If you want to read 20 Chapters ahead and more, be sure to check out my P-Tang12!!!
...
(A/N: Don't forget to give those power stones to Skyrim everyone!)
...
Aerion took one of the massive iron blades with his right hand. He didn't strain or adjust his grip. He held the fifty pound chunk of iron as casually as if it were a wooden walking stick, resting the flat of the heavy blade effortlessly against his shoulder. He turned back to Aeloria, who was watching him with wide, incredibly surprised eyes. "The proving ground is yours, Aeloria," Aerion announced, stepping back to give them space. "Jenassa. Test her steel."
"Of course, Patron," Jenassa replied, her gravelly voice dropping into a low, predatory purr. A genuine, thrilling smile touched her scarred, ash gray features. "With absolute pleasure."
She didn't hesitate. With a crisp, metallic schwing that echoed sharply in the cool evening air, Jenassa drew her Frost Steel Sword.
The enchanted blade immediately began to radiate a faint, freezing mist, chilling the air around her. She turned on her heel and strode confidently toward the wide, open expanse of packed dirt situated between the roaring campfire and the newly built barracks, silently signaling for Aeloria to follow.
Aeloria did not shrink back from the terrifying reputation of the Dark Elf. Her bright blue eyes danced with a fierce, highly competitive light. She drew the stolen Imperial Steel Sword from the leather scabbard at her hip, the blade catching the orange glow of the firelight.
As the two women stepped into the makeshift arena, the atmosphere in the compound instantly transformed.
The hardened men and women of Aerion's private mercenary company, who had been quietly eating their stew and discussing the apocalyptic rumors of the day, suddenly sprang to life. A sparring match was exactly the kind of brutal, high energy entertainment they craved after a week of grueling construction labor.
"Form a ring! Give them room!" Captain Sinmir bellowed, waving the men backward to create a wide, circular fighting perimeter.
A chorus of raucous cheers, sharp whistles, and hollering erupted from the mercenaries. Torsten Iron-Arm began slamming the pommel of his dagger rhythmically against a wooden table, while Uthgerd the Unbroken let out a booming laugh, shouting wagers across the yard to Titus Varr.
The sudden explosion of noise and drawn steel reached the heavy wooden doors of the western storehouse.
The doors creaked open. Froki Whetted-Blade hobbled out onto the porch, holding his young grandson tightly by the hand. When the old hunter's eyes fell upon the cheering crowd and the two armed women circling each other with naked steel, his heart practically stopped in his chest.
"By Kyne's breath, what is this madness?!" Froki gasped.
Assuming a lethal brawl had broken out, Froki immediately spun around, pushing the terrified Haming back inside the storehouse and clamping a hand over the boy's eyes. "Stay inside, lad! Do not look!"
Leaving the boy in the safety of the barracks, Froki hobbled frantically down the wooden steps, moving as fast as his aching joints would allow. He shoved his way past the cheering mercenaries, approaching Aerion, who was standing at the edge of the circle with a massive iron greatsword resting casually against his shoulder.
"Patron! What is happening here?!" Froki demanded, his voice thick with alarm. "Why are they drawing live steel against each other? Have they lost their minds?"
Aerion turned his golden eyes away from the combatants for a brief moment, offering the panicked old man a smooth, incredibly reassuring smile.
"Peace, Froki. Do not worry," Aerion replied calmly, his melodic voice easily cutting through the noise of the crowd. "This is not a blood feud. It is merely a formal sparring match. Aeloria has explicitly requested to accompany Jenassa and myself on a highly dangerous expedition into an ancient Nordic crypt in the future. I am simply testing her mettle to ensure she possesses the necessary skills to survive."
Froki let out a long, heavy sigh of profound relief, the tension draining from his frail shoulders. He leaned heavily on his walking stick, looking out at Aeloria with a mixture of pride and confusion.
"A test?" Froki muttered, shaking his head. "Patron, with all due respect, I watched that girl fight in the underground tunnels beneath Helgen. She moves like a sabre cat. She took down armed Stormcloak rebels and butchered giant venomous spiders without a second thought. I would say she is vastly more than adequate for a simple cave run."
Aerion nodded slowly, acknowledging the old man's logic.
"Against men, and against simple beasts, she is indeed formidable," Aerion agreed, his tone turning dark and highly educational. "But ancient Nordic crypts are a vastly different reality, Froki. Bandits are easy, they feel pain, they panic, and they bleed. The true danger of a barrow lies in the Draugr. They do not tire. They do not feel fear. They march forward with relentless, undead stamina, wielding weapons coated in ancient frost. If she panics in the dark, she will die. I must see how she adapts to a superior, relentless opponent."
