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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"Excellent! Climb on up into the back and make yourselves comfortable!" Bjorlam grinned, moving to grab the heavy leather reins of the draft horse. "The fare remains exactly the same as the trip here. One hundred septims secures the entire carriage for a private, express ride to the gates of Whiterun."
Aerion offered the rugged carriage driver a smooth, acknowledging nod, his flawless golden features revealing nothing of the apocalyptic battles he had just waged in the dark.
"Of course, Bjorlam," Aerion responded, reaching his long fingers into the deep pockets of his immaculate dark robes.
He seamlessly accessed his spatial inventory, willing the exact amount of currency into his grasp. He pulled out a small, heavy leather pouch filled with precisely one hundred golden septims.
With a casual flick of his wrist, Aerion tossed the pouch through the damp morning air.
Bjorlam caught the heavy pouch with the practiced ease of a man who handled coin every day of his life. He weighed it in his calloused palm, the satisfying clink of gold bringing a massive, toothy grin to his bearded face.
"Always a pleasure doing business with you, Aerion!" Bjorlam chuckled, securing the pouch to his heavy leather belt. "Climb on board! We leave whenever you are ready."
Jenassa was the first to board, her movements entirely silent as she swung her lean, leather clad frame over the tailgate of the heavy wooden wagon. She immediately took up her preferred position near the rear, her crimson eyes scanning the foggy tree line of the swamps, her mercenary paranoia never truly resting.
Aeloria followed, though her ascent was significantly less graceful. The sheer, crushing weight of her newly acquired Steel Plate armor made climbing the narrow wooden step of the carriage a clanking, awkward endeavor.
She managed to hoist herself into the covered back seating area, letting out a heavy, metallic sigh as she dropped onto the wooden bench, her heavy steel sabatons resting loudly against the floorboards.
Aerion was the last to board. He casually scooped up Lupin, carrying the tiny, cinnamon-red fox in the crook of his arm, and stepped effortlessly up into the carriage. He took a seat across from the Dragonborn, placing the fox gently onto a pile of thick woolen blankets resting in the corner.
"Everyone settled in the back?" Bjorlam called over his shoulder, grabbing the heavy leather reins. He didn't wait for a verbal confirmation. "Right then! Hyah!"
Bjorlam sharply flicked the reins against the broad, muscular back of the massive draft horse. The beast let out a heavy snort, leaning into the leather harness, and the massive iron rimmed wheels of the carriage groaned as they began to roll forward, leaving the damp, packed dirt of Morthal behind.
As the carriage settled into a rhythmic, swaying motion, rolling down the winding dirt path that led away from the fortified town, Bjorlam cast a curious glance over his shoulder.
His eyes lingered heavily on the Dragonborn. When he had dropped them off two days ago, the blonde Nord woman had been wearing standard, relatively quiet studded Imperial leather. Now, she was a terrifying, walking fortress of polished, master crafted heavy steel, complete with a menacing, horned helmet resting on the bench beside her.
"By the blood of Ysmir, looks like you folks stumbled onto some remarkably good loot in this miserable swamp," Bjorlam whistled loudly, highly impressed by the upgrade. "That is a full set of Nordic Steel Plate. Costs a small fortune at any decent forge. I'm guessing the loots from you clearing that nest of vampires are quite good aye?"
Aerion let out a rich, melodic chuckle, leaning back against the wooden slats of the canopy.
"The rumors are entirely accurate, Bjorlam," Aerion confirmed smoothly. "We spent the majority of yesterday eradicating a rather large, deeply entrenched coven hiding in the caverns north of the town. Taking them down was precisely how my associate acquired her new armaments."
Bjorlam's eyes widened slightly, a look of profound respect crossing his weathered face. "Is that a fact? Well, I suppose if they can afford to outfit their guards in steel plate, those vampires must be sitting on a mountain of septims, eh? Rich blood suckers hoarding gold in the dark."
Aerion slowly shook his head, a cold, pragmatic shadow touching his golden eyes.
"Not particularly, no," Aerion corrected the driver, his voice dropping to a slightly graver register. "Vampires of that specific bloodline do not place significant value on gold or material wealth. They hoard a vastly different currency. They focus their efforts on capturing the living. They were stockpiling the missing citizens of Hjaalmarch to serve as a permanent, living blood supply."
