If you want to read 20 Chapters ahead and more, be sure to check out my P-Tang12!!!
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(A/N: Don't forget to give those power stones to Skyrim everyone!)
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A surviving bandit, half frozen by the Ice Storm, desperately swung a crude iron battleaxe toward her head. Aeloria didn't even bother parrying. She ducked smoothly beneath the wild swing, planting her heavy boots in the snow, and swung the Axe of Morthal in a massive, devastating, upward diagonal cleave.
CRUNCH FWOOSH!
The impact was absolutely catastrophic. The heavy steel head of the battleaxe effortlessly sheared completely through the bandit's iron breastplate and ribcage.
Simultaneously, the potent fire enchantment flared violently, instantly cauterizing the massive wound and setting the bandit's fur cloak ablaze. The man was dead before he hit the snow, his body a burning ruin.
"By the Gods, the heat!" Aeloria laughed breathlessly, absolutely intoxicated by the sheer, devastating power of the weapon Jarl Idgrod had provided.
She didn't stop moving. She spun on her heel, becoming a terrifying, unstoppable whirlwind of heavy steel and roaring fire.
Up on the ridge, Jenassa maintained absolute sniper overwatch. Her hands moved in a rhythmic blur, rapidly nocking and firing heavy steel arrows into the chaos below.
Every time a Destruction mage managed to raise their hands to cast a fireball at Aeloria, a fire enchanted arrow slammed into their shoulder or thigh, breaking their concentration and sending them sprawling into the snow.
Aerion remained completely calm, his analytical mind processing the battlefield geometry.
He spotted the Restoration mage, the priority target, desperately trying to retreat behind a crumbling stone wall near the crypt entrance, his hands glowing with a golden healing aura as he tried to mend a wounded bandit.
Aerion did not use destruction magic. He took out the Black Prism from the scabbard at his hips.
He engaged his massive Stamina pool, leaping lightly from the snowy ridge. He landed gracefully in the sinkhole, moving with the terrifying, fluid speed of a blademaster.
The Restoration mage looked up, his eyes widening in panic as he saw the towering High Elf charging directly toward him, an black blade with multiple colors of aura raised high.
"Protect the healer!" a bandit screamed, stepping in front of the mage with his iron shield raised.
Aerion didn't slow down. He didn't try to bash the shield.
He executed a flawless, blindingly fast slide through the slick snow, slipping completely beneath the bandit's high guard. As he slid past, he flicked his wrist, bringing the razor sharp edge of the Black Prism across the back of the bandit's knees, cleanly severing his hamstrings.
The bandit collapsed with a scream of agony, his shield falling uselessly into the snow.
Aerion popped back to his feet in a single, fluid motion, finding himself standing directly face to face with the terrified Restoration mage.
The rogue mage raised his glowing hands, desperately trying to cast a ward.
Aerion simply smiled coldly. He thrust the Black Prism forward in a perfect, brutal lunge, driving the blade cleanly through the mage's chest, instantly and permanently shutting down the enemy's logistical support.
With the healer dead, the mages suppressed by sniper fire, and the vanguard shattered by Aeloria's blazing axe, the battle for the exterior of Ustengrav overwhelmingly decided.
The chaotic, explosive skirmish at the exterior lip of the ancient sinkhole did not last long. Against the combined, overwhelming might of a fully armed Dragonborn, a Morag Tong assassin, and an apex level transmigrator mage, the rogue excavation crew was entirely, brutally outmatched.
Aeloria was a terrifying vision of heavy steel and roaring fire. She moved through the deep, frozen snow drifts with the unstoppable momentum of a landslide. A surviving bandit, his fur armor partially frozen by Aerion's Ice Storm, desperately raised a heavy iron warhammer to block her path. Aeloria did not slow her charge. She swung the Axe of Morthal in a devastating, horizontal arc.
The heavy steel head shattered the wooden haft of the warhammer instantly, burying itself deeply into the bandit's ribcage. The red runes flared, cauterizing the wound as the man collapsed backward into the snow.