Froki stared at the High Elf for a moment, the chilling reality of the crypts settling over him. He had heard the horrific tales of the restless dead. The old hunter gave a slow, solemn nod of understanding.
"Aye. You speak the truth, Patron," Froki murmured, stepping back to watch. "Better she learns her limits here in the dirt than down in the dark."
In the center of the ring, the sparring match officially began.
There was no formal countdown. Aeloria, driven by the fiery, unyielding spirit of a true Nord, took the absolute initiative.
She let out a sharp, fierce battle cry and charged forward, closing the distance in three rapid, explosive strides. She swung the Imperial steel sword in a devastating, high to low diagonal cleave, putting the entire weight of her shoulders behind the strike.
CLANG!
The sound of steel striking steel rang out sharply. Jenassa did not attempt to block the heavy blow directly, doing so against a physically stronger opponent was foolish.
With the terrifying, fluid agility of a Morag Tong assassin, Jenassa simply pivoted on her heel, allowing Aeloria's blade to slide harmlessly off the freezing flat of her Frost Steel Sword.
Before Aeloria could recover her momentum, Jenassa retaliated with a blindingly fast, horizontal slash aimed squarely at the Nord's ribs.
Aeloria barely managed to bring the guard of her sword down in time to parry the strike. The impact sent a jarring shockwave up her arm, forcing her to take a rapid step backward.
The contrast in their fighting styles was immediately, glaringly apparent. Aeloria fought like a raging bear, she was fierce, aggressive, and incredibly powerful, relying on heavy, crushing strikes and raw, instinctual reflexes.
Jenassa, conversely, fought like a lethal viper. She was perfectly balanced, terrifyingly fast, and operated with a cold, calculating efficiency that punished every single microscopic mistake her opponent made.
For the first minute of the spar, Aeloria was entirely on the defensive. She was rapidly losing ground. Every time she committed to a heavy strike, Jenassa effortlessly slipped inside her guard, delivering flat bladed strikes to Aeloria's forearms and thighs that would have been lethal cuts in a real duel.
"She's too slow," Uthgerd muttered from the sidelines, crossing her massive arms. "The Dark Elf is playing with her."
But Aerion, watching with his highly analytical Gamer mind, noticed the anomaly.
A normal fighter, facing a vastly superior, seasoned assassin, would have grown frustrated, panicked, and eventually collapsed under the relentless pressure.
But Aeloria wasn't normal. She was the Dragonborn.
Right before Aerion's eyes, the female Nord began to rapidly, impossibly adapt. She wasn't just swinging blindly anymore, she was actively downloading Jenassa's attack patterns into her muscle memory in real time.
When Jenassa attempted her signature, low spinning leg sweep for the third time, Aeloria didn't try to block it. She anticipated it perfectly.
Aeloria executed a flawless, backward leap, completely clearing the sweeping blade, and used her downward momentum to launch a blistering, thrusting counter attack directly at Jenassa's chest.
Jenassa's crimson eyes widened in genuine, profound shock. She barely managed to twist her torso out of the way, the tip of Aeloria's Imperial sword grazing the leather of her armor.
"By the ancestors," Jenassa hissed, a highly competitive thrill sparking in her chest.
The dynamic of the fight instantly shifted. Aeloria tightened her footwork, abandoned the wide, predictable cleaves, and began employing tight, rapid combinations. She matched Jenassa's speed, parrying the assassin's lightning fast strikes and immediately following up with heavy, punishing counter blows.
The two women were suddenly fighting on absolutely equal terms.
CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!
A flurry of sparks showered the packed dirt as their blades locked together in a violent clash of strength and leverage. They pushed against each other, gritting their teeth, their faces mere inches apart.
The mercenaries surrounding the ring fell completely silent, their mouths hanging open in pure astonishment.
"Shor's bones," Gwaering whispered to Sinmir, his eyes wide as he watched the Nord woman trade blows with the Patron's personal shadow. "Where did he find her? She was losing badly a minute ago, and now she's matching the assassin step for step. It's like watching another freak of nature. She's almost like the Boss."
Aerion heard the whispers, his golden eyes gleaming with satisfaction. The blood of the dragon is awakening within her, he noted internally. Her capacity for martial growth is entirely unbound by standard mortal limits.
