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!)
...
Slowly, the tension completely drained from the massive Housecarl's scarred face, replaced by a massive, fiercely joyous, incredibly bloodthirsty Nordic grin. "Not a single shadow breached our line, Aerion," Gorm laughed loudly, a booming sound of pure relief. "The perimeter was iron. And as for checking the cave... I think I'll take your word for it, my friend. Let us return to Highmoon Hall. The Jarl is going to want to hear this."
Aerion offered the towering Housecarl a smooth, perfectly measured nod of his head, his golden eyes projecting a mask of absolute, professional courtesy.
"I thank you for placing your trust in myself and my associates, Gorm," Aerion replied, his melodic voice cutting cleanly through the lingering morning fog. "Leaving the safety of the perimeter in your hands was a calculated risk, and I am pleased we were able to deliver upon our promise."
Gorm let out a gruff, heavy chuckle, shifting the massive steel battleaxe resting against his shoulder. He looked at the High Elf with a look of rugged Nordic pragmatism.
"There was no real risk of betrayal, Aerion. There is absolutely no reason for you to lie to us," Gorm stated bluntly, his voice booming with the simple, straightforward logic of a provincial guardsman. "If you had lied, if you had simply walked into the dark, waited an hour, and walked back out claiming the deed was done, my men and I would have eventually swept the cave to verify it. And if we found you had played us false... well, the Jarl would simply issue a royal decree. She would negotiate with the other Jarls of Skyrim, put a massive bounty on your heads, and have the provincial armies hunt you to the ends of Tamriel."
Aerion let out a soft, highly charismatic chuckle, offering a polite, agreeable nod. "Indeed, Housecarl. The reach of a Jarl is long. I understand perfectly. There is no need for threats, our victory is genuine."
Outwardly, Aerion maintained the flawless, polite facade of a traveling scholar respecting local authority.
Inwardly, however, his highly analytical, transmigrator mind severely scoffed at the sheer, profound lack of geopolitical awareness the Housecarl had just displayed.
'Negotiate with the other Jarls? Have the provincial armies hunt us?' Aerion thought, highly amused by the man's provincial ignorance. 'Has he looked at a map of Skyrim at any point in the last six months? The entire continent is currently embroiled in a massive, bloody civil war. Jarl Idgrod Ravencrone is a staunch, silent supporter of the Septim Empire. If I had actually lied to her, all I would need to do is mount Revan, ride east across the borders into the Pale or the Rift, and seek sanctuary with a Jarl who supports Ulfric Stormcloak. A Stormcloak ruler wouldn't negotiate an extradition treaty with an Imperial loyalist to capture an Altmer mage, they would simply laugh at Idgrod's letters and throw them into the hearth.'
But Aerion kept his political observations entirely to himself. There was absolutely zero tactical benefit in insulting the intelligence of the man who commanded the local guard.
"Come then," Gorm ordered, turning his massive frame back toward the swamp paths leading to Morthal. "Let us return to Highmoon Hall. The Jarl has been pacing the throne room all night."
Aerion, Jenassa, and Aeloria fell into step behind the Housecarl, flanked by the fifteen heavily armed, utterly relieved guardsmen. Lupin the fox trotted faithfully at Aerion's heels, his tiny nose twitching at the damp, earthy scents of the marsh.
As they marched back through the sucking mud and twisted, dead pine trees, the adrenaline of the subterranean war finally began to bleed out of the group. The atmosphere relaxed into the comfortable, adrenaline fueled camaraderie that always followed a victorious battle.
"I must admit, your perimeter held flawlessly, Gorm," Aerion noted smoothly, walking beside the massive Nord. "I heard the distinct, satisfying sound of crossbow fire echoing down the tunnels as we engaged the master. How fared your men on the exterior?"
Gorm grinned, a fierce, deeply satisfied expression crossing his scarred face.
