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(A/N: Don't forget to give those power stones to Skyrim everyone!)
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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.
The morning sun filtered through the heavy wooden shutters of Aerion's private suite on the second floor of the Bannered Mare, casting long, dusty beams of golden light across the stone floor.
Aerion slowly drifted back to consciousness, his highly refined, magically fortified body feeling perfectly rested. However, as he attempted to push himself up from the mattress, he realized his left arm was completely unresponsive. It felt like a solid block of lead, entirely numb from the shoulder down.
He blinked, turning his head to investigate the sudden paralysis.
Curled into a tight, incredibly dense ball of cinnamon fur, completely pinning Aerion's left forearm to the mattress, was Lupin. The fox was snoring softly, entirely oblivious to the fact that he was currently cutting off the circulation to a being capable of leveling a small town.
Aerion let out a soft, highly amused chuckle. He shook his head, marveling at the sheer audacity of his furry glutton. Using his right hand, Aerion carefully gripped his numb left wrist and slowly, methodically began to slide his trapped arm out from beneath the sleeping familiar.
The slight friction of the movement disturbed the fur blanket. Lupin's large ears twitched. The fox's dark eyes snapped open, glaring at Aerion for having the sheer audacity to disrupt his comfortable slumber.
Before Aerion could even offer a word of greeting, Lupin lunged forward and delivered a rapid, incredibly wet, and highly unceremonious lick directly across Aerion's nose and cheek in petty revenge.
"Ugh. Absolutely barbaric," Aerion laughed, pulling his face away and wiping his cheek with the back of his right hand. He sat up, shaking his left arm vigorously until the painful, prickling sensation of returning blood flow faded. "You are a menace, Lupin. A terrible, furry menace. Is this how you treat the master who provides you with infinite sweetrolls?"
Lupin simply let out a smug, high pitched yip, stretching his front legs out across the bed and offering a wide, fanged yawn that clearly communicated his lack of remorse.
Getting out of bed, Aerion quickly went through his morning routine. He washed his face in the cold water of the ceramic basin, ensuring his golden hair was perfectly swept back and his immaculate robes were entirely free of wrinkles or dust.
Once he was satisfied with his appearance, Aerion unlocked the heavy oak door and stepped out onto the second floor landing. Lupin hopped off the bed and trotted eagerly at his heels, his nose already twitching at the faint smell of roasting meat wafting up from the kitchens.
As they descended the creaking wooden stairs, the Bannered Mare was already bustling with early morning activity. The main tavern floor was mostly empty of patrons, but a couple of hired servants were actively sweeping the scuffed floorboards and wiping down the heavy oak tables, preparing the establishment for the day's business.
Standing near the hearth, diligently polishing a stack of wooden tankards, was Saadia.
The Redguard woman looked up as Aerion reached the bottom of the stairs. A look of deep, profound respect flashed across her dark eyes, and she offered him a bow that was significantly deeper and more deferential than the one she offered to the standard patrons.
Saadia was the only employee in the entire inn, aside from Ysolda and Hulda, who knew the truth. Ysolda had quietly informed her that the towering High Elf mage was not just a wealthy permanent guest, but was now officially the co owner of the Bannered Mare.
For a woman like Saadia, who was actively hiding from the lethal Alik'r warriors, knowing that her place of employment was now half owned by an incredibly powerful, silently influential mage increased her sense of security tenfold.
"Good morning, my lord Aerion," Saadia greeted him warmly, keeping her voice perfectly respectful.
"Good morning, Saadia. The tavern looks immaculate, as always," Aerion returned the greeting with a charming, polite smile.
Just as he spoke, the heavy front doors of the inn swung open. Ysolda and Hulda walked in together, the crisp morning air billowing in behind them.
Both women were carrying large woven baskets practically overflowing with fresh, vibrant produce, crisp green cabbages, plump leeks, heavy sacks of flour, and fresh cuts of venison they had just procured from the market vendors to restock the kitchen's rapidly depleting supplies.
"Ah, Aerion! You are up early," Ysolda greeted him, a bright, energetic smile on her face as she hoisted her heavy basket onto the main bar counter.