The fierce exchange continued for another exhausting minute, turning the dirt of the arena into a heavily trampled mess.
In the end, it was pure, decades long combat experience that decided the victor. Aeloria, operating on sheer adrenaline, slightly overextended on a heavy downward slash.
Jenassa, recognizing the microscopic opening, stepped smoothly to the side, brought the pommel of her Frost Steel Sword up, and tapped it firmly but gently against the side of Aeloria's neck.
A lethal blow, had it been real.
Both women froze.
Aeloria lowered her Imperial sword, her chest heaving with deep, ragged gasps for air. Sweat plastered her brown hair to her forehead. Jenassa stepped back, lowering her freezing blade, panting heavily herself, a look of profound, undeniable respect shining in her crimson eyes.
The silence held for a fraction of a second before the entire mercenary company erupted into a deafening, thunderous roar of applause and hollering.
"Well fought!" Sinmir bellowed, clapping his massive hands together.
Aerion stepped forward, joining the applause with a slow, highly approving clap of his hands.
"An exceptional display of martial skill, Aeloria," Aerion praised, his melodic voice carrying over the cheers. "You possess a terrifying capacity for growth. Rest for a moment. Catch your breath. Then, we transition to the bow."
Aeloria flashed a brilliant, exhausted, highly jovial smile, entirely unbothered by her technical loss. She wiped the sweat from her eyes and nodded eagerly.
Immediately, Gwaering and Torsten jogged across the yard, retrieving three heavy, hay stuffed archery targets and dragging them to the far end of the open field. Gwaering trotted over to Aeloria, respectfully unstringing his own high quality wooden hunting bow and handing it to her, along with a heavy leather quiver filled with standard iron arrows.
After a brief, five minute respite to drink from a waterskin, the two women took their positions at the firing line, facing targets placed exactly forty paces away.
The archery contest was significantly less grueling, but it highlighted a vastly different skill set.
Aeloria stepped up to the line first. She drew the wooden bow with the smooth, practiced ease of a woman who had hunted to survive. She sighted down the shaft, took a steadying breath, and released.
Thwack. Thwack. Thwack.
Three arrows flew across the field in rapid succession. All three struck the target solidly, two in the outer red ring, and one squarely in the yellow center. It was a highly impressive display of practical, functional marksmanship. The mercenaries offered a polite, appreciative round of applause.
Then, Jenassa stepped up to the line.
The Dark Elf did not use a simple wooden hunting bow. She unslung her heavy Dwarven Bow, a terrifying weapon of pure geometric precision and immense draw weight.
Jenassa didn't even seem to aim. Her hands moved in an absolute, rhythmic blur of terrifying lethality.
THWIP THWACK! THWIP THWACK! THWIP THWACK!
The sheer speed of her draw was impossible to follow. The heavy steel arrows didn't just hit the target, they struck with such overwhelming kinetic force that the heavy hay target literally trembled.
The crowd gasped. Jenassa had fired all three arrows in half the time it took Aeloria, and the result was devastatingly flawless. All three steel shafts were buried so deeply into the exact, absolute dead center of the yellow bullseye that their fletchings were practically touching each other.
It wasn't a contest, it was a masterclass in lethal precision.
The mercenaries erupted into wild cheers, acknowledging the absolute superiority of the Dunmer assassin.
Aeloria lowered the borrowed wooden bow, staring at the perfectly clustered steel arrows in the distant target. Rather than looking defeated or sullen, a bright, booming laugh escaped her lips. The Dragonborn's unburdened, fiercely positive spirit was completely immune to petty jealousy.
"By the Eight!" Aeloria laughed jovially, shaking her head in pure amazement as she turned to Jenassa. "If I had possessed even a fraction of that speed and precision back in the Pale, I would have brought home twice as much game! You shoot like you were born with a bowstring in your hand, Jenassa."
Jenassa, entirely unaccustomed to such cheerful, genuine praise from an opponent she had just thoroughly bested, blinked in surprise. A small, respectful smile touched the assassin's lips. "You shoot well for a Nord, Aeloria. Your form is solid. The speed simply comes with decades of bloodshed."
Aerion, having thoroughly enjoyed the archery display, stepped out into the center of the dirt field.
The atmosphere instantly shifted. The casual, cheering nature of the crowd vanished, replaced by an intense, highly focused curiosity.
