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(A/N: Don't forget to give those power stones to Skyrim everyone!)
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"Tell me," Aerion murmured softly, speaking directly to the beast. "Is the herd currently capable of producing milk? Or must we wait for the spring calving season to begin the harvesting process? My recipes for the golden cheese require a massive, steady supply."
Aerion stood perfectly still, his golden eyes locked onto the massive alpha bull. The beast's rhythmic, low frequency grunts and the slow, deliberate swaying of its trunk translated seamlessly into his consciousness, the Animal Affinity matrix decoding the primal concepts into clear, highly lucrative intelligence.
'The females do not carry calves at this time,' the alpha communicated, the concept accompanied by a mental image of the empty tundra. 'But the milk flows regardless. The cycle is active. You may harvest the white water, master. It is plentiful. We know you seek to curdle it into the yellow stuffs, as the tall big mans do.'
Aerion's perfectly composed, aristocratic facade broke. A massive, brilliant, utterly genuine smile split across his face.
This was the absolute best case scenario. He didn't have to wait for a grueling, multi year gestation period. The female mammoths were actively producing milk right now. The foundation of his monopoly was instantly accessible.
"I thank you, great one. That is profoundly excellent news," Aerion replied verbally, his melodic voice practically vibrating with mercantile excitement.
But before he concluded the interaction, his analytical Gamer mind identified one final, absolutely critical missing variable in his production chain.
"Before I leave you to your rest," Aerion continued smoothly, stepping slightly closer to the alpha. "I must ask one more question. I require the exact methodology. Do you, or any of the herd, know precisely how the tall big mans process the milk? Have you witnessed them creating the yellow stuffs?"
The alpha bull fell silent. The massive beast swayed its head slowly, contemplating the question.
'I have not seen the process closely, master.' The giants keep the cauldrons near their fires, away from the grazing paths, the alpha finally responded. 'But I will ask the herd.'
The alpha bull turned its massive, domed head toward the rest of the herd. It let out a series of highly complex, incredibly low pitched rumbles.
The four female mammoths, and the other alpha male mammoth that had lost in dominance after the friendly duel to decide the true alpha, stopped chewing their hay. They gathered closely around the alpha, a profound, primal conversation occurring entirely beneath the threshold of human hearing.
Aerion waited patiently, his hands clasped behind his back, feeling a surreal thrill at watching a herd of prehistoric behemoths hold a committee meeting regarding dairy production.
After a few moments, the consultation concluded. The alpha bull turned back to Aerion, letting out a short, confirming trumpet.
'One of the females remembers, master. She watched the tall ones work for many seasons before during the stay on our previous location.'
From the back of the group, a massive, older female mammoth stepped forward. Her ivory tusks were heavily scarred, and her thick fur was slightly graying near her flanks. She lowered her head respectfully toward Aerion and began to communicate directly.
The mental download was raw, conceptual, and highly detailed.
She projected vivid, sensory memories directly into Aerion's mind. He saw the giants collecting the thick, rich milk into massive, hollowed out stone bowls.
He felt the specific, ambient temperature required for the initial resting phase. He saw the giants crushing highly specific, acidic tundra berries and a certain type of bitter mountain root, mixing the pulp into the milk to act as a natural rennet.
He watched them slowly, methodically heat the mixture near the edges of their roaring bonfires, not boiling it, but keeping it perfectly warm until the massive, heavy curds separated from the whey.
Finally, he saw the giants wrapping the curds in thick, clean mammoth hide, pressing them under heavy, flat stones for weeks to drain the moisture and age the cheese into its pungent, legendary final form.
Aerion stood perfectly still, his eyes closed, his transmigrator mind rapidly absorbing, organizing, and permanently storing the exact, step by step recipe for authentic, giant crafted Mammoth Cheese.
It was a recipe written not in ink, but in the primal memory of the beast itself.
He opened his golden eyes, offering the older female a deep, profoundly respectful bow of his head.
"You have given me a gift of immeasurable value," Aerion stated smoothly. "I thank you."
He turned away from the herd, his mind already racing with the logistics of sourcing the required tundra berries and commissioning massive stone bowls from the Whiterun masons.
He walked back toward the small, human sized wooden door built into the giant wooden gate.
Aeloria was still standing pressed against the heavy timber, her blue eyes wide and completely bewildered. She had watched the entire interaction in absolute, silent shock.
She had seen the High Elf stand completely unprotected before a herd of walking mountains, and instead of being trampled into paste, the beasts had gathered around him, swaying and grunting as if they were old friends holding a conversation at the tavern.
As Aerion latched the heavy iron bolt behind him, securing the door, Aeloria finally found her voice.
"Aerion," Aeloria breathed, shaking her head in profound disbelief. "How... how in the name of the Eight is that possible? You weren't just standing near them. You were communicating with them. They were actually answering you in their own ways. I have seen Wood Elves calm an angry bear before, but that... that was an actual conversation."
Aerion offered a smooth, highly charming smile, perfectly spinning the narrative.