"Morning, Elf," Hulda added with a fond grunt, setting her own basket down beside Ysolda's and wiping her brow. "Looks like you managed to sleep off the road dirt."
"I did indeed. Your beds are, as always, exceptionally comfortable," Aerion nodded gracefully, stepping over to the counter. Lupin immediately trotted up to Ysolda's boots, sitting patiently and looking up at her with large, expectant eyes.
"So, what are your plans for the day?" Ysolda asked, tossing a small piece of dried venison down to the fox. "Are you heading back to the Arcanaeum, or do you have business here in the city?"
Aerion adjusted the cuffs of his dark robes. "I will be remaining in Whiterun today. In fact, after I finish my morning preparations, I intend to walk up to Dragonsreach. I would like to formally request an audience with Jarl Balgruuf."
Both Ysolda and Hulda stopped what they were doing, exchanging a look of profound, wide-eyed surprise.
"An audience with the Jarl?" Hulda asked, her graying eyebrows shooting upward. "That's not exactly something you just casually stroll up and ask for, Aerion. The man is buried up to his neck in the matters of the city and the civil war. What in Oblivion do you need to speak to the Jarl for?"
"I have a rather specific, highly ambitious proposition," Aerion replied, a calculating gleam in his golden eyes. "I wish to undertake a massive economic endeavor here in the hold. However, due to the... unique logistical requirements of my plan, I absolutely must acquire Jarl Balgruuf's direct, legal permission before I can proceed."
Before the two women could press him for further details regarding his mysterious endeavor, the heavy wooden door to the lower hallway clicked open.
Jenassa stepped out into the common room. She was fully armored in her reinforced leather, the Steel Sword of Frost that Aerion had given her yesterday sheathed securely at her hip. She moved with absolute, silent lethality, crossing the tavern floor in seconds.
She came to a halt exactly three steps behind Aerion's right shoulder, falling perfectly into the standard, protective formation of a professional bodyguard.
"You should not attempt to leave the perimeter without me, Patron," Jenassa stated, her gravelly voice carrying a note of strict, professional reprimand. "My contract requires me to be at your side when you traverse the city."
Aerion blinked, turning slightly to look over his shoulder at the Dark Elf. He let out a soft, apologetic sigh, rubbing the back of his neck.
"My sincere apologies, Jenassa," Aerion offered, completely defusing her reprimand with genuine politeness. "I was simply so excited about the impending negotiations that I momentarily forgot protocol. I was entirely prepared to march up the steps of the Cloud District alone."
In truth, Aerion had actively intended to go to the keep by himself. He didn't actually need a bodyguard to protect him from the Whiterun guards. However, as he looked at Jenassa standing behind him, a new tactical thought blossomed in his mind.
Jarl Balgruuf's personal housecarl and chief of security was Irileth. Irileth was a fiercely loyal, incredibly paranoid Dark Elf who absolutely despised outsiders, particularly High Elves due to the Thalmor threat.
However, if Aerion walked into the throne room with a fellow Dunmer standing loyally at his back, a Dunmer who clearly trusted him enough to act as his shadow, it might act as a subtle psychological buffer, making Irileth slightly less stoic and hostile toward his presence.
"But I am very glad you are here," Aerion corrected himself, offering Jenassa a warm smile. "Your presence will be highly beneficial for the meeting. Come. Let us not keep the Jarl waiting."
Aerion turned back to the counter, offering a final bow. "I bid you both a profitable morning, Ysolda, Hulda. I shall return shortly."
With Jenassa falling into step behind him and Lupin trotting happily at his side, Aerion pushed through the heavy wooden doors and stepped out into the crisp, vibrant morning air of Whiterun.
The city was fully awake and thriving. The Plains District market was a cacophony of overlapping voices and clinking coins.
Carlotta Valentia was loudly hawking her fresh apples and tomatoes, while Anoriath the Bosmer enthusiastically showcased his fresh cuts of venison to passing housewives.