"We fared exceptionally well, Elf. It was almost too easy," Gorm shared, gesturing to the guards marching behind them. "When you unleashed whatever apocalyptic magic you used in the depths, the entire cavern system shook. The few vampires and thralls that managed to slip past your strike team came sprinting out of the cave mouth in an absolute, blind panic. They didn't even attempt to coordinate a counter attack."
Gorm patted the heavy wooden stock of a crossbow held by a nearby guard.
"Furthermore," the Housecarl continued, "they made the fatal mistake of fleeing directly into the morning light. The sun was burning through the fog just as they hit the tree line. The light blinded them, singed their skin, and severely suppressed their magic. We had our heavy crossbows leveled and loaded with silver tipped bolts. We dropped them in the mud before they could even bare their fangs. It was a clean, absolute slaughter."
Aerion nodded approvingly. "And what of your men? Were there any casualties among the ranks during the skirmish?"
"None," Gorm replied proudly. "Not a single man lost."
"If any of your soldiers suffered lacerations or minor injuries during the engagement, I am more than willing to utilize my Restoration magic to heal them before we reach the city," Aerion offered, perfectly projecting the image of a benevolent, deeply magnanimous ally.
Gorm shook his head, waving a dismissive hand. "Your offer is deeply appreciated, Aerion, but it isn't necessary. A few of the men got their steel shields scratched by desperate claws, and one of the thralls managed to dent a breastplate with an iron mace, but other than damaged armor, every single guardsman walked away with their flesh entirely intact. We are unscathed."
"That is excellent news," Aerion murmured.
With the post battle report concluded, the conversation naturally died down, leaving only the rhythmic, heavy crunch of boots and the clanking of Aeloria's newly acquired Steel Plate armor echoing through the fog.
The quiet march provided Aerion with the perfect, uninterrupted window of mental clarity to manage the massive influx of cosmic power he had earned in the dark.
He closed his golden eyes slightly, allowing his Gamer mind to fully engage the digital interface hovering in his peripheral vision. He possessed ten unspent attribute points, a staggering reservoir of reality warping potential.
While he had initially considered banking all of the points, the brutal, highly physical nature of his duel against Movarth Piquine had highlighted a few minor, microscopic deficiencies in his current loadout. He needed to be faster, he needed to swing harder, and he required an even deeper well of arcane fuel to sustain his custom, apocalyptic spells.
He mentally allocated the raw, cosmic energy across his biological matrices.
[Attribute Point Allocated: Magicka (+10)]
[Attribute Point Allocated: Magicka (+10)]
[Attribute Point Allocated: Magicka (+10)]
[Attribute Point Allocated: Magicka (+10)]
[Attribute Point Allocated: Magicka (+10)]
A profound, rushing torrent of absolute, freezing arcane energy violently expanded the neural pathways within his brain. His connection to the magical leylines of Nirn deepened significantly, his inner well expanding to hold a terrifying volume of raw, destructive potential.
[Attribute Point Allocated: Health (+10)]
[Attribute Point Allocated: Health (+10)]
A deep, fortifying, incredibly warm sensation washed over his cellular structure. His bones hardened, his skin grew denser, and the vitality pumping through his heart reinforced his physical durability, ensuring he could withstand even heavier kinetic impacts without his body shattering.
[Attribute Point Allocated: Stamina (+10)]
[Attribute Point Allocated: Stamina (+10)]
[Attribute Point Allocated: Stamina (+10)]
The final allocation sent a brilliant, surging rush of kinetic, muscular endurance throughout his entire towering frame. His leg muscles coiled with explosive speed, his shoulders felt light and incredibly powerful, and the physical capacity of his spatial void expanded dynamically.
[Current Magicka: 670 / 670]
[Current Health: 460 / 460]
[Current Stamina: 480 / 480]
[Inventory Weight Limit Increased by 15 KG. Current Max Weight: 77.60 / 540 KG]
Aerion dismissed the golden text, his entire body humming with the absolute, intoxicating perfection of his newly integrated stats. He was rapidly approaching a level of sheer, unadulterated power that would allow him to casually alter the geopolitical landscape of the continent.