"It is a highly specialized, deeply esoteric school of magic that I have personally developed over many years of solitary research," Aerion lied flawlessly, attributing his Animal Affinity system skill to his own genius. "It allows me to temporarily bypass the language barrier and communicate directly with the primal consciousness of the beasts. They understand my intent, and I understand their needs."
He tapped the side of his head. "However, it is not mind control, Aeloria. I still had to do the incredibly hard, dangerous work of convincing the alpha bull to trust me before the magic could properly take root. Mutual respect is required."
Aeloria's jaw dropped slightly. The sheer, terrifying magnitude of the High Elf's magical competence was staggering.
"By the Gods," Aeloria muttered, looking from Aerion to the tiny cinnamon fox trotting faithfully at his heels. "So that explains Lupin. He's not just a pet. You established a magical bond with him as well."
"Indeed," Aerion nodded gracefully. "He is my familiar. And a highly competent early warning system. Come, let us return to the house. It has been a brutally long day."
They walked away from the massive palisades, crossing the dusty, open yard of the compound toward the main estate house.
Waiting patiently on the front porch of the Tundra Homestead was Jenassa. The Dark Elf assassin was holding two large, steaming wooden bowls of the mercenaries' venison stew. Lupin immediately sprinted up the wooden steps, sitting expectantly by her boots.
Aerion pulled the heavy iron key from his robes, unlocking the sturdy oak door and pushing it open.
Aeloria stepped into the main living area, her eyes sweeping over the warm, inviting interior. The central fire pit was crackling merrily, casting a cozy orange glow over the plush fur rugs, the sturdy wooden dining table, and the heavily stocked bookshelves lining the walls. The air smelled of lavender and roasting meat.
"This is incredible," Aeloria said softly, a genuine smile touching her lips as she took in the warmth of the home. "It is a magnificent estate, Aerion. It is vastly superior to the place I called home back in the north. Though, I suppose a small, drafty hunter's hut with a leaky thatch roof can hardly be compared to this."
"You flatter me, Aeloria. But a home is defined by the security it provides, not merely the architecture," Aerion replied smoothly, gesturing toward the heavy wooden dining table. "Please, sit down and rest. You have endured a horrific trauma today."
He walked over to a large woven basket resting on the kitchen counter, selecting two crisp, bright red apples. He placed one beside her steaming bowl of stew.
"Eat the apple after the stew," Aerion instructed warmly. "The crisp acidity will cut the heaviness of the fat and help settle your stomach."
Aeloria offered a grateful nod and eagerly dug into the hearty meal. The venison was perfectly tender, and the thick, savory broth instantly began to chase the lingering chill of the mountain air from her bones.
Aerion sat down across from her, taking a slower, more refined spoonful of his own stew.
Jenassa remained standing near the door, keeping a watchful eye on the perimeter through the window.
"Patron," Jenassa reported, her gravelly voice low. "I ensured Froki and Haming were settled in the storehouse. They have acquainted themselves with Captain Sinmir and the rest of the company. The mercenaries have cleared a quiet corner for them near the secondary hearth. They are making themselves as comfortable as possible given the rustic conditions."
"Excellent work, Jenassa. You have my thanks," Aerion nodded, highly pleased that his newly acquired logistical staff were integrating seamlessly with his private army.
They ate in comfortable silence for a few minutes, the crackling of the fire providing a soothing backdrop.
But Aeloria's mind was not resting.
The Dragonborn's inherent, restless drive for action was already beginning to assert itself. She finished the last spoonful of her stew, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, and looked squarely at the High Elf.
"Aerion," Aeloria began, her tone shifting from grateful guest to focused adventurer. "Regarding the Court Wizard's request... when exactly are we departing for Bleak Falls Barrow? Are we riding out tomorrow morning to retrieve this stone tablet? I want to help."
Aerion paused, his spoon hovering over his bowl. He slowly lowered it, fixing her with a highly critical, analyzing stare.
He knew exactly why she wanted to go.
It was the absolute, undeniable pull of her cosmic destiny dragging her toward the first word of power and the Dragonstone.
"Why do you ask, Aeloria?" Aerion countered smoothly, his melodic voice completely devoid of judgment, but heavy with caution. "Bleak Falls Barrow is not a simple cave. It is an ancient, heavily trapped Nordic ruin, historically infested with lethal bandits and far worse things that lurk in the deep dark. It is an incredibly dangerous environment that requires meticulous preparation and hardened combat experience."
He leaned forward slightly, resting his arms on the table.
"I watched you fight in the tunnels beneath Helgen," Aerion acknowledged with a respectful nod. "You possess incredible survival instincts, and your reflexes with that stolen Imperial sword are remarkably sharp. But defending yourself in a desperate, chaotic brawl is vastly different from methodically delving into a lethal, pitch black crypt. Frankly, Aeloria... I do not believe you are adequately prepared to face the specific, supernatural dangers that reside within that barrow."
Aeloria stopped chewing the bite of apple in her mouth. She swallowed hard, her eyes darkening slightly.
The inherent, fiery pride of a Nord warrior instantly flared.
BANG.