Aerion ignored the bustling crowds, navigating the cobblestone streets with purpose. They bypassed the central well and ascended the short, sweeping stone steps that led into the affluent, pristine architecture of the Wind District.
The massive, ancient Gildergreen tree dominated the center of the plaza, its barren branches reaching desperately toward the blue sky. As they walked around the perimeter of the sacred tree, a booming, incredibly loud voice echoed across the stones, completely shattering the peaceful atmosphere of the district.
"Talos the mighty! Talos the unerring! Talos the unassailable! To you we give praise!"
It was Heimskr, the fanatical Priest of Talos, standing before the towering bronze statue of the ascended god. He was waving his arms wildly, his face red with exertion as he delivered his daily, highly illegal, anti Thalmor sermon to anyone who would listen.
Aerion didn't even spare the screaming priest a glance. He walked past the shrine, his golden eyes fixed entirely on the massive, sweeping stone staircase that led directly up to the highest point in the city.
The Cloud District. Dragonsreach.
They climbed the long, exhausting flight of stairs, the rushing water of the city's aqueducts roaring in their ears. At the very top of the stairs, framing the massive, heavy double doors of the ancient wooden keep, stood a pair of heavily armored Whiterun guards.
As Aerion, Jenassa, and Lupin approached the landing, the guards immediately stiffened. They recognized the towering High Elf from his previous visits, the man who threw magics around and cleared out bandit camps for sport.
But previously, he had always come bearing a bloody bounty prove or a specific bounty contract from the Steward. Today, he was simply walking up to the doors.
The guard on the right stepped forward, crossing his heavy iron halberd across the path to block their entry. His eyes, visible through the slits of his helmet, were filled with a mixture of respect and deep, ingrained Nordic suspicion regarding the Altmer's true motives.
"Halt right there," the guard commanded, his voice firm but not overly hostile. "We know who you are, Aerion. But you haven't taken any fresh bounties from the board lately. What exactly is your business at the keep today? The Jarl is a busy man."
Aerion did not bristle at the barricade. He stopped a respectful distance away, offering the guard a polite, entirely unbothered smile.
"Good morning to you as well, officer," Aerion greeted smoothly, his tone perfectly measured. "I am well aware of the Jarl's extensive burdens. However, I have not come to collect a bounty. I am here to formally request an audience with Jarl Balgruuf to discuss a highly lucrative, entirely peaceful matter of internal hold security and economic development."
The two guards exchanged a skeptical look. The civil war had made everyone paranoid, and a High Elf asking for a private audience with the ruling monarch of the neutral hold was highly irregular.
The lead guard lowered his halberd slowly, but kept his hand firmly on the wooden shaft.
"Alright, Elf," the guard relented, his tone hardening with a clear warning. "You can go inside and formally request the meeting from the Steward. But hear me well, if the steward or the Jarl denies your request, you are to turn around and walk out those doors immediately. No arguing, no lingering. And we will be watching you very, very closely."
Aerion nodded his head in complete, agreeable compliance. "I have no problem with those terms whatsoever, officer. I respect the security protocols of this city implicitly."
Satisfied that the High Elf wasn't going to cause a scene, the guards stepped aside and pulled the massive, heavy iron rings, hauling the heavy wooden double doors open.
Aerion, Jenassa, and Lupin stepped out of the bright morning sunlight and into the cavernous, roaring warmth of Dragonsreach.
The sheer scale of the Great Porch was breathtaking. Massive, ancient wooden pillars carved with the faces of roaring dragons supported a soaring, vaulted ceiling.
In the exact center of the hall, a colossal fire pit blazed with intense heat, casting dancing orange shadows across the long, heavy dining tables where the Jarl's courtiers and housecarls typically took their meals.
Aerion walked confidently past the roaring fire, heading directly toward the elevated wooden dais at the far end of the hall.
Sitting heavily upon the ancient, intricately carved wooden throne of Whiterun was Jarl Balgruuf the Greater. The blond haired Nord looked incredibly exhausted, his heavy fur cloak draped lazily over his broad shoulders as he slouched in the seat of power, a gold rimmed goblet of wine resting loosely in his right hand.