Bjorlam physically shuddered, a cold chill running down his spine that had absolutely nothing to do with the freezing morning air. The sheer, horrific reality of the monsters operating so close to the roads he drove every day was terrifying.
"Gods above," Bjorlam muttered, gripping the reins tighter, his knuckles turning white. He looked back at the towering High Elf, his respect deepening into genuine, profound awe.
"Then it is a blessing you did what you did, my lord. Even though it shouldn't have been your problem to solve. Morthal isn't your home, and... well, no offense intended, but the Nords of this province haven't exactly been welcoming to High Elves lately. You could have just walked away."
"The suffering of innocents is everyone's problem, Bjorlam," Aerion replied smoothly, perfectly playing the role of the benevolent, heroic scholar. "We simply did what was necessary."
Bjorlam offered a solemn, deeply appreciative nod, turning his attention fully back to the road.
As the carriage rolled onward, Aerion realized that the scenery outside the canopy was not matching the route they had taken from Whiterun. Instead of heading south toward the golden plains of the tundra, the carriage had merged onto a secondary dirt road that aggressively curved eastward, climbing steadily upward into the jagged, towering mountain ranges that bordered the hold.
Within an hour, the thick, damp, clinging fog of the Hjaalmarch swamps completely vanished, entirely replaced by a biting, violent, blinding white blizzard. The temperature plummeted drastically.
They had crossed the border. They were no longer in Hjaalmarch. They were in the Pale.
The wind howled aggressively against the canvas canopy of the carriage, sending sharp, stinging flurries of heavy snow blowing into the open back.
Aeloria immediately pulled her arms tightly across her heavy steel breastplate, shivering violently. Steel was an incredibly effective conductor of temperature.
In the heat of battle, it was fine, but sitting completely still in a freezing carriage while surrounded by frozen metal was absolute agony. The padding beneath the armor was completely insufficient for a mountain blizzard.
"By the breath of Kyne, Bjorlam!" Aeloria protested loudly, her teeth visibly chattering as a gust of freezing wind hit her face. "Why in Oblivion did you take this road?! This isn't the way we came! We are freezing to death back here!"
Bjorlam hunched his shoulders against the driving snow, his thick fur cloak shielding him from the worst of the blizzard.
"My deepest apologies, lass!" Bjorlam yelled back over the howling wind, trying to sound reassuring. "This eastern pass through the Pale is vastly faster! Don't worry, you won't die of the cold! We're Nords! It builds character!"
Aeloria let out a miserable, chattering groan. "It is very cold, isn't it?" she muttered, trying to tuck her chin into her steel gorget.
Aerion looked at the shivering Dragonborn and let out a soft, highly exasperated sigh.
He didn't complain. He simply reached out of the carriage, snapping a few thick, dead branches off a passing pine tree that was leaning over the dirt road. He pulled the frozen wood into the carriage, piling the branches carefully on the metal reinforced floorboards near the center of the seating area.
Aerion raised a single finger. He didn't cast a massive fireball, he merely channeled a tiny, incredibly precise trickle of his Destruction magic, generating a sustained, localized magical flame that ignited the branches without producing any suffocating smoke.
He essentially created a miniature, magically controlled campfire directly inside the moving carriage.
The immediate area around the burning branches instantly warmed. The freezing, biting chill of the Pale was violently pushed back by the radiating thermal energy of the High Elf's spell.
Aeloria immediately leaned forward, holding her heavy steel gauntlets out toward the magical flames, letting out a massive, shuddering sigh of profound relief as the warmth seeped into the freezing metal of her armor.
"You are an absolute lifesaver, Aerion," Aeloria murmured gratefully, closing her eyes as she soaked in the heat.
"Consider it a necessary adjustment," Aerion replied smoothly, resting his hands in his lap.
With the temperature inside the carriage stabilized, the journey through the treacherous, snowy terrain became vastly more tolerable. They sat in comfortable silence, watching the harsh, unforgiving beauty of the northern province roll slowly past the open tailgate.
Sometime later, the carriage rattled past a small, miserable looking settlement carved directly into the side of a frozen mountain. A handful of exhausted miners, completely covered in coal dust and shivering in ragged furs, were desperately hacking away at the frozen earth with iron pickaxes.
"Stonehills," Jenassa noted quietly, recognizing the depressing mining camp. "A miserable place to scratch out a living."
