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(A/N: Don't forget to give those power stones to Skyrim everyone!)
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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.
Aerion surged through the threshold, the Black Prism drawn and radiating a faint, lethal, blood red aura in the gloom. Jenassa flowed in instantly behind his right shoulder, her Frost Steel Sword drawn, while Aeloria breached from the left, her Imperial blade held in a tight, defensive guard, the heavy silver platter strapped securely to her forearm.
They fanned out flawlessly, securing the perimeter of the room in less than a second.
Aerion's golden eyes swept the interior, his transmigrator mind instantly processing the environmental layout. At first glance, the ground floor of the house was deceptively, aggressively mundane. It was a standard, slightly messy Nordic dwelling.
There was a stone hearth with the embers of a dying fire, a woven rug resting on the floorboards, and a sturdy wooden dining table covered in a few scattered clay plates and a half empty bottle of cheap wine.
But the architectural flow of the room was entirely wrong.
In the absolute, dead center of the main floor, in a position that made absolutely zero structural sense for a standard swamp house, was a heavy wooden trapdoor. It was propped open, revealing a steep, descending stairway hall that led down into a subterranean cellar.
The lighting spilling up from the cellar was not the warm, flickering orange of a standard torch or a hearth fire. It was a cold, eerie, sickly pale luminescence that seemed to absorb the shadows rather than banish them.
Suddenly, the soft, rhythmic sound of footsteps echoed from the wooden stairs.
Someone was coming up from the cellar.
Aerion raised his left hand, signaling Jenassa and Aeloria to hold their positions. The three warriors stood perfectly still in the dim lighting of the living room, their blades ready, forming an inescapable semi circle around the top of the stairs.
A moment later, a head of perfectly styled, raven black hair breached the threshold of the floorboards.
Alva stepped fully out of the cellar stairway, casually adjusting the plunging neckline of her highly revealing tavern dress. She had clearly heard the massive crash of the front door, but in her arrogance, she likely assumed it was simply Hroggar returning home in a drunken, clumsy stupor.
"Hroggar, you clumsy oaf, I told you to be quiet when you—" Alva began, an annoyed, sultry purr in her voice.
She stopped dead.
The vampire looked up, entirely expecting to see her thick-skulled lumberjack thrall. Instead, she found herself staring directly into the glowing, predatory golden eyes of the towering High Elf who had shattered her seduction magic an hour ago.
And flanking him were two heavily armed women with their blades drawn and leveled directly at her throat.
Alva's pale face froze in genuine, profound surprise. The sheer audacity of the intrusion temporarily short circuited her predatory instincts.
"What... what is the meaning of this?!" Alva demanded, her voice rising in pitch, desperately trying to maintain the facade of an outraged, innocent civilian. She took a cautious step back toward the open trapdoor. "Who do you think you are, breaking into my home in the middle of the night? What business do you have here?!"
Aerion did not respond with righteous anger or bureaucratic authority.
Instead, a slow, dark, utterly sinister smile spread across his flawless, aristocratic features. It was not a smile of amusement; it was the predatory, terrifying grin of a man who held all the cards and was thoroughly enjoying the absolute destruction of his enemy's reality.
"Our business, Alva," Aerion replied, his melodic voice dripping with dark, mocking theatricality, "is the business of Jarl Idgrod Ravencrone. We have come under her direct, explicit orders to bring you before her throne in Highmoon Hall."
Alva's eyes darted frantically between the three drawn weapons. "The Jarl? Why would the Jarl send armed thugs to my house?!"
"Because," Aerion stated smoothly, taking a slow, deliberate step forward, "you are currently under formal suspicion of being a vampire. And the mastermind behind the attempted slaughter of Hroggar's family tonight."
The blood seemed to completely drain from Alva's already deathly pale face, leaving her looking like a porcelain doll. The perfect, seductive facade she had meticulously maintained for months was violently crumbling.
"That... that is preposterous!" Alva stammered, her voice trembling with manufactured, desperate fear. "I am no vampire! I am just a woman! What... what possible evidence could you or the Jarl have to make such an insane accusation?!"
Aerion's sinister smile widened slightly.
"Oh, we currently possess no concrete, physical evidence connecting you to the arson," Aerion admitted, his tone entirely casual. "Your thrall was frustratingly tight lipped. But I am absolutely certain we will find the necessary proof once we conduct a thorough, invasive investigation of this house. An investigation we shall conduct while you are securely bound in heavy iron."
The word bound triggered the absolute, undeniable survival instinct of the predator.
Alva realized the conversation was a trap. The High Elf wasn't here to arrest her; he was here to execute her. The sheer, overwhelming panic of a cornered beast erased her human disguise.