Standing immediately to Balgruuf's right, frantically reading from a long scroll of parchment and wringing his hands, was Proventus, the bald, deeply anxious Imperial Steward.
Standing to Balgruuf's left, her arms crossed over her leather armor and her crimson eyes scanning the hall with absolute, lethal paranoia, was the Dark Elf housecarl, Irileth.
The Jarl was currently being subjected to his daily, incredibly tedious morning briefing.
"...and furthermore, my Jarl, the grain shipments from Rorikstead are delayed by yet another three days," Proventus was whining, his high pitched voice echoing across the stone. "If the Stormcloaks continue to harass the western supply lines, we will be forced to dip into the emergency winter reserves before the month is out. We simply do not have the budget to hire additional mercenary escorts!"
Balgruuf let out a long, heavy sigh, taking a slow sip of his wine. He looked entirely ready to throw his goblet at the wall.
As the Jarl lowered his cup, his tired blue eyes swept across the vast hall. He immediately spotted the towering High Elf, the heavily scarred Dark Elf assassin, and the tiny cinnamon fox walking purposefully toward the throne, closely shadowed by one of the Whiterun guards who had followed them inside to keep an eye on things.
Balgruuf's posture shifted. He sat up slightly straighter, a spark of genuine interest finally breaking through his boredom.
"Well now. That is certainly a more interesting sight than another ledger of delayed cabbages," Balgruuf interrupted his Steward, his deep, booming voice carrying across the hall. "Greetings, Aerion! To what do we owe the pleasure of your company this morning?"
Hearing the Jarl speak, both Proventus and Irileth abruptly stopped their briefing and spun around to face the approaching party.
Irileth's hand instinctively dropped to the pommel of her sword at the sight of the Altmer, her eyes narrowing suspiciously.
However, as her gaze tracked past Aerion and landed on Jenassa, a fellow Dunmer standing in loyal, protective stance behind him, her intense scowl faltered for just a fraction of a second. It didn't make her entirely trust him, but it undeniably complicated her still immediate assumption that he was a pure Thalmor supremacist.
Aerion stopped at the base of the wooden steps leading up to the throne. He offered a flawless, deeply respectful aristocratic bow.
"Good morning, my Jarl," Aerion returned the greeting, his melodic voice completely steady. He gestured gracefully over his shoulder. "Allow me to introduce my traveling companion and trusted friend, Jenassa."
Jenassa offered a crisp, perfectly executed mercenary salute to the throne, which Balgruuf acknowledged with a slow nod.
"Welcome to Dragonsreach, Jenassa," Balgruuf said. He then turned his full attention back to the High Elf, resting his chin on his fist. "So, Aerion. Have you come to bleed my coffers once again? Is there a new, highly dangerous bounty you have taken care of? Did you bring Proventus another bandit chief's head to process?"
Aerion chuckled softly, shaking his head. "No, my Jarl. The roads have been relatively quiet for me as of late. I have no bounties to submit today. I have actually come to formally request a private audience with you, if your schedule allows it. I have a rather ambitious endeavor in mind, and I require your direct, legal permission to proceed."
Before Balgruuf could even open his mouth to answer, Proventus Avenicci stepped forward, waving his rolled up parchment in the air with highly agitated, bureaucratic indignation.
"Absolutely not!" Proventus snapped, glaring down at Aerion. "You have come at a terrible time, Elf! The Jarl is currently incredibly busy managing the intricate logistics of a hold on the middle of the civil war! We do not have the time to entertain the frivolous personal requests of wandering mages!"
Aerion maintained his polite smile, not even bothering to look at the Steward. He kept his golden eyes locked entirely on the Jarl.
Balgruuf frowned, clearly annoyed by his Steward's outburst. He waved a heavy, dismissive hand at the Imperial.
"Oh, calm down, Proventus. I am not that busy," Balgruuf grumbled, his voice laced with profound weariness. "The daily reports I have been forced to sit through for the last months are entirely identical. Stormcloaks passing through silenty, Imperials demanding access then turned to forced crossing, grain shortages, and complaining merchants. It is a never ending cycle of misery."