Jenassa, repositioning herself smoothly along the rocky ridge, provided flawless, lethal overwatch. Her crimson eyes tracked the frantic movements of a surviving Destruction mage who was desperately trying to charge a fireball to hurl at Aeloria's back. Jenassa's fingers blurred.
THWIP. THWIP.
Two heavy steel arrows, humming with the orange light of their Dwarven fire enchantments, tore through the falling snow. The first arrow took the mage in the right shoulder, breaking his concentration and sending the fizzling fireball into the dirt. The second arrow pierced his throat, dropping him instantly in a spray of blood and sparks.
Aerion, standing amidst the carnage of the vanguard, did not need to draw his blade again. He raised his hands, casually flicking localized bursts of Chain Lightning and Incinerate at any bandit foolish enough to attempt a retreat.
The crackling electricity and superheated plasma tracked their targets flawlessly, ensuring that absolutely no one escaped the sinkhole to warn whatever forces lurked in the dark below.
In less than three minutes, the exterior perimeter of the ancient ruin was entirely silent, save for the crackling of burning fur and the howling of the northern wind.
Aerion lowered his hands, his breath pluming in the freezing air. His golden eyes swept over the blood stained snow.
"The exterior is secure," Aerion announced, his melodic voice cutting through the wind. "Hold your positions and remain alert. We harvest the spoils before we descend."
Aeloria rested the heavy, blazing head of the Axe of Morthal against the snow, panting slightly, a massive grin of pure adrenaline plastered across her face. Jenassa lowered her bow, seamlessly melting out of the shadows of the ridge to join them on the cavern floor.
Aerion moved with methodical, cold efficiency. He approached the bodies of the fallen mages, utilizing the flawless, reality warping looting mechanics of his digital system. He didn't bother stripping their cheap black robes or mundane iron daggers. He focused entirely on high value, low weight commodities.
His hand brushed over the pockets of the dead Conjuration mages. The golden text of his interface flickered rapidly in his peripheral vision.
[Items Stored: 273 Septims]
[Items Stored: Petty Soul Gem (Filled) x3]
[Item Stored: Common Soul Gem (Filled)]
[Inventory Weight Increased by 0.02 KG. Current Max Weight: 77.62 / 540 KG]
He dismissed the interface, highly satisfied with the acquisition of the filled soul gems. They were absolute necessities for recharging the enchantments on their weaponry in the field.
He turned his attention back to Aeloria and Jenassa. The two women had conducted their own sweeps of the fallen bandits, gathering a few stray coin purses and a handful of low quality garnets and amethysts from the thugs' pockets.
Aeloria looked up, holding a pouch that clinked with roughly two hundred septims, fully preparing to hand it over to the expedition leader to be placed in the communal company vault.
Aerion raised a single, stopping hand.
"Keep it," Aerion commanded smoothly, offering a generous, aristocratic smile. "Consider the coin and the gems a direct, personal bonus for your flawless execution of the assault. You held the vanguard perfectly, Aeloria. And Jenassa, your overwatch was, as always, an absolute masterclass in lethal precision. The spoils you have gathered are yours to keep."
Aeloria's eyes widened with jovial gratitude. "Thank you, Aerion! This will buy a massive round of the finest mead when we return to civilization."
Jenassa simply offered a crisp, professional nod, tucking her share of the gems securely into a hidden pouch on her leather belt. She was a mercenary at heart, she never argued with an unexpected bonus.
With the exterior fully pacified and stripped of valuables, Aerion turned his gaze toward the massive, monolithic stone archway carved directly into the bedrock of the sinkhole.
"Form up," Aerion instructed, gesturing toward the dark entrance. "We proceed."
They walked in a tight, disciplined formation. The freezing snow crunched heavily beneath Aeloria's steel sabatons. Lupin the fox trotted faithfully at Aerion's heels, his large ears swiveling to catch any unnatural sounds echoing from the depths.
They approached the massive, circular depression in the earth that housed the primary entrance. A wide, sweeping spiral of ancient, crumbling stone stairs led downward, disappearing into the pitch black shadows of the earth.
