your strongest Nord mead," Aerion ordered, resting his forearms on the polished wood.
Ysolda nodded enthusiastically, her business instincts kicking in. "It will be right up! Just give me one moment."
She leaned over the counter and shouted toward the kitchen. "Saadia! Two stews, two cuts of the roast, and two meads for the counter! Make it quick!"
Saadia's voice echoed back from the heat of the kitchen, acknowledging the order.
Ysolda turned back to Aerion, leaning her elbows on the counter, her eyes wide with eager curiosity. "So? Tell me everything! How was your trip to the College of Winterhold? Did you find the knowledge you were seeking? Did they let you in?"
Aerion smiled, deciding to give her a highly sanitized, incredibly modest version of the events.
"The trip was vastly more successful than I could have ever anticipated, Ysolda," Aerion replied, his voice smooth and pleasant. "The College is a magnificent institution. I managed to pass their entrance examinations and have been formally accepted into their ranks as an apprentice. I spent the last several days learning highly complex spells, discussing advanced magical theories with the Masters, and delving deep into their massive library. The Arcanaeum is truly a marvel. It is filled with thousands of books that significantly aided my understanding of the arcane."
Ysolda gasped, clapping her hands together in genuine delight. "Oh, Aerion, that is wonderful! Congratulations! I knew you would impress them. To be a formal member of the College... that is a massive achievement!"
Before she could ask any further questions about the magical fortress, Saadia hurried out of the kitchen. The Redguard woman was carrying a massive wooden tray laden with two steaming bowls of thick, fragrant beef stew, two large wooden trenchers piled high with perfectly seared, dripping cuts of roasted venison, and two sloshing tankards of dark Nord mead.
Saadia placed the food carefully before them, offering a polite, slightly nervous bow to Aerion before rushing off to deliver drinks to another table.
Aerion and Jenassa did not hesitate. The sheer caloric deficit of their journey demanded immediate attention. They ate in companionable silence, tearing into the tender, savory meat and washing it down with the heavy, highly fermented mead. The warmth of the food rapidly chased the lingering chill of the mountain roads from their bones.
As Aerion was finishing the last of his stew, mopping up the rich broth with a crust of warm bread, a familiar figure suddenly squeezed through the crowded tavern and took the empty stool directly to his left.
Aerion turned his head, his golden eyes widening in genuine, profound surprise.
It was Hulda.
The veteran innkeeper was no longer wearing her working apron, but she was still very much present in the tavern.
"Good evening, Aerion," Hulda greeted him, a tired but fond smile on her weathered face. "Looks like the north didn't freeze you solid after all."
Aerion swallowed his bread, wiping his mouth with a linen napkin. "Hulda? It is wonderful to see you, but... I must admit, I am highly surprised to find you still here. I was under the distinct impression that following the finalization of our transaction last week, you would be halfway to a quiet, peaceful retirement in the countryside by now."
Hulda let out a deep, slightly rueful chuckle, shaking her head.
"That was the original plan, aye," Hulda admitted, signaling for Ysolda to pour her a small cup of watered wine. "I had my bags packed and a carriage booked. But... the more I thought about it, the more I realized that the timing was simply terrible."
She took a sip of her wine, her expression growing serious. "The situation outside these walls is still incredibly dangerous. The civil war is escalating, there are rumors of entire Imperial patrols disappearing in the Rift, and with the wild animals and monsters lurkinh the roads... traveling the open roads to find a quiet farm just didn't seem like a wise decision for an old woman traveling alone."
Hulda looked over at Ysolda, who was currently rushing back and forth behind the counter, expertly managing three different orders at once.
"Furthermore," Hulda continued, her voice softening with genuine affection. "Ysolda is a brilliant merchant, but running a tavern of this size is a vastly different beast than haggling over a mammoth tusk in the market. She needed a firm hand to help her manage the inventory, deal with the drunks, and balance her time between running the Mare and maintaining her highly lucrative trade routes with the Khajiit caravans. So, I decided to hold off on my retirement for a few more months. I'm staying on to help her learn the ropes until she truly gets the hang of it."