With a vicious, inhuman hiss that echoed wetly in the room, Alva dropped the act. Her eyes flared into glowing, predatory pools of blood red light. Her jaw unhinged slightly, revealing the elongated, razor sharp fangs of a master vampire.
"You will die here, Elf!" Alva shrieked.
Moving with the explosive, terrifying speed of the undead, Alva didn't attempt to cast a spell. She violently drew a heavy, serrated steel dagger from a concealed sheath beneath the folds of her dress and lunged forward, desperately trying to carve a path through the blockade and escape into the foggy swamps.
She targeted Aerion first, assuming the unarmored mage would be the most physically fragile link in the chain.
She swung the steel dagger in a blinding, desperate, upward arc, aiming directly to gut the High Elf from his navel to his sternum.
Aerion did not cast a ward. He simply flicked his wrist, bringing the heavy ebony blade of the Black Prism down in a flawless, diagonal parry.
CLANG!
The collision of the steel dagger against the ebony sword sent a jarring, kinetic shockwave violently up Aerion's right arm.
Aerion's golden eyes widened in genuine, profound surprise.
What incredible force, Aerion thought, his transmigrator mind instantly analyzing the physical data of the parry.
Laelette had been a newly turned fledgling, her strength was slightly above a normal human's, but easily manageable. Alva, however, was a vastly older, fully saturated vampire who had fed regularly. The sheer, raw physical power she had packed into that single dagger strike was completely staggering. It felt as though he had just parried a full force swing from a massive Orc berserker wielding a warhammer.
'If I did not possess a 430 point Stamina pool and the integrated physical mastery of the Warrior Stone, that single dagger strike would have shattered my wrist and gutted me,' Aerion realized with a cold, sobering clarity.
The realization triggered a massive, cascading wave of strategic calculation regarding the future threats of the timeline.
'If a common, mid level master vampire like Alva possesses this kind of terrifying physical prowess... what in Oblivion is going to happen when I face the true monsters?' Aerion's mind raced. 'What happens when I am forced to cross blades with Lord Harkon in his Vampire Lord form? Or when I encounter the pureblood Werewolves of the Companions? Their physical scaling in this real, un modded universe is going to be absolutely apocalyptic. I cannot rely solely on my magic. I must continuously, aggressively farm my physical attributes. I need to be stronger.'
Aerion didn't allow the shock to slow his reflexes. Utilizing his superior leverage and heavy physical density, he violently pushed back against the deadlock, shoving Alva's dagger away and driving his heavy leather boot squarely into her midsection.
Alva staggered backward, hissing in pain, but her supernatural agility kept her from falling.
Realizing the towering High Elf was an immovable object of heavy steel, she violently pivoted, redirecting her desperate escape attempt toward the flanks.
She lunged directly at Aeloria and Jenassa.
Alva became a blur of pale skin and flashing steel, her dagger moving in a chaotic, blindingly fast flurry of lethal strikes.
Jenassa, an apex predator in her own right, met the assault with cold, terrifying perfection. The Dark Elf assassin did not try to match the vampire's supernatural strength. She relied entirely on decades of honed agility.
Jenassa flowed around the dagger strikes like water around a stone, parrying the heavy blows with the freezing flat of her Frost Steel Sword, her crimson eyes completely unbothered by the vampire's speed.
Aeloria, however, was the true revelation.
The Imperial clad Nord had absolutely no formal training against supernatural entities. By all logical metrics, the blinding speed of the master vampire should have instantly overwhelmed her mortal reflexes, resulting in a slashed throat.
But as Alva lunged, thrusting the steel dagger directly toward Aeloria's face, something ancient and divine woke within the Dragonborn's blood.
Aeloria didn't even consciously think. Her body moved with an impossible, instinctual precognition. It was as if time itself had slowed by a fraction of a second. The subtle, invisible favor of Akatosh, the inherent blessing of the Dragon Blood, guided her muscles.
Aeloria smoothly brought the heavy silver plate up, perfectly intercepting the dagger thrust. The steel blade sparked violently against the silver. Without missing a beat, Aeloria spun gracefully, using the momentum of the block to launch a heavy, devastating counter slash with her Imperial sword that forced Alva to frantically leap backward to avoid being decapitated.
Alva let out a shrill, completely frustrated shriek.
She was trapped. The High Elf was a physical wall, the Dark Elf was a lethal ghost, and the human woman was fighting with the impossible, terrifying reflexes of a seasoned blademaster. She could not break the perimeter with steel.
She needed distance.
Alva hissed, her form suddenly blurring. She tapped into the deepest reserves of her dark bloodline, attempting to utilize her enhanced vampiric agility to simply leap entirely over the trio and phase through the broken doorway.
But Aerion, his Gamer mind operating at maximum processing speed, anticipated the maneuver perfectly.
"You are going absolutely nowhere," Aerion commanded coldly.