As they descended the first rotation of the freezing stone stairs, Aeloria, who was walking point with her blazing battleaxe acting as a makeshift torch, suddenly came to a halt.
"Aerion," Aeloria called out softly, her brow furrowing in deep confusion.
Lying face down on the stone landing, his heavy fur armor coated in a thin layer of frost, was a dead bandit. A crude iron sword was resting limply near his outstretched hand.
Aeloria nudged the body with her steel boot. The corpse was rigid, but there were no visible burn marks from Jenassa's arrows, no crushing wounds from her axe, and no scorch marks from Aerion's magic.
"Why is there a dead bandit all the way down here?" Aeloria asked, genuinely perplexed by the battlefield logic. "I thought you said this was a mercenary crew. Shouldn't the bandits and the mages have been allies? Why would they kill their own guard at the threshold?"
Aerion stepped past her, kneeling gracefully beside the frozen corpse. He examined the pale, sunken skin of the man's neck. There were no slash wounds, but the flesh possessed a strange, sickly, unnatural pallor that did not come simply from the cold.
"There are two primary tactical possibilities for this anomaly," Aerion explained, his voice taking on the calm, analytical tone of a seasoned scholar. He stood back up, looking down into the dark spiral.
"The first possibility is simple internal friction," Aerion theorized. "Criminal alliances forged in the pursuit of ancient gold are inherently volatile. Perhaps this man demanded a larger share of the plunder, or proved to be a liability to the mages, and they simply executed him to maintain discipline."
Aerion paused, his golden eyes narrowing slightly as he considered the vastly more terrifying, and vastly more accurate, alternative.
"However, given the presence of high level Conjuration mages in this specific excavation crew," Aerion continued, his tone darkening ominously, "there is a second, far more sinister probability. It is entirely possible that this man, and perhaps the entirety of the bandit frontline we just engaged outside... have actually been dead for days."
Aeloria blinked, a look of profound, chilling blankness washing over her face as her brain struggled to process the horrific concept. "Dead? But... they were fighting us. They were screaming."
"Necromancy is a foul, highly complex art, Aeloria," Aerion lectured, illuminating the dark realities of the arcane. "A novice necromancer can only raise a brittle, mindless skeleton or a shambling zombie that groans and falls apart. But a true Master of Conjuration possesses access to the absolute pinnacle of the dark arts, a spell known in forbidden circles as Dead Thrall."
Aerion gestured to the pristine, undamaged flesh of the corpse on the stairs.
"A Dead Thrall does not rot," Aerion explained coldly. "The spell permanently binds a soul back into its perfectly preserved physical vessel. A thrall raised by a master can speak, they can fight with the exact same martial skill they possessed in life, and they will serve their dark master with absolute, unbreakable loyalty until their physical bodies are entirely hacked to pieces. It is highly possible the master of this expedition grew tired of paying the bandits their wages, slaughtered them all in their sleep, and raised them to serve for free."
Aeloria stared at the corpse, a deep, visceral shudder running through her heavy steel armor. The jovial, battle hungry fire in her eyes was entirely extinguished, replaced by a look of profound, existential horror. To fight a man was one thing, to realize she might have just been butchering the enslaved, trapped souls of the dead was deeply sickening to her Nord sensibilities.
Seeing the Dragonborn's spirit wavering, Jenassa immediately stepped forward. The Morag Tong assassin possessed absolutely zero tolerance for existential dread on a battlefield.
"Listen to me, Nord," Jenassa spoke, her gravelly voice sharp and cutting. She placed a gloved hand firmly on Aeloria's steel shoulder plate. "Do not let the dark magic rattle your mind. It does not matter what they are. Dead, undead, living, or thrall... steel cuts them all exactly the same."
Jenassa gestured with her chin toward the towering High Elf standing beside them.
