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(A/N: Don't forget to give those power stones to Skyrim everyone!)
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Aerion smoothed his dark robes, utterly pleased with the flawless execution of his tactical intervention. The stage was perfectly set. He had the physical evidence, he had the eyewitness testimony, and he was walking directly into the Jarl's court as a savior rather than a stranger. "Lead the way to Highmoon Hall, Gorm," Aerion replied smoothly, offering a polite incline of his head. "We are entirely at the Jarl's disposal."
Gorm tightened his grip on his heavy steel battleaxe, turning his massive shoulders to lead the group out of the ruined house and into the foggy streets of Morthal.
He glanced sideways at the towering High Elf walking smoothly beside him. The Housecarl's initial hostility had faded, replaced by a gruff, pragmatic appreciation for the mage's terrifying efficiency.
"I appreciate your understanding, Aerion," Gorm muttered, his voice a low rumble. "And your cooperation. Most high elves who wander into this swamp act as if the very mud beneath their boots is a personal insult. They are utterly insufferable to work with. It is a rare relief to meet one who doesn't demand we bow every time he speaks."
Aerion offered a smooth, highly charming smile, perfectly utilizing the moment to further distance himself from the toxic political reputation of his race.
"You have absolutely nothing to thank me for, Gorm," Aerion replied, his melodic voice completely devoid of arrogance. "I understand entirely how difficult my Altmer counterparts can be, especially now that the Thalmor Justiciars are acting as the primary ambassadors of our people. I must confess, I find their fanatical supremacy vastly more insufferable than you do. I assure you, I have no desire to play the arrogant lord. I am merely a scholar seeking peace."
Gorm let out a harsh, appreciative snort of laughter. "Glad to hear it. But a word of warning, scholar."
The Housecarl lowered his voice slightly, leaning closer to the High Elf so the rest of the group wouldn't hear.
"Jarl Idgrod is... a complicated woman," Gorm warned him quietly. "She possesses the sight. She sees things in the mists that the rest of us cannot. But she is also a Nord of the old blood, and her memories of the Great War run deep. She does not harbor any love for High Elves, and the Thalmor patrols pushing into her hold have only hardened her heart. Do not expect a warm welcome in Highmoon Hall, even if you did save a life tonight."
Aerion nodded gracefully, his golden eyes remaining perfectly calm.
"Your warning is deeply appreciated, Gorm. I shall tread lightly and speak only the truth," Aerion promised. He knew exactly how to handle hostile Jarls. Logic, evidence, and absolute, undeniable utility were the universal languages of power.
They marched swiftly through the dark, damp streets. The commotion of the guards and the presence of the chained, bleeding woman drew the immediate attention of the late night denizens of Morthal.
Townspeople cracked their wooden shutters open, peering through the fog. Murmurs of shock and fear rippled through the shadows as they saw the High Elf and the heavily armed strangers being escorted by the Housecarl.
They reached the elevated, sturdy wooden structure of Highmoon Hall. The guards stationed at the heavy oak doors, seeing Gorm leading the procession, immediately stepped aside, pushing the doors open without a single question.
The interior of Highmoon Hall was modest compared to Dragonsreach, but it was warm and well lit by a roaring central fire.
Sitting at a heavy wooden table near the hearth, pouring over a stack of municipal ledgers, was Aslfur. The Jarl's husband and Steward looked up, startled by the sudden influx of armed men and strangers so late in the evening.
Aslfur's eyes immediately locked onto the woman being dragged between the two guards.
"Gorm? What in the name of the Eight is the meaning of this?!" Aslfur demanded, pushing his chair back and standing up quickly. He recognized the woman instantly. "Is that... is that Laelette? By the Gods, man, what happened to her? Why is she covered in blood and burns? Why haven't you summoned the healers?!"
Then, Aslfur's gaze shifted to the towering High Elf and the Dark Elf standing calmly behind the Housecarl. His confusion deepened into profound alarm. "And who in Oblivion are these strangers?"
Gorm stepped forward, raising a massive, calloused hand to halt the Steward's frantic questioning.
