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(A/N: Don't forget to give those power stones to Skyrim everyone!)
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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."
The chaotic, emotional shouting instantly died. Thonnir, who had been weeping over his captured, crippled wife, clamped his jaw shut, his shoulders shaking with suppressed sobs. Ingrid, her face flushed with fury and terror, pulled little Helgi closer to her side and respectfully lowered her gaze. They were citizens of Morthal, they knew better than to openly defy the mystic Jarl in her own court.
Idgrod's sharp, piercing eyes swept over the grieving families, her expression softening marginally.
"I understand the profound agony you are all enduring this night," Idgrod spoke, her voice losing its harsh edge, replaced by a weary, heavy sympathy. "A wife lost to darkness. A child nearly murdered in her bed. I care deeply for the suffering of my people. But as I just commanded, we must handle this tragedy with absolute clarity and a clear mind. Hysterics will not root out the evil that has infiltrated our swamps."
The Jarl turned her piercing gaze directly onto the rugged lumberjack standing rigidly between the guards.
"Hroggar," Idgrod demanded, her tone sharpening into an interrogation. "Your wife and child were nearly slaughtered in your own home. Yet, my guards found you casually cutting timber at the mill in the dead of night. Why were you working at such an ungodly hour? Even if the lumber quota hasn't been met for the week, the wood is not going to rot before sunrise. There is always tomorrow."
Every eye in the Great Hall turned to the burly Nord, waiting for the frantic, guilt ridden explanation of a father who had almost lost everything.
Hroggar blinked slowly. His eyes possessed a terrifying, glazed, utterly vacant quality, completely devoid of the horror the situation demanded.
"I was working because I had the time, my Jarl," Hroggar answered. His voice was flat, monotone, and chillingly apathetic. "Ingrid and the girl would understand. A man must work. I certainly didn't expect for such thing to happen while I was out, but... well, they are safe now. So, no real harm done. If there is nothing else, I would like to return to the mill. The saw needs sharpening."
A profound, sickening silence descended upon Highmoon Hall.
The sheer, unnatural coldness of his response was completely incomprehensible. It wasn't the shock of a traumatized man, it was the absolute, hollow apathy of a stranger.
Jenassa, standing near the shadows of the entrance, simply crossed her arms, her crimson eyes entirely indifferent to the domestic melodrama.
But Aeloria, who possessed a fiercely jovial, deeply emotional, and passionately protective Nord heart, looked absolutely disgusted.
Her knuckles turned white as her hands clenched into tight fists at her sides, struggling to comprehend how a father could speak of his child's near death with the same emotion one might use to discuss the weather.
Ingrid stared at her husband, her eyes wide with a mixture of disbelief and absolute, unadulterated fury.
SMACK!
The sound of flesh striking flesh echoed sharply across the room.
Ingrid had marched across the floorboards and slapped Hroggar across the face with every ounce of strength she possessed. The blow was hard enough to snap the burly lumberjack's head to the side, leaving a bright red handprint stark against his pale cheek.
"How dare you?!" Ingrid screamed, tears of absolute rage streaming down her face. "How dare you speak of us that way! I know we have been estranged lately! I know you have grown suddenly, terribly cold to me over these past few weeks, and I never understood why! But this... this is our daughter, Hroggar! She was almost killed! And you stand there and say 'no harm done' as if she were a piece of misplaced firewood?!"
Behind her mother's skirts, little Helgi, who was old enough to understand the terrifying indifference in her father's voice, began to whimper loudly, her small hands clutching the fabric as she let out broken, quiet sobs.
Hroggar slowly turned his head back. He rubbed his stinging cheek, but his eyes remained completely, horrifyingly blank. He didn't apologize. He didn't reach out to comfort his weeping child. He just stood there, waiting for permission to leave.
"Ingrid, hold your hand!" Idgrod commanded sharply, standing up from her throne.
The Jarl descended the first two wooden steps of the dais, her brow furrowed in deep, mystical concentration as she stared at the lumberjack.
"Hroggar, look at me," Idgrod demanded. "Why are you acting this way? This is not the man I have known for years. You have always been a fiercely devoted father and husband. What has clouded your mind?"
Aerion, observing the entire scene with his calculating transmigrator mind, recognized the absolute, perfect moment to insert himself into the narrative. He needed to firmly establish his expertise and guide the Jarl toward his primary target.
Aerion took a smooth, deliberate step forward, gracefully entering the center of the court.