He didn't swing his sword. He stepped quickly backward, opening the distance, and thrust his left hand violently toward the floorboards directly in front of the vampire's path.
He tapped into his Destruction magic, entirely bypassing fire and lightning. He required absolute, instantaneous crowd control.
Ice Spike.
A jagged, freezing lance of pure, condensed frost erupted from his palm. It didn't strike Alva in the chest; Aerion intentionally aimed low. The massive spike of ice slammed violently into the wooden floorboards directly between Alva's rushing leather boots.
The spell instantly detonated, unleashing a localized, absolute-zero shockwave of freezing magic.
The moisture in the damp swamp air flash froze instantly. A thick, heavy layer of jagged, unbreakable glacial ice rapidly expanded across the floorboards, completely engulfing Alva's boots and freezing them solid to the wood.
Alva, moving at supernatural speed, suddenly found her feet violently anchored to the floor.
The physical laws of momentum were unforgiving. With her feet frozen solid, her upper body continued forward. Alva let out a sharp cry of shock as she pitched violently forward, slamming face first into the hard wooden floorboards with a heavy, bone rattling CRACK.
The steel dagger skittered harmlessly away from her grasp, sliding under the dining table.
Aerion stood over the fallen vampire, letting out a dark, deeply satisfied chuckle that sent a chill down Aeloria's spine.
Instantly, Aerion, Jenassa, and Aeloria stepped forward, closing the circle. Three razor sharp blades were immediately pointed down at the struggling vampire, resting mere inches from her neck and spine.
Alva hissed, desperately trying to pry her frozen boots from the ice, her glowing red eyes glaring up at the High Elf with pure, unadulterated hatred. She raised her pale hands, dark, necrotic energy beginning to swirl violently around her fingertips as she prepared to unleash a point blank Vampiric Drain in a final, suicidal attempt to take one of them with her.
"I strongly advise against that," Aerion warned softly.
He lowered his left hand, aiming his palm directly at her glowing fingertips.
Grand Purification.
A concentrated, blinding beam of pure, holy sunlight erupted from his hand, striking Alva directly on her forearms.
The effect was instantaneous and brutal. The holy light violently burned away the dark magic pooling in her hands. The flesh on her arms began to sizzle and blacken, emitting the horrific smell of roasting meat.
Alva shrieked in absolute agony, her magical reserves completely fried, her arms spasming uselessly against the floorboards. The fight was entirely, utterly beaten out of her.
Aerion maintained the purification beam for three agonizing seconds before cutting the magic, ensuring her magicka pool was entirely depleted.
"The target is fully neutralized," Aerion announced, stepping back and sheathing the Black Prism.
He turned his head toward the shattered front doorway, raising his voice so it echoed into the foggy street.
"Housecarl Gorm! The perimeter is secure! The master is contained!"
Heavy, armored footsteps immediately thundered up the wooden porch. Gorm burst through the broken doorway, followed closely by his four Morthal guards, their swords drawn and ready for a bloodbath.
But they arrived to find a perfectly controlled scene.
Gorm lowered his battleaxe, his eyes wide as he stared at the pale, fanged woman sobbing and thrashing against the ice on the floorboards, her arms smoking from the holy magic.
"By the Eight... it is her," Gorm breathed, his voice thick with a mixture of horror and profound betrayal. "Alva. She's lived in this town for years. To think a monster was sleeping in our midst, drinking at our tavern..."
Gorm turned his gaze to Aerion. The initial, grudging respect he had felt for the High Elf solidified into absolute, unshakeable trust. The mage hadn't just saved a family, he had flawlessly extracted a master vampire from the heart of the tiwn without a single guard taking a scratch.
"You have done Morthal an immeasurable service tonight, Aerion," Gorm stated, his voice ringing with formal, heavy respect. He gestured to his guards. "Secure her. Use the heavy silver chains. Drag her to the deepest cell in Highmoon Hall, right next to her fledgling."
The guards rushed forward, roughly hauling the weakened, burned vampire up from the ice, binding her wrists in heavy silver manacles that caused her to hiss in pain.
As they prepared to drag her out, Aerion raised a hand, stopping the Housecarl.
"Gorm, a moment of your time, if you please," Aerion requested smoothly.
"Name it, Elf," Gorm replied instantly, entirely willing to accommodate the man who had just saved his town.
"While capturing the master is a massive victory, the Jarl requires absolute, irrefutable evidence of her treason to justify a formal execution," Aerion reasoned logically. "Furthermore, a vampire of this age rarely operates in complete isolation. She likely kept records, correspondence, or a ledger of her victims and her thralls. I formally request a brief window of time to thoroughly investigate this house, top to bottom, to secure any hard evidence before we return to the court."
Gorm nodded his head firmly, completely agreeing with the investigative logic.