"Furthermore, if there is a conflict inside, we will ruthlessly exploit it to our advantage," the assassin advised pragmatically. "And if these bandits are merely undead puppets wearing flesh... then we simply cut their strings. They are vastly easier to put down permanently when you have a Patron who wields purifying light and apocalyptic fire. Do not pity the dead. Focus on the blade."
The blunt, ruthless pragmatism of the assassin was exactly what Aeloria needed to hear. The Dragonborn took a deep, shuddering breath, forcing the horror down into a tight box in her mind. Her innate, fiercely positive spirit violently reasserted itself.
She gripped the haft of the Axe of Morthal tightly, her blue eyes hardening into chips of ice.
"You are right, Jenassa," Aeloria declared firmly, her voice regaining its jovial, booming strength. "Dead or alive, if they stand between us and the artifact we are looking for, I will burn them all to ash."
Aerion offered a deeply approving smile. "That is the spirit, Aeloria. Keep your guard raised."
They reached the absolute bottom of the spiral stairs. Resting against the stone wall was an ancient, heavy wooden chest banded in iron. Aerion didn't bother trying to pick the rusted lock, he simply blasted it with a tiny, concentrated spark of fire. He kicked the lid open, revealing only a few ruined, moth eaten linens and a rusted iron dagger.
"Nothing of value," Aerion noted dismissively.
They turned to face the massive, towering double doors of solid stone that marked the true entrance into the ancient crypt.
Ustengrav, Aerion thought, a thrill of anticipation running through his transmigrator mind. He had entirely bypassed the geographical narrative.
Aeloria, entirely oblivious to the sequence break, looked at the massive stone doors with a look of fierce determination. Bleak Falls Barrow, she thought to herself, fully believing they were about to secure the Dragonstone for Farengar.
Aerion placed his hands flat against the freezing, damp stone of the doors and pushed. With a deafening, grinding groan of ancient mechanisms scraping against rock, the massive doors slowly yielded, swinging inward to reveal the absolute darkness of the barrow.
They stepped into the gloom.
The air inside the ruin was stale, suffocating, and heavy with the smell of undisturbed dust and deep earth. Massive, thick roots from the pine trees above had violently broken through the stone ceiling over the centuries, hanging down like giant, twisted tentacles.
They had barely walked twenty paces into the entry corridor when they encountered the grim verification of Aerion's theory.
Scattered across the stone floor of the hallway, illuminated by the flickering red glow of Aeloria's axe, were three more dead bandits. But this time, they were not resting peacefully. They had been violently hacked to pieces, their armor shattered and their limbs severed.
"Absolute caution," Aerion ordered, his voice dropping to a barely audible, telepathic whisper. "The internal conflict is real. We advance in total stealth."
They crept silently down the stone corridor, following the natural, downward slope of the ancient architecture. The path twisted and turned, leading them deeper into the earth, until the narrow hallway suddenly opened up into a massive, sprawling subterranean cavern room.
Aerion immediately raised a closed fist, pressing himself flat against the shadows of a crumbling stone pillar. Jenassa and Aeloria mirrored his movements perfectly, melting into the dark.
Aerion carefully peered around the edge of the pillar, taking in the full, terrifying scope of the enemy operation.
The cavern room was massive, and it was the sheer volume of hostiles occupying the stone platforms. it was a highly organized, heavily entrenched cult of rogue mages.
Aerion's analytical eyes swept the chamber, identifying the hierarchy instantly. There were several low ranking novice mages carrying cheap iron daggers, a pair of highly dangerous Destruction mages, one with hands wreathed in orange fire, the other radiating chilling white frost, and a heavily robed Restoration expert standing near the rear.
Scattered among them, acting as mindless, unblinking meat shields, were half a dozen heavily armored bandit thralls.
But pacing furiously across the central stone platform, barking harsh, echoing orders to the entire assembly, was the absolute lynchpin of the operation.
He was a late middle aged male Nord, his face deeply lined with dark, corrupt veins that spoke of decades of practicing the forbidden arts. He wore thick, ornate black robes woven with silver necromantic skulls. A massive, glowing purple staff of conjuration was gripped tightly in his hand.