"My apologies for the late intrusion, Aslfur," Gorm rumbled respectfully. "But we have a situation of the absolute highest emergency. I was heading to the Moorside Inn for a pint when Ingrid came sprinting out of the fog, covered in blood and carrying little Helgi."
Aslfur gasped, looking at the terrified mother and child huddled near the doorway.
"Ingrid told me someone had broken into Hroggar's house and was trying to slaughter them," Gorm continued, his voice grim. "I rallied the night watch and charged the house. But when I kicked the door down... I didn't find bandits. I found Aerion and his associates here, holding the attacker at sword point."
Gorm turned slightly, pointing a thick finger directly at the crippled, sobbing woman held securely by his guards.
"And the attacker was Laelette," Gorm stated flatly. "She didn't run off to join the Stormcloak rebellion, Aslfur. She stayed in the swamps. And she has been turned. She is a vampire."
Aslfur physically recoiled, staggering backward until his hips hit the heavy wooden table. The blood completely drained from his face.
He stared at the woman he had known for years. As Laelette thrashed against the iron bindings, the firelight caught her face perfectly. He saw the unnatural, deathly pallor of her skin, the feral, glowing crimson light in her eyes, and the unmistakable, razor sharp elongation of her fangs.
"By the Divines," Aslfur breathed, pure horror washing over his features. He looked around the room, realizing the catastrophic danger his town was in. "A vampire... operating right under our noses. Hold everyone exactly where they are. Do not let anyone leave this hall. I must wake the Jarl immediately."
Aslfur turned and practically sprinted up the wooden stairs toward the Jarl's private quarters.
Down in the main hall, Laelette's feral instincts flared. Realizing she was about to be presented to the ruling authority, pure panic set in. She began thrashing violently against the heavy iron shackles binding her wrists, shrieking and kicking wildly, desperately trying to break the grip of the two burly guards holding her arms.
"Hold her steady!" Gorm barked, stepping forward to assist.
But Laelette possessed the supernatural strength of the undead, and despite her severed tendons and the agonizing burns from the holy magic, she was dangerously close to ripping her arm free from the guard's grasp.
Aerion did not draw his sword. He simply raised his left hand, his golden eyes locking onto the frantic vampire.
He completely bypassed his Destruction and Restoration matrices, tapping directly into the absolute, dominating power of his newly acquired Illusion mastery.
He didn't cast a standard, low level pacification spell. He channeled a highly concentrated, massively overpowered Calm spell, infused with the sheer, crushing mental authority he now possessed.
The spell shouldn't have worked. Vampires were inherently immune to basic mind altering magic due to their undead nature.
But Aerion's magic was not bound by the standard rules of Skyrim. The sheer, overwhelming systemic power of his transmigrator engine forced the magic through the undead resistance.
A wave of pale, shimmering green light washed entirely over Laelette.
The effect was absolutely instantaneous. The thrashing stopped immediately. Laelette's feral shrieks died in her throat. The glowing crimson light in her eyes dimmed significantly, replaced by a glassy, completely docile stare. Her muscles went entirely slack, and she slumped heavily in the guards' arms, completely pacified.
Gorm looked at the suddenly limp vampire, and then up at the towering High Elf, profound gratitude mixing with a healthy dose of fear.
"Whatever magic you just used, Elf... you have my thanks," Gorm grunted, tightening the iron bindings securely around her wrists now that she wasn't fighting.
"It was merely a precaution to ensure order in the court," Aerion replied smoothly, lowering his hand.
A moment later, heavy, deliberate footsteps echoed from the top of the wooden stairs.
Jarl Idgrod Ravencrone descended into the Great Hall, accompanied closely by her pale, anxious husband. The Jarl of Morthal was an older woman, her gray hair pulled back, her face lined with the heavy burden of her mystic visions.
She wore a thick, fur lined cloak over her sleeping gown, and she did not look pleased to be awakened.
Idgrod marched directly to her carved wooden throne at the head of the hall and sat down heavily. Her sharp, piercing eyes immediately swept over the bizarre assembly in her court.