Shortly after he finalized his system management, the dark, muddy tree line of the swamps finally broke.
The heavy, imposing wooden palisades of Morthal emerged from the thinning morning fog. The heavily armed procession marched out of the marsh, crossing the sturdy stone bridge that spanned the dark waters of the river delta.
The townsfolk of Morthal, who had spent the entire night huddled in terror behind locked doors and barred shutters, slowly began to peek out of their windows as the guards marched victoriously down the main street.
They did not stop to celebrate in the streets. Gorm led the strike team directly up the wooden ramp and pushed through the heavy oak double doors of Highmoon Hall.
The interior of the Great Hall was tense, thick with the heavy scent of woodsmoke and anxiety.
Jarl Idgrod Ravencrone had not slept. The older Nord ruler was sitting rigidly upon her carved wooden throne, her piercing eyes staring blankly into the hearth fire, lost in her own mystic visions. Her husband and Steward, Aslfur, was pacing nervously back and forth across the floorboards, his hands clasped tightly behind his back.
The moment the heavy doors crashed open, both of their heads snapped toward the entrance.
Idgrod practically lunged forward in her throne, her hands gripping the wooden armrests. Aslfur completely froze in his tracks, his eyes wide with a mixture of desperate hope and profound terror.
They looked at the group entering the hall. They saw Gorm looking victorious. But more importantly, they saw the High Elf, the Dark Elf, and the Nord woman walking in behind him.
They were expecting a bloody, mangled, exhausted group of survivors to drag themselves into the court. Instead, Aerion's dark robes were immaculate. Jenassa's posture was perfectly relaxed. And Aeloria was walking with the heavy, intimidating clatter of pristine, polished Steel Plate armor. Not a single one of them sported a visible bandage, a limp, or a drop of fresh blood.
Idgrod's heart leaped into her throat. Their completely uninjured appearance immediately triggered a terrifying, paranoid assumption in the Jarl's mind.
"Aerion," Idgrod demanded, her voice cracking slightly as she gestured frantically for them to approach the dais. "Speak, Elf! What has happened? Why do you return completely unscathed? Did Movarth and his coven realize we had uncovered their plot? Have they evacuated the cave and fled deeper into the swamps before you could engage them?!"
Aerion stopped at the base of the stone dais, placing a hand gracefully over his heart. He offered the frantic Jarl a slow, deeply respectful, and profoundly reassuring bow of his head.
"Peace, Jarl Idgrod," Aerion spoke, his melodic voice rolling through the tense hall like a soothing balm, carrying the absolute, undeniable weight of victory. "You have absolutely nothing to fear. Movarth did not escape. His coven did not flee into the shadows."
He straightened his posture, his golden eyes locking onto hers with absolute certainty.
"Our expedition was entirely successful," Aerion announced proudly. "We breached the lair. We engaged the enemy. We have permanently, violently eradicated Movarth Piquine and every single pureblood vampire and thrall within that cavern. The blood farm is burned to ash. Their scheme to subvert Morthal has been definitively thwarted."
A profound, suffocating silence gripped Highmoon Hall for a fraction of a second as the sheer magnitude of the victory registered.
Then, Idgrod Ravencrone let out a massive, shuddering, incredibly deep sigh of pure, unadulterated relief. The heavy, crushing burden of leadership and impending doom completely vanished from her lined face. She collapsed backward into the furs of her throne, closing her eyes as she offered a silent, fervent prayer of thanks to the Divines.
Aslfur covered his face with his hands, letting out a choked, wet laugh of absolute joy. His town was safe. His family was safe.
Idgrod opened her eyes, turning her gaze toward her trusted Housecarl. "Gorm? Is this valid? Did you witness the aftermath?"
Gorm thumped his fist heavily against his chest piece, a massive grin splitting his scarred face. "It is the absolute truth, my Jarl. My men held the exterior perimeter. When the Elf unleashed his magic inside, the cavern shook like an earthquake. We slaughtered the few cowards that tried to flee into the sunlight. Aerion and his team cleared the darkness entirely."