Aerion was still holding the two massive, dull edged iron training greatswords. He walked forward, extending his left hand to offer one of the heavy, fifty pound weapons to Aeloria.
Aeloria grasped the thick leather hilt with both hands, taking the full weight of the massive blade. She grunted slightly, immediately dropping into a wide, grounded, two handed stance to support the heavy iron.
Aerion did not drop into a two handed stance.
To the absolute, profound shock of every single hardened mercenary watching, the towering High Elf simply stood completely upright.
He held the massive, fifty pound iron greatsword loosely in his right hand, letting the tip of the heavy blade rest casually in the dirt by his boots. He didn't look like a man holding a massive, crushing weapon, he looked like an aristocrat holding a cane.
"Are you prepared for the final test, Aeloria?" Aerion asked, his golden eyes gleaming with pure, unadulterated confidence.
Aeloria looked at his casual, single handed grip on the massive weapon, a highly competitive grin spreading across her face.
"I am ready, Aerion," Aeloria declared loudly.
She didn't hesitate. Aeloria exploded off the line. She charged forward, utilizing the massive, heavy momentum of the iron greatsword to fuel a devastating, overhead, downward cleave designed to absolutely crush a blocking opponent into the dirt.
Captain Sinmir winced, fully expecting the delicate High Elf mage's wrists to violently snap under the sheer kinetic impact of the heavy iron.
But Aerion did not rely on his magic. He did not dodge.
In a fraction of a millisecond, Aerion tapped directly into the absolute, flawless, physical mastery he had absorbed from the Warrior Stone, completely synchronizing the grandmaster technique with his monstrous, 430 point Stamina pool.
He moved with blinding, impossible speed. He didn't raise his blade to block the strike directly. He simply flicked his wrist, bringing his greatsword up in a perfect, mathematically flawless diagonal parry.
CLANG!
The deafening sound of heavy iron colliding echoed like a thunderclap across the compound.
The result was completely, utterly physics defying to anyone watching.
Aeloria's massive, full body overhead cleave was instantly, effortlessly deflected. Aerion hadn't even yielded an inch of ground. The sheer, terrifying physical density and flawless technique of the High Elf caused Aeloria's blade to violently glance off his, sending a massive, jarring shockwave up her arms that nearly ripped the hilt from her grip.
Aeloria staggered wildly to the right, completely thrown off balance by the effortless parry.
"Shor's bones!" Torsten Iron-Arm gasped loudly, rubbing his eyes in pure disbelief. "Did... did he just parry a two handed overhead strike with one hand?!"
Jenassa, standing near the archery targets, went completely rigid. Her crimson eyes widened to the size of gold coins. She had seen Aerion fight before. She knew he was a terrifyingly powerful mage, and she knew he possessed bizarre, lethal proficiency with his mace and then swords.
But this... this was entirely different. This was not the raw, instinctual swinging of a powerful mage. This was the flawless, deeply ingrained, absolute physical mastery of a blademaster who had spent a century perfecting his footwork.
Aerion did not give Aeloria time to recover.
He closed the distance instantly, dropping his left hand onto the hilt of his greatsword to execute a true two handed assault.
The spar instantly devolved into a fierce, terrifyingly fast, heavy metal exchange.
Aeloria, driven by the awakening blood of the dragon, fought like a cornered beast. She swung the heavy iron blade with devastating power, executing sweeping horizontal arcs and brutal thrusts.
But against Aerion's new, integrated Warrior Stone mastery, it was entirely futile.
Aerion was a ghost of heavy steel. He parried her crushing strikes with effortless, microscopic wrist adjustments, completely neutralizing her power.
He stepped inside her guard with flawless footwork, delivering heavy, punishing counter strikes with the flat of his blade against her shoulder and ribs, forcing her continuously backward across the dirt.
Every single time he blocked, parried, or perfectly executed a counter-strike, his highly active Gamer mind registered the massive, rapid integration of the Warrior Stone's knowledge directly into his physical stats.
The golden text cascaded frantically in his peripheral vision.
[Two Handed Leveled Up 16 Times! Current Level: 81]
[LEVEL UP! You are now Level 109!]
[You have gained 1 Attribute Point! Current Unspent Points: 3]
Aerion mentally banked the new attribute point, absolutely reveling in the terrifying, flawless power rushing through his limbs. He wasn't just swinging a heavy sword, he understood the heavy sword. He felt the exact balance of the iron, the precise center of gravity, and the optimal angle for every single strike.