"What is this absolute madness in the middle of the night?" Idgrod demanded, her voice a sharp, commanding rasp that demanded instant obedience.
Her gaze locked onto the bloody, bound woman being held by her guards.
"Laelette?" Idgrod gasped, genuine shock breaking her stern facade. She leaned forward, squinting in the dim light. "By the Divines, look at her. Look at her eyes. It is true, then. The darkness in the swamp has claimed her."
Idgrod's gaze then snapped away from the vampire, landing squarely on the towering, immaculately dressed High Elf standing calmly in the center of the room. The Jarl's eyes narrowed into fierce, deeply suspicious slits.
"And you," Idgrod spat, her tone instantly hardening with decades of ingrained hostility toward his race. "Why is there a High Elf standing in my court in the dead of night? Who are you, Elf, and what business do you have bringing a vampire into my hall?"
Aerion did not flinch. He placed his right hand gracefully over his heart, offering a flawlessly executed, incredibly respectful bow of his head. He knew that the key to winning over a hostile, mystic Nord was absolute, calm honesty and undeniable utility.
"I offer you my deepest respect, Jarl Idgrod Ravencrone," Aerion spoke, his melodic voice ringing with absolute clarity and calm authority. "I am Aerion. An independent scholar and traveler. These are my associates, Jenassa and Aeloria. We are merely passing through your beautiful, albeit foggy, town, seeking rest at the Moorside Inn."
He straightened his posture, meeting the Jarl's piercing gaze without a trace of arrogance.
"As to how I became involved in this tragedy," Aerion continued smoothly, weaving his fabricated entrance perfectly into the truth of the combat. "I was attempting to navigate toward the lumber mill this evening, but the thick fog disoriented me. I approached the nearest home, which happened to belong to Madam Ingrid here, merely to knock on the door and ask for simple directions."
He paused, gesturing respectfully toward the traumatized mother and the Housecarl.
"But when the door opened, I was not greeted with directions. I was greeted with a mother screaming for her life, and the sound of shattering glass as that vampire broke into the home to murder her child," Aerion explained calmly. "I intervened immediately to secure their safety. As for the precise details of the battle and the creature's capture... I respectfully defer to Ingrid and your Housecarl, Gorm. I am well aware of the... difficult political climate regarding my race. I fear that if I recount the tale myself, my words may be misconstrued as self serving lies or elven exaggeration. I prefer the truth to come from the mouths of your own people."
Idgrod's eyes widened a fraction of an inch. She had fully expected the High Elf to launch into an arrogant, boastful monologue demanding gold and a title for his heroism. His absolute humility, and his sharp, pragmatic understanding of her own prejudices, completely disarmed her initial hostility.
"You are a remarkably astute man, Aerion," Idgrod noted, her tone softening significantly, though her eyes remained sharp. "Very well. I appreciate your deference."
Idgrod turned her full, commanding attention to the traumatized mother.
"Ingrid," Idgrod commanded gently but firmly. "Step forward. Tell me exactly what happened in your home."
Ingrid, still trembling violently and clutching Helgi to her side, stepped forward into the center of the hall. She took a deep, shuddering breath, recounting the absolute horror of the evening. She detailed how she had been preparing for bed when the window violently shattered. She described the terrifying, feral strength of the vampire, and how Laelette had lunged for the child.
And then, with tears streaming down her face, she pointed directly at Aerion.
"If the Elf hadn't kicked the door open when he did... we would be dead, my Jarl," Ingrid cried out, her voice echoing with absolute, undeniable truth. "He fought the monster off. He shielded us with his own body so we could run. He is a true hero."
Gorm immediately stepped forward, verifying the physical evidence of the scene.
"Her words are true, my Jarl," Gorm rumbled. "When I breached the house, the High Elf and his companions had already completely neutralized the vampire without taking a single scratch themselves. They incapacitated the creature and immediately surrendered their weapons to my authority when asked. They acted with perfect honor."
Idgrod sat back in her throne, processing the overwhelming, undeniable testimony. She looked at the towering High Elf, completely reevaluating her judgment of the man. He was not a Thalmor spy. He was a savior.