Aerion nodded his head slowly, deeply appreciating the older woman's dedication to her former establishment and her protective nature over the young merchant.
"That is incredibly noble of you, Hulda," Aerion said sincerely. "And I must personally thank you for stepping in to assist her."
Aerion leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a smooth, conspiratorial whisper that only Hulda and Ysolda, who had just stepped back to the counter, could hear over the roar of the tavern.
"After all," Aerion murmured, his golden eyes dancing with amusement, "as her silent business partner, it technically should have been my responsibility to stand behind this counter and help her manage the ledgers. But we must keep up the act that I am merely helping a friend, rather than acting as a co owner."
He offered a highly self aware, aristocratic smirk. "The Gods only know how it would negatively affect the rustic, traditional Nordic aesthetic of the Bannered Mare if the patrons discovered that a towering High Elf mage owned exactly half the building."
Hulda stared at him for a second before bursting into a loud, genuine bout of laughter. Ysolda covered her mouth with her hand, her shoulders shaking with silent, highly amused giggles at the mental image of the impeccably dressed Altmer wearing a dirty apron and wiping down tables.
"You have a point there, Aerion," Hulda chuckled, wiping a tear from her eye. "I don't think Mikael the bard would know what to sing about if an Elf was signing his paychecks."
The three of them shared a warm, private moment of camaraderie amidst the chaos of the tavern.
Having finished his meal and entirely satisfied with the state of his investments, Aerion reached down to his leather satchel, intending to pull a handful of septims from his inventory to cover the cost of the massive feast.
Before his fingers could even brush the leather, Ysolda reached across the counter and gently, firmly pushed his hand away.
"Absolutely not," Ysolda shook her head, a savvy, professional smile on her face. "Your money is no good here, Aerion. You are the co owner of this establishment. Any food, drink, or lodging you or your companions require will be handled internally. I will simply deduct the cost of your meals from your half of the monthly revenue ledger."
Aerion paused, looking at the young woman. It was a flawless, highly efficient business practice, and it saved him the minor hassle of constantly accessing his dimensional void for pocket change.
"A highly practical arrangement, Ysolda," Aerion smiled, nodding his head in agreement. "I graciously accept."
The fatigue of the day was finally pulling at his eyelids. He stood up from his stool, stretching his long limbs.
"It has been a remarkably long day, and I am in desperate need of a soft bed," Aerion announced, offering a polite bow to the two women. "I bid you both a very good night."
"Sleep well, Aerion," Ysolda called out cheerfully.
"Rest up. The city is always louder in the morning," Hulda added.
Aerion turned to his bodyguard. "Get some rest, Jenassa. We have business to attend to tomorrow."
Jenassa simply nodded, standing up and heading silently toward her rented room down the lower hallway.
Aerion scooped up Lupin, who was currently licking the last remnants of sweetroll icing off his paws, and made his way up the creaking, wooden stairs. He entered his private suite, locked the heavy door behind him, and collapsed onto the soft, feather mattress, entirely ready to sleep the night away, safe within the walls of a city he was rapidly beginning to own.
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[Main Panel]
Name: Aerion Race: High Elf (Altmer)
Health: 350/350 Stamina: 350/350 Magicka: 500/500
Level: 80
Skills: Animal Affinity (MAX LEVEL), Fast Skill Levelling (MAX LEVEL), Fast Magic Mastery (MAX LEVEL), Instant Shout (MAX LEVEL), Destruction (Fire(+1)/Lightning/Frost) (Level 43/92/27), Restoration (Healing/Purify) (Level 63/37), Alteration (Level 22), Alteration (Level 20), Illusion (Level 42), Conjuration (Necromancy/Summoning) (Level 37/46), Persuasion (Level 88), Smithing (Level 22), Sneak (Level 33), One Handed (Level 67), Two Handed (Level 65), Lockpicking (Level 23), Archery (Level 72), Enchanting (Level 34), Light Armor (Level 53), Block (Level 60), & 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, & Golden Staff of Flames
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 / 475 KG
Septims = 52,930