Balgruuf leaned forward, a genuine smile touching his bearded face as he looked at Aerion. "Since the start of this damn civil war, Aerion's arrival here in Whiterun has been one of the few genuinely positive developments. He isn't bringing me problems, he has been actively solving them. Taking out the bandit poachers at Halted Stream Camp, pacifying the hostile giants at Bleakwind Basin... these are concrete actions that have tangibly improved the safety of my hold."
Balgruuf sat back, resting his arms on the armrests of his throne. "So, let us hear what the Elf has to say. Perhaps he has brought me some good information, or a proposition that will actually alleviate my headaches rather than add to them. Speak, Aerion. You have my ear."
Proventus let out a highly frustrated huff, clutching his parchment tightly to his chest, but he dared not argue with the Jarl's direct command. Irileth simply crossed her arms tighter, remaining silent, evaluating the situation.
Both advisors ultimately relented because they knew Aerion's reputation. He wasn't a chaotic, unpredictable force, he was a highly logical, deeply business oriented individual. Whenever he came to the Reach, he always brought a mutually beneficial transaction.
"I deeply appreciate your time and your open mind, Jarl Balgruuf," Aerion said, offering another shallow bow of gratitude.
Aerion straightened his posture, slipping smoothly into the persona of a highly affluent, visionary investor. He engaged his internal system, mentally tapping into his Persuasion skill.
"My first request is a matter of real estate," Aerion began, his voice taking on a hypnotic, perfectly paced cadence that immediately commanded the absolute attention of everyone in the room. "I would like to formally request the legal right to purchase a significant property here within the borders of Whiterun Hold."
Balgruuf raised a blonde eyebrow, clearly intrigued. A High Elf seeking to put down permanent roots was rare. "Purchase property? Are you intending to abandon your wandering lifestyle and make Whiterun your permanent place of residence, Aerion?"
"I am indeed, my Jarl," Aerion confirmed smoothly. "I have traveled across much of Tamriel, and I find the central plains of Whiterun to be the most strategically sound, economically vibrant, and culturally welcoming region in the entire province. I have decided to make this hold my permanent home, and, naturally, I wish to utilize my small accumulated wealth to make a significant, long term economic investment in your lands."
Balgruuf stroked his beard thoughtfully. An foreign capital from a mage was always a positive thing for a strained economy. But he was a cautious ruler. He turned his head left and right.
"What say you, my advisors?" Balgruuf asked, seeking their counsel. "Do we allow a High Elf mage to buy land in the heart of Skyrim?"
Irileth stepped forward instantly, her crimson eyes narrowed with deep, paranoid suspicion.
"I strongly advise against it, my Jarl," Irileth stated, her voice sharp and uncompromising. "We are walking a highly dangerous political tightrope between the Empire and the Stormcloaks. Allowing a High Elf to purchase a permanent foothold in our territory could easily be interpreted by Ulfric as us harboring Thalmor sympathizers."
"Furthermore, while he have done good things for the hold, we have no absolute guarantee that he is not acting as an embedded spy for the Aldmeri Dominion, establishing a safe house right under our noses."
Proventus, eager to agree with the housecarl if it meant shutting the Elf down, chimed in. "Irileth is correct, Jarl Balgruuf. Beyond the massive political risks, there are infrastructural concerns. Where does he intend to buy? Within the city walls? We are already overcrowded with the refugees, and the local Nords will likely riot if a High Elf buys out one of the ancestral manors in the district!"
Aerion did not flinch. He let the advisors voice their deepest fears, waiting for the perfect moment to dismantle their arguments with surgical, devastating logic.
"Your concerns are perfectly valid, Irileth, and a testament to your unyielding dedication to the Jarl's security," Aerion countered, aiming his incredibly potent Persuasion directly at the Dark Elf first.
"However, like before, I assure you, I have no ties to the Thalmor. If I were a spy seeking to infiltrate this city, I would not be standing in the open throne room, loudly requesting to buy property in my own name. I would be operating through proxies in the shadows. I desire transparency, entirely because I have absolutely nothing to hide."