"I see," Idgrod murmured, rubbing her chin thoughtfully.
She then turned her gaze back to the crippled vampire slumping in the guards' arms. The Jarl's face hardened into a mask of absolute, unforgiving Nordic justice.
"Laelette," Idgrod condemned her, her voice echoing with profound disappointment and fierce anger. "You were a daughter of Morthal. When you were afflicted by this dark curse, you could have come to me. We could have sought the healers, or found a way to end your suffering with honor. But instead... you embraced the darkness. You hid in the swamps, and you returned in the dead of night to butcher a mother and an innocent child in their beds. You are no longer one of us. You are a monster."
Laelette, still heavily under the influence of Aerion's Calm spell, offered absolutely no defense. She simply stared blankly at the floorboards.
Before Idgrod could formally pronounce a sentence upon the vampire, the heavy wooden doors of Highmoon Hall violently burst open again.
Two Morthal guards marched into the hall, dragging two struggling, highly confused men between them.
The first man was Hroggar. The rugged lumberjack looked exhausted, his clothes covered in sawdust, his eyes still carrying that strange, glazed, sleepwalking quality.
The second man was Thonnir. Laelette's husband.
"We found Hroggar working late at the mill, my Jarl, just as you requested," the guard reported sharply. "And Thonnir was drinking at the Moorside Inn. We thought he needed to be present."
Ingrid immediately broke from the center of the room, sprinting desperately toward her husband. She threw her arms around Hroggar's thick neck, burying her face in his chest, sobbing violently.
"Hroggar! Oh, by the Divines, Hroggar!" Ingrid cried, clutching him tightly. "We were almost killed! A monster broke into the house! If it wasn't for the Elf, Helgi and I would be dead!"
Hroggar's reaction was terrifyingly, unnaturally subdued.
The burly lumberjack didn't wrap his arms tightly around his wife. He didn't check his daughter for injuries. He simply stood perfectly still, his face completely blank.
"Is that so?" Hroggar muttered, his voice flat, completely devoid of any genuine emotional concern or panic. "Well... as long as you're okay now. The guards said there was a accident. I need to get back to the mill to finish the quota."
Aerion's golden eyes narrowed sharply. The absolute, undeniable proof of Alva's deep, psychological vampiric thralling was on full display. The man's free will had been entirely overwritten, he didn't even care that his family had nearly been slaughtered.
While Hroggar remained emotionally dead, Thonnir's reaction was entirely different.
The grieving husband had immediately spotted the bloody, bound woman being held by the guards.
"Laelette?!" Thonnir gasped, his voice cracking with pure, profound shock
He rushed forward, falling to his knees before his captured wife. He reached out with trembling hands, desperate to touch her, but the guards quickly shoved him back.
"Laelette, my love, what... what has happened to you?" Thonnir sobbed, staring in absolute horror at her pale skin and glowing eyes. "We thought you ran off to join the rebellion! We thought you left us! Why... why do you look like this?"
Laelette, under the powerful influence of the Calm spell, did not snarl or attack him. She simply slowly turned her head, looking at her husband with blank, dead eyes, and completely ignored his desperate pleading.
The sheer, heartbreaking tragedy of the scene began to quickly devolve into chaotic, emotional shouting. Thonnir was weeping, begging for answers, while Ingrid continued to scream at Hroggar's unnerving apathy.
"Silence!"
Jarl Idgrod roared, slamming her fist down upon the armrest of her throne. The booming, absolute authority of the mystic Jarl instantly cut through the chaos, commanding absolute quiet in her court. "There will be order in my hall," Idgrod commanded, her eyes sweeping over the grieving families. "A tragedy has been averted tonight, but a deep darkness still festers in my town. We will unravel this mystery, and we will do it with clear minds."
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[Main Panel]
Name: Aerion
Race: High Elf (Altmer)
Health: 440/440 Stamina: 430/430 Magicka: 620/620
Level: 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 85/41/98), 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 60), 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, & Traveling Backpack (Supplies)
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: 75.32 KG / 515 KG
Septims: 77,128