"If I may, Jarl Idgrod," Aerion spoke, his melodic voice ringing with calm, scholarly authority. "I believe I can provide the answers you seek regarding his deeply unnatural behavior."
Idgrod's head snapped toward the High Elf. A flash of sharp, genuine irritation crossed her lined face. She was a traditional Nord ruler, she did not appreciate outlanders, especially Altmer, interrupting her interrogations uninvited.
She forced the irritation down, her pragmatic desire for answers overriding her prejudice.
"What do you mean by that, Elf?" Idgrod asked, her tone heavily skeptical but willing to listen. "You claim to know why a man would act so callously toward his own blood?"
"I do, my Jarl," Aerion nodded respectfully, slipping flawlessly into the persona of a master arcane academic. "What you are witnessing is not natural apathy, nor is it marital estrangement. It is a highly specific, extremely potent form of magical subjugation. It is highly probable that Hroggar is currently operating under the direct, mind altering seduction magic of a vampire."
"Impossible!"
The frantic shout came from Thonnir. The grieving husband surged forward, straining against the guards holding him back, his face twisted in desperate denial.
"My Laelette would never do such a thing!" Thonnir wept, gesturing toward his bound, crippled wife. "She loved Hroggar and Ingrid! She wouldn't mind control him! She wouldn't!"
Aerion turned his golden eyes slowly toward the weeping man. His expression was completely devoid of mockery, radiating only cold, clinical logic.
"I did not say your wife was the one who cast the spell, Thonnir," Aerion corrected him smoothly. "In fact, even if she possessed the intent, the time completely exonerates her of the thralling."
Aerion turned back to the Jarl, delivering a masterclass in fabricated, yet perfectly accurate, vampiric lore.
"The mechanics of the Sanguinare Vampiris curse are highly rigid, my Jarl," Aerion lectured, his voice echoing in the silent hall. "According to the testimony provided, Laelette only disappeared into the swamps very recently. She is a fledgling. A newly turned vampire possesses raw physical strength and base bloodlust, but they entirely lack the deep, arcane sophistication required to permanently rewrite a mortal's free will."
He gestured elegantly toward Hroggar's blank face.
"To establish a mental thrall this deep, to entirely erase a man's love for his child and replace it with absolute apathy, requires an older, vastly more powerful vampire," Aerion explained. "A predator who has fed extensively and mastered the arts of illusion and seduction for quite some time. Laelette is merely a pawn. She was ordered to burn the house to eliminate the family, thus removing the last lingering tethers of Hroggar's old life."
Idgrod Ravencrone frowned deeply, her mystic mind weighing the logic of the High Elf's words against her inherent distrust of his kind. She was caught precisely between belief and skepticism.
Before the Jarl could dismiss the theory, her husband stepped forward.
Aslfur, the Steward of Morthal, adjusted his tunic nervously, his eyes wide with terrible realization.
"My Jarl... I believe the High Elf speaks the truth," Aslfur interjected, his voice trembling slightly. "When I was studying in Solitude, I read a highly restricted tome regarding the creatures of the night. Immortal Blood, I believe it was called. I cannot recall every detail, but the descriptions of vampiric thralling align perfectly with what the scholar has just described. An older vampire can indeed enslave a mortal mind completely through seduction, turning them into a willing daytime protector."
Idgrod looked at her husband, trusting his academic memory implicitly. She slowly nodded her head, her gaze returning to Aerion.
"If Aslfur corroborates your lore, then I will trust it," Idgrod stated, her voice heavy with dark confirmation. "Furthermore... your words align with the mists. I have been suffering from dark visions for weeks. I saw a shadow creeping over Morthal, a rot spreading from house to house, turning neighbor against neighbor. I could not see the face of the shadow... but if a master vampire is nesting in my hold and turning my people into thralls, the vision is fulfilled."
Idgrod took a step closer to Aerion, her piercing eyes locking onto his.
"You speak with the confidence of a mer who already holds the answers, Aerion," Idgrod challenged softly. "You deduced the thralling instantly. Do you already possess a suspicion of who in my town wields this dark power? Do you know who turned Laelette?"
Aerion did not hesitate. He delivered the killing blow to the vampire's plot.
"I do, Jarl Idgrod," Aerion confirmed, his voice ringing with absolute certainty. "It is a local woman. Her name is Alva."
The entire court gasped collectively.