"That is the Master Necromage," Aerion whispered softly, leaning back into the shadows to brief his team.
"He is the commander of this expedition. And he is our absolute, unquestionable priority target." Aerion locked eyes with Aeloria and Jenassa, his tone deadly serious. "If we do not eliminate him instantly, this battle will never end. He possesses the power to continuously resurrect the dead mages and the shattered thralls the moment we cut them down. If he is allowed to cast freely, we will be drowning in an endless tide of regenerating corpses, and his Restoration mages will heal whatever damage he takes."
Aerion formulated the strike plan in a fraction of a second.
"Jenassa, Aeloria. I need you to fan out entirely to the flanks," Aerion commanded softly, pointing to the dark, elevated ledges running along the perimeter of the cavern. "Use the shadows. Slip into position behind the main cluster of thralls. Do not engage until I initiate the primary bombardment. The moment my spell detonates, you collapse the flanks, slaughter the surviving mages, and sever the thralls. I will maintain absolute focus on the Master."
The two women offered sharp, synchronized nods. They drew their respective weapons and instantly vanished into the gloom, moving with the terrifying silence of apex predators.
Aerion remained hidden behind the pillar, observing the Master Necromage pacing on the platform.
He needed absolute, overwhelming, apocalyptic power to ensure the opening strike instantly shattered the enemy's chain of command. But he also knew that facing a diverse array of elemental mages required maximum flexibility across his entire magical repertoire.
His transmigrator mind engaged the digital interface. It was time to aggressively manipulate the physics of the universe once more.
He pulled up his skill trees, selecting his heavily saturated Destruction and Restoration matrices. He initiated the legendary resets with rapid, cold efficiency.
[Confirm Legendary Reset for Skill: Destruction (Fire)?]
[Confirmed. Level reset to: 0 (+3)]
[Confirm Legendary Reset for Skill: Destruction (Frost)?]
[Confirmed. Level reset to: 0 (+1)]
[Confirm Legendary Reset for Skill: Restoration (Healing)?]
[Confirmed. Level reset to: 0 (+1)]
[Confirm Legendary Reset for Skill: Restoration (Purify)?]
[Confirmed. Level reset to: 0 (+2)]
A profound, rushing sensation of absolute, unburdened lightness flooded his nervous system as the raw numeric caps were violently stripped away. He retained all the muscle memory, the arcane knowledge, and the raw power, but he had just unlocked infinite, exponential growth potential across four major magical disciplines simultaneously.
With his system primed, Aerion stepped slowly out from the shadows of the pillar.
He did not attempt to cast a standard fireball. He closed his eyes, tapping into the newly modified, terrifyingly complex arcane equation he had engineered in Movarth's lair.
He visualized the exact, dead center of the stone platform where the Master Necromage was standing.
He channeled his massive, 670 point Magicka pool, dual casting the custom spell.
Fire Storm (Targeted).
The air in the cavern instantly vacuumed, the ambient temperature skyrocketing to blistering levels. A tiny, blindingly bright spark of condensed, white hot plasma materialized directly to the Master Necromage's head.
The late middle aged Nord was a master of the arcane for a reason. His hyper tuned magical senses flared violently as he detected the catastrophic buildup of thermal energy directly above him.
He looked up, his eyes widening in absolute, primal terror.
"Ward! Raise the—" the Master Necromage screamed, desperately throwing both of his hands upward, attempting to cast a Greater Ward to shield himself.
He was a fraction of a second too slow.
The spell detonated.
The explosion was apocalyptic. A massive, roaring, blinding dome of superheated plasma expanded violently outward, completely engulfing the central stone platform. The concussive shockwave shattered the surrounding stone pillars, sending massive chunks of debris flying through the air.
Two novice mages standing near the epicenter were instantly vaporized into drifting ash. The heavily armored bandit thralls were violently hurled off the platform, crashing heavily into the ground.
The Master Necromage's hasty ward managed to absorb the absolute worst of the direct impact, saving his life, but the sheer, overwhelming splash damage was devastating.