Idgrod smiled, a genuine, warm expression that drastically softened her severe features. "Excellent. Truly excellent."
Her sharp eyes then drifted over the strike team, finally landing squarely on Aeloria.
The Jarl raised an eyebrow, noting the massive, glaringly obvious wardrobe change. The young woman had left the hall last night wearing simple, studded Imperial leather. Now, she was standing before the throne entirely encased in a masterfully forged, highly expensive set of heavy Steel Plate.
"It appears the victory in the dark yielded more than just ashes," Idgrod noted, a slight, amused smirk touching her lips. "That is an exceptional suit of heavy armor you have acquired, child. A vast improvement over Legion leather."
Aerion offered a smooth, highly charming smile, stepping in to answer for the Dragonborn.
"Indeed, my Jarl," Aerion nodded gracefully. "It is the profound, incredible luck of my associate. We discovered the armor within the armory of the lair. It fits her almost perfectly, and it proved vastly superior in deflecting the heavy blows of the undead during the final melee."
Idgrod nodded appreciatively, fully understanding the pragmatism of battlefield scavenging. But her mystic curiosity was drawn back to the most glaring anomaly of the group.
"Yet, despite engaging an ancient master vampire and a massive coven in close quarters... none of you bear a single mark," Idgrod pressed, her brow furrowing in deep fascination. "Your robes are not torn, Aerion. Jenassa's armor is whole. How is it possible that you fought a war in the dark and emerged entirely without injury?"
"We were injured, my Jarl. The combat was incredibly fierce and brutally taxing," Aerion admitted, maintaining the illusion of mortal struggle to ensure his heroism was properly appreciated. "However, once the master was slain, I expended the absolute, final dregs of my Magicka reserves to channel a highly concentrated, massive burst of Restoration magic over my team. The divine energy instantly knitted our flesh and repaired our equipment, leaving us whole for the march home."
Aslfur, standing near the throne, gasped softly. He looked at the High Elf with a mixture of profound awe and academic jealousy.
"You healed deep tissue wounds and repaired shattered armor with a single burst of energy?" Aslfur breathed, shaking his head. "By the Eight... your mastery of Restoration magic vastly eclipses even the High Priests of Arkay in the capital. To possess such destructive power, and such miraculous healing... it is staggering."
Aerion simply smiled warmly, offering a modest dip of his head, allowing the Steward's praise to wash over him without confirming or denying the sheer, reality warping extent of his systemic integration.
Jarl Idgrod Ravencrone stood up from her throne. She did not look like an exhausted old woman anymore; she looked like a powerful, deeply grateful Nordic monarch.
She descended the stone steps of the dais, stopping just a few feet in front of Aerion.
"If that is the case, Aerion... then mere words of gratitude are entirely insufficient for what you have accomplished here today," Idgrod spoke, her voice ringing with formal, heavy authority that commanded the absolute attention of everyone in the Great Hall.
She clasped her hands in front of her, locking her piercing, mystic eyes directly onto his golden ones.
"You and your associates have done a massive, immeasurable service to me, to my family, and to the entirety of Hjaalmarch," Idgrod declared loudly. "A catastrophic disaster, a plot that would have seen my people harvested like cattle in the dark, was entirely thwarted before it was too late. And all of this happened because you accidentally stumbled onto Hroggar's porch, saved Ingrid and little Helgi, and meticulously uncovered Alva's treason. You brought the mastermind into the light, and you executed the monster in the dark."
Idgrod took a slow, deliberate breath, addressing the racial prejudice that hung heavily over Skyrim.
"All of this was accomplished by you. An Altmer. A High Elf," Idgrod stated, her voice brutally honest. "I will not lie to you, Aerion. I am a woman of the old blood, and my heart has long been biased against your race. The Great War left deep scars, and the arrogance of the Thalmor Justiciars marching across our lands has only deepened that hatred."
She offered a slow, profound, deeply respectful smile.