"Of course you may," Gorm granted the permission without hesitation. "Take all the time you need, Aerion. Tear the floorboards up if you have to. If she has a ledger of who she has bitten, the Jarl needs those names tonight. We will hold her in the dungeons and await your return."
"Thank you, Gorm. I shall be thorough," Aerion promised.
The Housecarl and the guards dragged the screaming, cursing Alva out of the house, disappearing into the foggy streets of Morthal.
The moment the door was clear, Aerion immediately shifted into high speed investigative mode.
"Jenassa, secure the front door. Ensure no curious townsfolk wander in," Aerion commanded. "Aeloria, search the main floor. Look for hidden compartments in the desk or loose floorboards near the hearth."
They went to work. Aeloria systematically tore through the living room, opening cupboards and overturning the small writing desk, but she found nothing but mundane ledgers detailing the purchase of lumber and wine.
Aerion did not bother searching the upstairs bedroom. He knew exactly where the prize was hidden.
He walked deliberately toward the eerie, centrally located trapdoor. He descended the steep wooden stairs, his heavy boots echoing in the confined space.
The cellar of Alva's house was a macabre, terrifying nightmare.
The air was freezing, and the thick, metallic stench of old, dried blood was overpowering. The cellar was not used for storing potatoes or mead.
In the center of the dark room, resting on a raised stone dais, was a massive, ornate wooden coffin, its interior lined with plush, dark red velvet. Blood stained rags and shattered bones were piled carelessly in the corners of the room.
It was a true vampire's lair.
Aerion ignored the coffin. His golden eyes scanned the perimeter of the room, instantly locking onto a small, elevated wooden pedestal situated near the back wall, illuminated by a single, flickering black candle.
Resting on the pedestal was a thick, heavy leather bound book.
Alva's Journal.
Aerion walked over and picked up the heavy tome. He didn't just stow it, he flipped it open, his Gamer mind rapidly scanning the sprawling, frantic handwriting scrawled across the parchment.
The journal was a goldmine of geopolitical intelligence and dark conspiracies. Alva had documented everything in meticulous, arrogant detail. She wrote about her seduction of Hroggar, laughing at how easily the mortal mind broke. She detailed her order to Laelette to burn the house down to tie up loose ends.
But the most critical, absolutely vital piece of intelligence was located in the final pages.
Alva wrote extensively, and with absolute reverence, about her sire. She documented the grand, terrifying plan engineered by the ancient Master Vampire, Movarth Piquine. Movarth was currently residing in a massive, subterranean cave system just a few miles north of Morthal.
Alva's mission was merely phase one: she was to systematically thrall the guards, subvert the Jarl, and prepare the citizens of the town to be herded like cattle.
Once the town was primed, Movarth and his massive coven of pureblood vampires would descend from the cave, sealing the gates and turning Morthal into an isolated, endless blood farm.
Aerion closed the heavy journal, a massive, predatory smile stretching across his face in the dim light of the cellar.
'This is it,' Aerion thought, his transmigrator heart pounding with pure, unadulterated strategic excitement.
He wasn't feeling fear at the prospect of facing an ancient vampire and his army of thralls. He was feeling the intense, overwhelming thrill of a player who had just uncovered a massive, highyield quest marker.
'Movarth's Lair is heavily populated with high level vampires, death hounds, and thralls,' Aerion calculated rapidly. 'If I take this journal to Jarl Idgrod, she will undoubtedly beg me to lead an expedition to wipe out the coven before they can launch their invasion. I will have full political authorization to slaughter an entire cave of high level entities.'
He tapped the leather cover of the journal against his palm.
'This is not just a rescue mission anymore,' Aerion smiled coldly. 'This is an absolute, unparalleled opportunity to farm massive amounts of experience. I will level my Destruction, my Restoration, and my physical weapon skills to the absolute maximum. I will strip that cave of every ounce of gold, enchanted jewelry, and vampire dust it holds. I will grind Movarth into dust, and I will use his ashes to elevate myself to the Thane of Morthal.'
With his master plan flawlessly formulated, Aerion slipped the heavy journal into the deep pockets of his dark robes.
He turned away from the macabre coffin and ascended the wooden stairs, returning to the ground floor.
Jenassa and Aeloria looked up as he emerged from the eerie light of the cellar.
"Did you find anything, Aerion?" Aeloria asked, stepping away from the ruined desk.
"I found everything," Aerion announced smoothly, his golden eyes gleaming with dark anticipation.
"I possess the absolute, undeniable proof of Alva's treason. Furthermore, I have uncovered the location of her master, and the true, terrifying scope of the threat facing this town." He gestured toward the broken front door, the foggy streets of Morthal waiting beyond. "Come," Aerion commanded. "Let us return to Highmoon Hall. We have a Jarl to convince, and a war to start."
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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