He then turned his golden eyes onto the Imperial Steward.
"And as for your infrastructural concerns, Proventus, you may put them entirely to rest," Aerion continued, his voice soothing and utterly reasonable. "I have no desire to purchase a building within the city walls, nor do I wish to displace any of the local Nordic families."
"I intend to purchase a property located entirely outside the city limits. An investment that will not only stay completely out of the political eye, but will actively generate significant, taxable revenue for the Jarl's coffers without requiring a single septim of infrastructure maintenance from your budget."
The sheer, overwhelming weight of his maximized charisma washed over the dais. The arguments he presented were flawless, economically sound, and entirely neutralized their political paranoia.
[Persuasion Leveled Up 8 Times! Current Level: 96]
Irileth's scowl softened significantly. The logic was sound. Spies didn't announce their real estate purchases to the reigning monarch.
Proventus's eyes literally lit up at the phrase "taxable revenue." The Steward physically relaxed, lowering his parchment. "Well... if the property is outside the city walls, and it generates independent revenue... that does significantly alter the calculation."
Balgruuf watched the masterful diplomatic dismantling of his advisors with a look of profound, genuine amusement. He let out a loud, booming laugh, slapping his knee.
"By Ysmir's beard, Aerion, you have a silver tongue that could talk a dragon out of its hoard!" Balgruuf chuckled, shaking his head. "You have thoroughly convinced my advisors, and you have convinced me. You have my permission to buy land in my hold. Tell me, which specific property do you have your eyes on?"
Aerion offered a deep, highly satisfied bow. The trap was set. Now, he simply needed to spring the lock.
"I wish to purchase the vacant plot of land located on the plains east of the city, known in the registry as the Tundra Homestead," Aerion stated clearly. "It has vast, open fields, sturdy construction, and is perfectly isolated from the main trade roads."
Proventus quickly unrolled his parchment, scanning the local real estate ledgers with his finger.
"Ah, yes. The Tundra Homestead," Proventus murmured, tapping the paper. "A beautiful piece of architecture. Fully furnished, excellent basement storage. However, because of the premium quality of the construction and the sheer acreage of the surrounding grazing fields, it is not cheap. The current asking price established by the hold is exactly twenty two thousand, five hundred septims."
It was an astronomical sum for a normal citizen. It was pocket change for Aerion. With over fifty two thousand septims currently sitting in his spatial void and more waiting in the mod chests, he could buy the Homestead twice over and still have enough gold to buy half of the Bannered Mare again.
But Aerion was a master of psychological manipulation. If a wandering High Elf simply casually dumped twenty two thousand septims onto the Jarl's floor in a single, massive lump sum, it would instantly reignite Irileth's paranoia.
They would immediately demand to know where he had acquired such mind boggling, kingly wealth so quickly. Even with his adventures, it's still weird since where he stored it.
He needed to play the role of a successful, but fundamentally mortal, entrepreneur.
Aerion let his face fall slightly, feigning a look of deep, calculating hesitation. He tapped his chin thoughtfully, acting as though the price tag was a significant, difficult hurdle.
"Twenty two thousand, five hundred," Aerion repeated slowly, injecting a perfect note of strained contemplation into his voice. "That is... a significantly steeper price than I had initially anticipated for an exterior property."
He looked back up at Balgruuf, his expression shifting into that of a respectful, highly driven businessman seeking a compromise.
"My Jarl, while I do possess small capital from my recent endeavors, dropping that entire sum at once would severely limit my ability to fund the actual economic development of the land," Aerion proposed smoothly. "Would it be at all possible for us to arrange a formalized loan structure? A payment plan? I could provide a massive, substantial down payment today, and pay the remainder in installments, with a generous interest rate paid directly to your treasury?"
Proventus's eyes went wide with sheer bureaucratic delight. An interest bearing loan to a reliable debtor was a gold mine for the hold's economy. Balgruuf stroked his beard, a wide, highly appreciative smile spreading across his face. He loved a good bargain, and he loved a man who understood how to play the game.
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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 96), 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