"But I am also a mystic. I see past the surface, and I see the truth in a man's actions," Idgrod continued, her voice softening with genuine warmth. "You are completely, fundamentally different from the brethren of your race that I have encountered. You do not demand subservience. You do not wield your power with cruelty. You are honorable, you are incredibly brave, and you are a true friend to Morthal."
Idgrod straightened her posture, raising her voice so it echoed off the high wooden rafters of the hall. This was a formal, royal decree.
"Therefore, by my absolute right as the Jarl of Morthal," Idgrod proclaimed, "I officially grant you, Aerion, full and unrestricted permission to purchase property within the borders of my city. You may establish a home here, whenever you wish."
She took a step closer, her eyes blazing with fierce, absolute respect.
"Furthermore," Idgrod decreed, "for your immeasurable, unmatched service to this city and its people, I formally grant you the highest honor I can bestow. I name you Thane of Morthal!"
A collective gasp of awe rippled through the guards in the hall. Aeloria beamed with absolute pride, while Jenassa offered a sharp, approving nod.
"This decree will be immediately circulated to the Commander of the Guard and every single soldier operating within Hjaalmarch," Idgrod continued. "They will be informed that you are a person of supreme, vital importance to this hold. You are a recognized champion of my court, and you are to be treated with the utmost respect and deference by all local authorities."
Idgrod paused, her sharp, pragmatic Nordic nature reasserting itself for a brief moment. She offered a stern, but perfectly fair warning.
"However, understand this, Thane Aerion," Idgrod cautioned, raising a single finger. "The title carries immense weight, but it does not make you a god above the laws of men. It does not mean you can do whatever you wish, cause unrest in my streets, or commit crimes without consequence. You represent the honor of my court now. Wear the title with the dignity it demands."
Aerion placed his right hand firmly over his heart, dropping into a deep, flawless, and utterly triumphant bow.
"I am profoundly, deeply honored, Jarl Idgrod," Aerion replied, his melodic voice ringing with absolute, genuine gratitude. "I accept this title with the utmost humility. I swear to you, I shall never abuse the power you have granted me, and I shall always stand as a shield for the people of Morthal."
As he rose from his bow, Aerion's transmigrator heart swelled with absolute, unadulterated victory. The tactical, political, and systemic rewards of the expedition were completely secured. He was now the Thane of a major hold, possessing a fortune in gold, an Daedric artifact, and an group of devoted allies.
_____________________________
[Main Panel]
Name: Aerion
Race: High Elf (Altmer)
Health: 460/460 Stamina: 480/480 Magicka: 670/670
Level: 121
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 MAX/41/MAX), Restoration (Healing/Purify(+1)) (Level MAX/MAX), Alteration (Level 35), Illusion (Level 50), Conjuration (Necromancy/Summoning(+1)) (Level 37/26), Persuasion(+1) (Level 60), Smithing (Level 22), Sneak (Level 75), One Handed(+1) (Level 42), Two Handed (Level 81), Lockpicking (Level 35), Archery (Level 72), Enchanting (Level 66), Light Armor (Level 77), 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, Ring of Pure Mixtures, Grand Soul Gem (Filled), Reanimate Corpse Tome, Staff of Lightning, Deed to Tundra Homestead, Sapphire, Ruby, Dawnbreaker, Traveling Backpack (Supplies), Potion of Minor Magicka, Vampire Armor, Vampire Boots, Movarth's Golden Ash (Unique), Dwarven Sword, & Hide Boots Of Sneak
2x Common Soul Gem (Empty), Black Soul Gem (Empty), Elven Sword, & Amethysts
3x Glowing Mushrooms, Potions of Minor Stamina, Common Soul Gem (Filled), Flawless Sapphires, Gold Necklace, & Iron Necklace
4x Spider Eggs & Garnets
5x Lesser Soul Gem (Filled)
7x Vampires Dust
8x Iron Arrows, Ancient Nord Arrows, & Black Soul Gems (Filled)
9x Potions Of Minor Healing
Weight: 77.60 KG / 540 KG
Septims: 78,654