The kinetic force shattered his ward like glass, violently hurling the master backward. His ornate black robes caught fire, and the skin on the left side of his face and arms was severely, horrifyingly scorched.
He crashed heavily against a stone altar, shrieking in agony.
Total, blinding panic instantly seized the surviving rogue mages. The cavern was filled with smoke, fire, and the deafening roar of the explosion.
"Ambush! We're under attack!" the Destruction mages screamed, wildly conjuring flames and frost, desperately searching the shadows for the enemy.
They didn't have to search long.
From the high, dark ledges on the flanks, absolute death descended.
"For Skyrim!" Aeloria roared, leaping from the shadows.
The Dragonborn landed directly amidst a cluster of disoriented, burning thralls. She swung the blazing Axe of Morthal in a devastating, horizontal whirlwind.
The heavy steel head cleaved through iron armor and undead flesh with terrifying ease. In less than three seconds, she had hacked three thralls completely to pieces, the fire enchantment instantly severing the necromantic binds animating their corpses.
Jenassa struck from the opposite flank. The Dark Elf assassin was a blur of gray skin and flashing steel. She slipped flawlessly behind the surviving Restoration mage, clamping a hand over his mouth and driving her iron dagger deeply into his spine, permanently neutralizing the enemy's healing capabilities before they could even cast a single spell.
Down near the entrance, Aerion did not remain idle.
He saw the Master Necromage struggling to push himself up from the stone altar, desperately trying to pat out the flames consuming his robes.
Aerion thrust his right hand forward, launching a massive, crackling volley of Chain Lightning. The purple bolts arced across the cavern, slamming directly into the chest of a Fire mage preparing to hurl a spell at Aeloria, violently electrocuting him and chaining to a nearby thrall.
Simultaneously, from his left hand, Aerion hurled a massive, swirling sphere of Ice Storm directly at the Master.
The Master Necromage, coughing up blood and clutching his burned face, looked up just in time to see the freezing tornado of jagged ice shards descending upon him.
Driven by sheer, desperate survival instinct, the master slammed his glowing purple staff into the stone floor.
"Arise! Defend me!" the Necromage roared, his voice cracking with pain and dark magic.
The master bypassed raising the dead. He violently tore open the fabric of Oblivion.
Two massive, swirling vortexes of purple energy erupted in front of him. From the rifts, two towering, hulking Frost Atronachs materialized, their massive bodies forged entirely of jagged, unbreakable glacial ice.
The Frost Atronachs stepped forward, acting as massive, physical shields. Aerion's Ice Storm slammed harmlessly against their bodies, the freezing magic doing absolutely zero damage to the elemental entities of ice.
The Master Necromage scrambled backward behind his massive Daedric bodyguards, his eyes burning with absolute, hateful fury as he locked onto the towering High Elf.
"Kill him!" the Master shrieked, pointing a scorched, trembling finger directly at Aerion. "Tear the Elf apart!"
The two massive Frost Atronachs let out deep, grinding roars of shifting ice and charged heavily across the stone platform, shaking the very foundations of the cavern as they barreled directly toward Aerion. Aerion stood perfectly still, his golden eyes narrowing. He dismissed the lightning and the frost from his hands. He reached into his spatial void, his transmigrator mind calculating the exact, devastating counter measure required for heavy elemental armor. 'Let us see how ice fares against the divine,' Aerion smiled coldly.
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[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(+3)/Lightning(+1)/Frost(+1)) (Level 0/41/0), Restoration (Healing(+1)/Purify(+2)) (Level 0/0), 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, Flawless Sapphires, Gold Necklace, Iron Necklace, & Petty Soul Gem (Filled)
4x Spider Eggs, Garnets, & Common Soul Gem (Filled)
5x Lesser Soul Gem (Filled)
7x Vampires Dust
8x Iron Arrows, Ancient Nord Arrows, & Black Soul Gems (Filled)
9x Potions Of Minor Healing
Weight: 77.62 KG / 540 KG
Septims: 78,927