They continued northbound, the road winding treacherously along the edge of steep, plunging ravines.
Suddenly, the natural, jagged gray stone of the mountainside was violently interrupted by the unmistakable, towering, geometric perfection of ancient, golden bronze metal.
Massive, incredibly complex brass pipes jutted out of the frozen earth, venting thick plumes of hot, hissing white steam into the freezing air. Rising high above the tree line was a towering, heavily fortified gatehouse constructed entirely of pristine, un rusting Dwarven metal, its massive gears completely frozen by centuries of disuse.
Aerion's transmigrator mind instantly matched the architectural silhouette to his internal map.
"Mzinchaleft," Aerion murmured, recognizing the massive, incredibly dangerous Dwemer ruin.
"Aye, the old Dwarven lift tower," Bjorlam called back, steering the horse carefully around a massive brass pipe that had collapsed across the road. "Fascinating to look at, but you wouldn't catch me dead stepping foot inside. They say the metal men down there still walk the halls, just waiting to crush anyone who tries to steal their scrap."
They left the ancient brass towers behind, the road curving sharply back toward the east.
The snowy terrain grew even more desolate. The pine trees thinned out, replaced by sweeping, completely exposed tundras of deep, blinding white snow.
As they crested a particularly high snow drift, another set of ruins loomed out of the blizzard. However, this architecture was vastly different from the precise, geometric metal of the Dwemer. These were crude, massive, monolithic pillars of dark, weathered stone, arranged in a large, circular pattern atop a high plateau.
"Windward Ruins," Aerion and Bjorlam said in near-perfect unison.
Aerion raised an eyebrow, slightly impressed that the simple carriage driver possessed such an encyclopedic knowledge of the province's obscure, unpopulated landmarks.
Bjorlam chuckled, catching the High Elf's surprised look in the rearview mirror. "I've been driving a carriage across Skyrim for ten long years, Aerion. There isn't a single crypt, ruin, or standing stone I haven't driven past at least a dozen times. You learn the names, if only to know which places to avoid when the sun goes down."
The carriage pressed onward, the heavy wheels crunching through the deep snow until they finally reached a major, well marked three way intersection. A heavy wooden signpost, half buried in a snowdrift, pointed in three different directions.
Bjorlam pulled hard on the right rein, guiding the draft horse onto the southern fork.
"If we had taken the left turn, we'd be heading straight into Dawnstar," Bjorlam informed them loudly, wiping snow from his beard. "We are deep in the heart of the Pale territory now. The road south from here gets a bit rough, but it's the fastest way back to the central plains."
They followed the southern road, the terrain sloping steadily downward. The thick, howling blizzard began to slowly dissipate, the heavy snowfall turning into a light, drifting flurry.
As they rounded a wide bend in the road, the reason for the route's notorious reputation became immediately, terrifyingly apparent.
They were entering Red Road Pass.
Situated in a massive, sweeping valley directly adjacent to the main dirt road was an enormous, sprawling Giant's camp. Towering, crude bonfires burned brightly in the center of the camp, surrounded by massive wooden racks draped with heavy mammoth hides.
Walking slowly through the valley, their heavy footfalls shaking the very earth beneath the carriage wheels, were several massive Mammoths. The beasts were the size of small houses, their thick, shaggy brown fur protecting them from the cold, their massive, curved ivory tusks sweeping low to the ground as they grazed on the frozen tundra grass.
And standing guard over the herd were the Giants.
Towering, incredibly muscular humanoids wielding massive, crude wooden clubs reinforced with heavy stone and bone.
Bjorlam did not speak. The jovial carriage driver went completely, terrifyingly silent. He didn't crack the whip, knowing the sharp sound might startle the herd.
He simply gripped the reins tightly, urging the draft horse into a swift, steady, ground eating trot, desperate to pass through the territorial zone before a Giant decided the carriage looked like a threat.
Aeloria held her breath, her hand resting instinctively on the hilt of her battleaxe, watching the massive beasts warily. Jenassa didn't even blink, her bow resting across her knees, fully prepared to fire if a Mammoth charged.
They held their collective breath for ten agonizing minutes until the massive camp finally faded into the distance behind them.
Bjorlam let out a massive, explosive sigh of relief.
"Too close for comfort," Bjorlam muttered.
A few miles further south, the main road headed directly toward a massive, heavily fortified stone structure nestled in the snowy valley.