Alva was a well known figure in Morthal. She was beautiful, reclusive, and a frequent patron of the Moorside Inn. To accuse a recognized citizen of being a master vampire was a massive, scandalous leap.
But the most damning reaction came from the thrall himself.
The moment Alva's name was spoken, the complete, hollow apathy in Hroggar's eyes vanished, violently replaced by a sudden, intense, robotic devotion.
"No! That is a lie!" Hroggar shouted, his voice completely devoid of the passionate anger a normal man would feel, yet entirely fixated on defending the woman. "Alva is not a vampire! She is a good woman! She would never hurt anyone! I know her! I know her very well! She is innocent!"
It was a terrifying, unnatural defense. He hadn't raised his voice when his wife slapped him. He hadn't shed a tear for his crying daughter. But the moment his master was threatened, his mind violently compelled him to protect her.
Aerion extended a hand toward the lumberjack, looking directly at the Jarl.
"Behold the evidence of my claim," Aerion stated coldly. "He feels nothing for his family that almost got killed, yet he violently defends the honor of a woman he is supposedly only 'acquainted' with. The thrall is absolute."
Aerion stepped closer to the throne, lowering his voice slightly to convey serious, firsthand intelligence.
"Furthermore, my suspicion is not merely theoretical," Aerion revealed. "When my associates and I first arrived in Morthal this evening, we encountered Alva and Hroggar standing on the porch of the Moorside Inn. We overheard a highly suspicious conversation. She was actively assuring him that his wife would soon be 'dealt with' so they could be together."
A collective shudder of horror rippled through the guards in the hall.
"When I requested they clear the doorway," Aerion continued smoothly, weaving the truth into his narrative, "Alva recognized that I was an outlander. Fearing I would interfere, she actively attempted to cast a highly potent vampiric seduction spell upon my mind to pacify me."
Idgrod's eyes widened. "She used magic against you? In the open?"
Aerion nodded gracefully. "She did. However, as an Altmer traversing the highly volatile landscape of Tamriel, I maintain permanent, deeply ingrained illusion wards upon my consciousness. The seduction magic, which is fundamentally a branch of the Illusion school, shattered harmlessly against my mental protections. When her spell failed, she panicked and fled aside. I did not realize she was a vampire until we encountered her fledgling trying to kille Hroggar's family."
The sheer, terrifying weight of the evidence was undeniable. The lore, the visions, the unnatural behavior of the husband, and the direct magical assault on a witness all pointed to one horrific conclusion.
Jarl Idgrod Ravencrone did not hesitate. She was a ruler who acted decisively to protect her hold.
Idgrod violently surged to her feet, her presence dominating the Great Hall.
"Are you absolutely certain of this, Aerion?" Idgrod demanded, her voice thundering with the wrath of a Nordic queen. "To accuse a citizen of vampirism is a sentence of death. You swear upon your honor that Alva is the master?"
"I am absolutely certain, my Jarl," Aerion nodded firmly, his golden eyes unwavering. "She is the rot in your swamps."
"Then the rot shall be burned out tonight!" Idgrod roared.
She turned to her Housecarl, pointing a commanding finger. "Gorm! Rally your best men! You are to march on Alva's house immediately! Aerion, Jenassa, Aeloria, you have proven your immense capability in battle against the undead tonight. I officially deputize you in this hunt. You will assist my Housecarl in capturing this monster and bringing her before my throne to face justice!"
"We accept the duty, my Jarl," Aerion bowed.
Idgrod then turned her furious gaze upon the thrall and the fledgling.
"Guards!" Idgrod commanded. "Throw Hroggar into the deepest cell in the dungeon! Keep him heavily chained until the master is dealt with, we will see if the thrall breaks when she dies. As for Laelette, throw her in the cell adjacent. Keep her bound in iron and silver!"
The moment the order was given, the vampiric compulsion in Hroggar's mind flared violently.
"No! I have to protect her! I have to warn Alva!" Hroggar screamed, his voice finally breaking into manic desperation.
The burly lumberjack violently shoved his wife aside and lunged toward the heavy oak doors of the hall, attempting to break for the streets.
But the Morthal guards were ready. Three heavily armored men tackled Hroggar to the floorboards, wrestling him into heavy iron manacles. Despite his thrall induced frenzy, he was just a mortal lumberjack, and he was quickly subdued and dragged kicking and screaming down into the subterranean dungeons beneath Highmoon Hall.