Aeloria slammed her hand down onto the heavy wooden table, the sudden noise making Lupin jump from his spot near the fire. She didn't yell, but her voice was tight with intense, unadulterated confidence.
"My skills are vastly more than just 'sharp reflexes,' Aerion," Aeloria stated firmly, leaning aggressively across the table to meet his gaze. "My mother and father did not raise a helpless maiden. They began training me the moment I was strong enough to lift a wooden practice sword. I have been rigorously drilled in single handed combat, heavy two handed weaponry, and the bow. I can track a snow bear through a blizzard and put an arrow through its eye at fifty paces."
She crossed her arms over her Imperial cuirass, her chin raised defiantly.
"It is true that I have never officially delved into an ancient Nordic crypt before," Aeloria conceded, "but I am absolutely confident in my physical capabilities. I can face whatever dangers lurk in the dark. I am not a liability."
Aerion sat back in his chair, observing her closely.
His transmigrator mind found her reaction incredibly fascinating. The sheer, overwhelming positivity, the unyielding confidence, and the fierce, jovial spirit she radiated were entirely unique.
Every other Nord he had encountered in Skyrim, from the bitter Stormcloaks to the exhausted Imperials, was deeply cynical, weighed down by the harshness of the civil war and the freezing climate.
But Aeloria was a blazing beacon of absolute, unburdened main character energy.
'Perhaps it is simply the nature of the Dragonborn soul,' Aerion theorized coldly. 'Or perhaps it relates to her mysterious origins. The lore never explicitly confirmed the parentage of the Last Dragonborn. They simply manifest when the world requires saving. Could her 'parents' have been avatars of the Divines themselves? It would explain the terrifying, innate lethality I witnessed in the keep.'
Aerion allowed a slow, highly amused smirk to touch the corner of his lips.
"Is that so?" Aerion challenged smoothly, his tone laced with aristocratic skepticism. "You claim mastery over the blade, the greatsword, and the bow. A bold assertion for a hunter from the Pale. Very well, Aeloria. I am a man of logic. Words are cheap, steel is undeniable."
He stood up from the table, gesturing toward the door.
"If you truly believe you are ready to delve into a crypt beside us, then you will demonstrate your proficiency to Jenassa and myself," Aerion commanded. "We shall hold a formal sparring session right now. If you prove your competence, you may accompany us to the Barrow."
Aeloria instantly stood up, her blue eyes flashing with eager, highly competitive fire. She didn't hesitate for a fraction of a second.
"I accept your challenge," Aeloria grinned, her hand dropping to the hilt of her sword. "What are the parameters? Who am I fighting?"
"You will face Jenassa first," Aerion dictated, walking toward the door. "You will demonstrate your proficiency in single handed combat and archery against her. She is a master of both."
He turned the heavy iron handle, pushing the door open to the cool evening air.
"And for the final test," Aerion continued, his golden eyes locking onto hers with a look of pure, terrifying confidence. "You will demonstrate your heavy two handed combat proficiency against me."
Aeloria paused halfway to the door. She looked the towering High Elf up and down. She noted his immaculate, dark aristocratic robes, his slender, elegant build, and the lack of heavy armor.
"Against you?" Aeloria asked, her brow furrowing in genuine, polite confusion. "Aerion, I do not mean to sound disrespectful or look down upon your capabilities... but you are an Altmer mage. Your mastery over destructive fire and healing light is staggering. But High Elves are not exactly historically renowned for their raw physical strength or their prowess with heavy, two handed greatswords."
Aerion let out a rich, melodic chuckle that echoed across the porch. It was the laugh of a man who held a massive, devastating secret.
He didn't bother trying to explain that he had recently absorbed the absolute, flawless, physical mastery of a Warrior Grandmaster directly into his nervous system, or that he possessed a staggering 430 points of raw Stamina, granting him the physical density and kinetic output of a rampaging frost troll.
"Let us simply see what happens upon the field, Aeloria," Aerion replied smoothly, a wicked gleam in his eye. "Do not worry about my fragile elven bones."
They stepped off the porch, walking across the darkening yard toward the massive campfire blazing near the storehouses.
The entire mercenary company was gathered around the fire, finishing their evening meal and swapping stories. Captain Sinmir was laughing loudly at a joke Torsten had just told.
"Captain Sinmir," Aerion called out, instantly silencing the group.
Sinmir stood up quickly, saluting. "Boss. Do you need something?"
"I require the immediate use of two heavy iron Greatswords from your training armory," Aerion commanded.
The entire mercenary company fell completely silent. They stared at the towering, robe wearing High Elf mage in profound, unadulterated shock.
"Uh... right away, Boss," Sinmir stammered, recovering his wits.
He jogged over to the nearby weapon racks, pulling two massive, dull edged iron training greatswords from the hooks. The weapons were incredibly heavy, designed specifically for building muscle endurance in the heavy two handed trainings. He hauled them back to the fire, handing them over.
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."
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[Main Panel]
Name: Aerion
Race: High Elf (Altmer)
Health: 430/430 Stamina: 430/430 Magicka: 600/600
Level: 108
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 65), 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