"Fort Dunstad is straight ahead," Bjorlam announced, his voice tight with renewed anxiety. "It used to be an Imperial garrison, but it was overrun months ago. It's currently occupied by one of the largest, most aggressive bandit clans in the Pale. If we ride past their walls, they will undoubtedly rain arrows down on the canopy."
Bjorlam didn't wait for permission. He violently pulled the reins, swerving the heavy carriage entirely off the main road and onto a rugged, bumpy, deeply unpleasant dirt path that wound through the dense pine forests to the east.
The shortcut was absolutely miserable. The carriage bounced and jolted violently over exposed tree roots and hidden rocks, threatening to throw them all from the benches.
"We are taking a wide detour around Dunstad," Bjorlam yelled over the rattling of the wheels. "We will pass near Fort Fellhammer instead. It's also occupied by bandits, unfortunately, but it's an iron mine. They mostly stay underground. It is vastly safer than risking the main road."
Aerion simply gripped the wooden slats of the canopy, enduring the bone-rattling detour in silence.
The dirt path was treacherous, but Bjorlam's navigation was flawless. After nearly an hour of miserable, jarring off road driving, they safely bypassed the massive bandit garrison and finally merged back onto the well paved, relatively smooth cobblestones of the main provincial highway.
Bjorlam turned the carriage sharply to the right. The geographical shift was incredibly sudden and profoundly welcoming.
As they followed the highway south, the biting, freezing wind of the Pale simply ceased to exist. The thick, white snow drifts lining the road rapidly thinned out, melting away to reveal rich, dark soil. The twisted, dead pine trees were replaced by the vibrant, sprawling beauty of the central holds.
They had finally left the cold terrain behind. They had re entered the golden plains of the Whiterun Tundra.
The bright, warm afternoon sun broke through the clouds, casting a brilliant golden hue across the sprawling grasslands. Aeloria immediately let out a massive sigh of relief, unstrapping her heavy horned helmet and letting the warm breeze hit her face.
The ride continued smoothly across the flat, well maintained plains for another hour, until the massive, unmistakable silhouette of Dragonsreach finally appeared on the horizon, perched proudly atop its massive stone outcropping.
"Home sweet home!" Bjorlam cheered, cracking the reins one final time.
The carriage rolled smoothly down the final stretch of highway, pulling to a gentle, creaking halt in the familiar, bustling courtyard of the Whiterun Stables.
"End of the line, folks!" Bjorlam called out, engaging the heavy wooden brake. "Safe and sound in Whiterun."
Aerion stood up, smoothing his immaculate dark robes, and stepped gracefully down from the carriage. He turned, offering a hand to assist Aeloria, who clattered heavily down to the dirt, completely exhausted but immensely satisfied to be back in warm weather. Jenassa followed silently, and Lupin hopped down, shaking the road dust from his cinnamon fur.
"You have my deepest thanks for the swift and steady transport, Bjorlam," Aerion said smoothly, offering the driver a polite bow of his head. "Despite the detour, your navigation was flawless."
"Just doing my job!" Bjorlam grinned, tipping his weathered hat. "If you ever need to brave the wilds again, you know exactly where my carriage sits, well if I'm here of course."
Aerion turned away from the stables, leading his heavily armed strike team up the long, winding cobblestone path that led directly toward the massive main gates of Whiterun.
As they walked, the familiar sights and sounds of the bustling trade hub washing over them, Aerion finally allowed his transmigrator mind to fully process the massive backlog of systemic notifications he had earned during the brutal purge of Ustengrav.
He didn't break his stride. He simply opened his digital interface, allowing the golden text to cascade rapidly in his peripheral vision.
The raw, statistical data of his combat efficiency was staggering.
[Destruction (Fire) (+3) Leveled Up 28 Times! Current Level: 28]
[Destruction (Lightning) (+1) Leveled Up 16 Times! Current Level: 57]
[Destruction (Frost) (+1) Leveled Up 20 Times! Current Level: 20]
His mastery over the absolute elements had skyrocketed. The relentless, high pressure magical artillery he had rained down upon the rogue mages, undead bandits, Draugrs, the Frost Atronachs, and the skeletal hordes had violently expanded his arcane pathways.
He could feel the raw, crackling potential of plasma, electricity, and absolute zero humming just beneath the surface of his skin, significantly more potent than when he had first entered the crypt.