Aeloria let out a fierce, frustrated roar, putting everything she had into a massive, spinning backhand strike.
Aerion simply ducked smoothly beneath the whistling iron. As Aeloria's momentum carried her forward, Aerion brought the pommel of his heavy greatsword up, tapping her firmly on the center of her back.
Aeloria stumbled forward, dropping to one knee in the dirt, completely exhausted, her chest heaving violently.
She dropped the heavy iron greatsword, letting it clatter to the ground.
Aerion stood over her, his breathing perfectly even, not a single drop of sweat on his brow. He effortlessly lifted his fifty pound greatsword, resting it back upon his shoulder with one hand.
The compound was locked in absolute, profound, terrified silence.
The mercenaries weren't cheering. They were staring at their Patron with a mixture of pure awe and deep, existential fear. They had respected him because he paid well and possessed terrifying magic. But watching a High Elf mage absolutely dismantle a fierce Nordic warrior in pure, heavy, two handed physical combat completely shattered their understanding of reality.
"Well fought, Aeloria," Aerion praised smoothly, his melodic voice completely calm. He extended his free hand to help her up. "You have exceptional raw power, and a brilliant, terrifying instinct for combat. With proper training, you will be unstoppable."
Aeloria looked up at the offered hand, then up to his golden eyes. She was exhausted, battered, and thoroughly defeated.
But a massive, brilliant, completely genuine smile broke across the Dragonborn's dirt streaked face. She grabbed his hand tightly, pulling herself up from the dirt.
"I thought you were just a mage, Aerion," Aeloria laughed breathlessly, shaking her head in pure amazement. "By the Divines, you fight like a master! You are full of terrifying surprises."
"I merely dabble in the martial arts," Aerion lied smoothly, offering a charming, entirely modest smile that completely contradicted the brutal mastery he had just displayed. He turned his golden eyes toward the stunned mercenary company, his voice ringing with absolute, final authority. "The test is concluded," Aerion announced. He looked back at Aeloria. "You have proven your mettle, Aeloria Frostveil."
_____________________________
[Main Panel]
Name: Aerion
Race: High Elf (Altmer)
Health: 430/430 Stamina: 430/430 Magicka: 600/600
Level: 108 ➝ 109
Skills: Animal Affinity (MAX LEVEL), Fast Skill Levelling (MAX LEVEL), Fast Magic Mastery (MAX LEVEL), Instant Shout (MAX LEVEL), Destruction (Fire(+2)/Lightning(+1)/Frost) (Level 74/41/98), Restoration (Healing/Purify(+1)) (Level 91/56), Alteration (Level 35), Alteration (Level 20), Illusion (Level 42), Conjuration (Necromancy/Summoning(+1)) (Level 37/10), Persuasion(+1) (Level 53), Smithing (Level 22), Sneak (Level 48), One Handed (Level 93), Two Handed (Level 81), Lockpicking (Level 35), Archery (Level 72), Enchanting (Level 66), Light Armor (Level 53), Block (Level 70), & Pickpocket (Level 8)
Shouts: Fus (Force), Tiid (Time), Krii (Kill), Feim (Fade), & Su (Air)
[Inventory Panel]
1x Small Sack, Poacher's Axe, Mammoth Tusk, the Golden Claw, Calm Spellbook, Arvel's Journal, Inkwell & Quill, Thief Book, Scroll Of Summoning (Wolf), Scroll Of Healing, Weak Potion of Paralysis, Dragonstone, Golden Staff of Flames, Parchment Rolls Of Mammoths Farm And Loan, Ebony Claw, Orcish Dagger, Jagged Crown, The Mirror, Glass Sword, Ring of Pure Mixtures, Grand Soul Gem (Filled), Reanimate Corpse Tome, Staff of Lightning, Deed to Tundra Homestead, Garnet, Sapphire, Ruby, & Dawnbreaker
2x Potion Of Ultimate Magicka, Common Soul Gem (Empty), Black Soul Gem (Empty), & Elven Sword
3x Glowing Mushrooms, Potions of Minor Stamina, & Common Soul Gem (Filled)
4x Potions of Minor Magicka, Spider Eggs, & Lesser Soul Gem (Filled)
5x Lesser Soul Gem (Filled)
8x Iron Arrows, Ancient Nord Arrows, & Black Soul Gems (Filled)
9x Potions Of Minor Healing
Weight: 74.92 KG / 515 KG
Septims: 77,465