Laelette, still blanketed completely by the overwhelming power of Aerion's Calm spell, offered absolutely zero resistance. The crippled vampire simply stared blankly at the ceiling as the guards hoisted her up by the armpits and dragged her away into the dark.
With the immediate threats contained, Aerion turned his attention back to the Jarl, a look of cold, tactical pragmatism settling over his features.
"Jarl Idgrod, a point of tactical clarification," Aerion requested smoothly. "You ordered us to capture Alva and bring her before your throne. However, a master vampire cornered in her own lair is incredibly lethal. If she refuses to surrender peacefully and actively attempts to slaughter your guards... what are our parameters of engagement?"
Idgrod's eyes darkened into chips of frozen flint. She possessed absolutely no mercy for monsters.
"If she resists, she has signed her own execution warrant," Idgrod stated coldly. "Do not risk the lives of my men or yourselves to take her alive. If she bares her fangs, eliminate her. Turn her to ash. She is a profound danger to every soul in Morthal."
"Understood perfectly," Aerion nodded, highly pleased with the lethal authorization.
"Move out!" Gorm barked, hefting his massive steel battleaxe.
Four heavily armored Morthal guards fell in line behind the Housecarl. Aerion, Jenassa, and Aeloria drew their weapons, their faces set in grim determination. They marched swiftly out of Highmoon Hall, plunging back into the freezing, fog choked streets of the swamp town.
The hunt for the master had begun.
Gorm took the lead, navigating the wooden boardwalks with the practiced ease of a man who had walked them for decades.
He led the heavily armed squad away from the central inn, heading toward a large, sturdy wooden house situated near the northern edge of the town perimeter, isolated from the neighbors by a patch of murky bog.
As they approached the dark, silent house, Aerion raised his hand, signaling the Housecarl to halt.
"Gorm, a moment," Aerion whispered, his tactical transmigrator mind taking complete control of the operation. He had zero intention of letting Alva escape into the swamps to warn Movarth.
"What is it, Elf?" Gorm whispered back, gripping his axe tightly.
"A master vampire possesses supernatural speed and the ability to seamlessly melt into the fog," Aerion explained coldly, gesturing toward the layout of the property. "If we all simply charge through the front door, she will likely shatter a back window and vanish into the marsh before we can corner her. We must establish a containment."
Gorm nodded slowly, recognizing the flawless military logic. "Agreed. What is the play?"
"Take your four guards and immediately surround the absolute perimeter of the house," Aerion commanded, smoothly stepping into the role of a seasoned combat commander. "Cover the back windows, the side alleys, and the cellar doors. Form an impenetrable net of steel. If she attempts to break out, you cut her down."
Aerion patted the heavy, dark hilt of the Black Prism at his hip.
"Myself, Jenassa, and Aeloria will execute the internal breach," Aerion stated, his golden eyes gleaming with dark anticipation. "We possess the specific, high level magical and martial capabilities required to neutralize a master vampire in extremely close quarters. We will flush the rat from her nest."
Gorm looked at the towering mage, then at the fiercely scarred Dark Elf and the resolute Imperial clad Nord. He remembered the absolute, terrifying efficiency with which they had dismantled Laelette.
"You have the breach, Aerion," Gorm agreed grimly.
The Housecarl turned to his men, using rapid hand signals to deploy them into the thick fog. The guards moved silently, spreading out to form a tight, inescapable perimeter around the dark house.
Aerion turned to his inner circle.
"Jenassa. Aeloria," Aerion whispered, drawing the Black Prism. The ebony blade pulsed with a faint, blood red, lethal aura in the mist. "No quarter. No hesitation. We breach, we locate, and we capture of eliminate this vampire."
Jenassa drew her Frost Steel Sword, a dark, thrilled smile touching her scarred lips. Aeloria gripped her Imperial sword and the silver plate, her blue eyes hardened into chips of ice.
Aerion stepped up onto the wooden porch. He did not bother testing the handle to see if the door was locked. He didn't want to give Alva a single fraction of a second of warning.
He raised his heavy leather boot, channeled a massive surge of his 430 point Stamina pool into his leg, and kicked the heavy oak door directly next to the iron lock.
CRACK-BOOM!
The iron deadbolt violently sheared completely off the wood. The heavy oak door exploded inward, crashing loudly against the interior wall as Aerion, Jenassa, and Aeloria surged violently into the dark lair of the vampire.
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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