[Restoration (Healing) (+1) Leveled Up 14 Times! Current Level: 14]
[Restoration (Purify) (+2) Leveled Up 25 Times! Current Level: 25]
The divine matrices had completely stabilized. The sheer volume of Draugr eradicated by his blinding holy light, and the critical, mid combat healing he had provided to his team, had solidified his connection to the restorative arts. His spells would now cost significantly less magicka to cast, and their potency was vastly increased.
[Sneak Leveled Up 12 Times! Current Level: 87]
Navigating the volatile pressure plate traps and silently maneuvering behind the Master Necromage's frontline had refined his spatial awareness to near perfect silence. He could now move in heavy boots with the absolute stillness of a shadow.
[One Handed (+1) Leveled Up 30 Times! Current Level: 72]
Aerion felt a profound, satisfying tightening of his physical muscle memory. His brutal, high speed melee engagements against the massive Draugr Scourges and the Master Necromage had rapidly saturated his newly reset physical matrix. His swings with Dawnbreaker and the Black Prism would be faster, heavier, and significantly more lethal.
[Light Armor Leveled Up 15 Times! Current Level: 92]
The glancing blows of ancient swords and the kinetic shockwaves of near miss destruction spells had hardened his physical resistance, allowing him to absorb vastly more punishment without staggering.
But it was the final, summarizing calculation that truly mattered
[MASSIVE LEVEL UP DETECTED!]
[You have leveled up 15 times! You are now Level 136!]
[You have gained 15 Attribute Points! Current Unspent Points: 15]
Fifteen points.
He could vastly expand his magicka reserves, harden his flesh, or increase his stamina to the point where he could sprint across the entire province without resting in the long future.
He decided to bank the points for now, keeping the massive reserve available for instantaneous, mid combat adaptation should he ever face a threat that exceeded his current parameters.
Aerion dismissed the golden text from his vision as they reached the massive, heavy wooden doors of Whiterun.
The guards recognized him instantly, stepping aside allowing the heavily armed trio to enter the bustling city streets. A massive, genuinely happy smile spread across Aerion's flawless golden features as they began the familiar trek up the tiered streets toward the towering silhouette of Dragonsreach. He had successfully took advantage of the timeline, secured the Horn, stripped the Blades of their future narrative leverage, and gained a terrifying amount of personal power in the process.
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[Main Panel]
Name: Aerion
Race: High Elf (Altmer)
Health: 460/460 Stamina: 480/480 Magicka: 670/670
Level: 121 ➝ 136
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 28/57/20), Restoration (Healing(+1)/Purify(+2)) (Level 14/25), Alteration (Level 35), Illusion (Level 50), Conjuration (Necromancy/Summoning(+1)) (Level 37/26), Persuasion(+1) (Level 60), Smithing (Level 22), Sneak (Level 87), One Handed(+1) (Level 72), Two Handed (Level 81), Lockpicking (Level 35), Archery (Level 72), Enchanting (Level 66), Light Armor (Level 92), Block (Level 70), & Pickpocket (Level 8)
Shouts: Fus (Force), Tiid (Time), Krii (Kill), Feim Zii (Fade Spirit), & 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, Gold Ruby Ring of Fortify Magicka, Iron Garnet Ring of Fortify Conjuration & Magicka Regen, Elven Dagger, Potion of Healing, Honed Ancient Nord Sword of Sparks, Gold Emerald Circlet, & Scroll of Fire Storm, Ring of Archery,Hide Boots of Stamina, Ancient Nord Sword of Absorbing, Iron Garnet Circlet, & Iron Sapphire Circlet
2x Common Soul Gem (Empty), Black Soul Gem (Empty), Elven Sword, Amethysts, Potions of Plentiful Magicka, Scroll of Conjure Familiar, & Scroll of Magelight
3x Glowing Mushrooms, Potions of Minor Stamina, Flawless Sapphires, Gold Necklace, Iron Necklace, Petty Soul Gem (Filled), & Potions of Minor Magicka
4x Spider Eggs, Garnets, & Common Soul Gem (Filled)
5x Lesser Soul Gem (Filled)
7x Vampires Dust
8x Iron Arrows & Ancient Nord Arrows
9x Potions Of Minor Healing
12x Black Soul Gem (Filled)
Weight: 93.20 KG / 540 KG
Septims: 81,557