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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It wasn't just giving him the knowledge, it was offering him the immediate, usable manifestation of the Shout without requiring a single dragon soul to unlock it. He was being granted the literal powers of a demigod simply for being in the same room. Aerion's golden eyes burned with an absolute, terrifying intensity as he mentally slammed his full will against the interface. YES.
After that Aerion stood perfectly still, allowing the absolute, reality warping rush of the newly integrated Shout to settle comfortably into the deepest recesses of his transmigrator soul.
Beside him, Aeloria blinked rapidly, her bright blue eyes wide with residual shock. She instinctively pressed a heavy steel gauntlet against her chest, right over her heart, processing the influx of ancient knowledge.
"It is done," Aerion announced smoothly, breaking the heavy silence. His golden eyes swept over the exhausted, battered, yet entirely victorious strike team. "We have successfully secured the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller, and Aeloria have gotten a new type of shout. Our objectives in this crypt have been achieved."
He turned back toward the dark archway that led down into the Elder's Cairn.
"Let's gather up, we are leaving," Aerion says.
Aeloria, Valdemar, Lydia, and Jenassa did not need to be told twice. The adrenaline of the fierce, multi stage boss fight was rapidly leaving their systems, replaced by the deep, aching soreness of bruised muscles and the chilling dampness of the subterranean tomb. They quickly fell into a tight formation, eager to leave the stench of ancient death behind.
They retraced their steps with practiced caution, though the threat had been entirely eradicated. They walked back through the massive, cavernous main chamber of the Elder's Cairn, stepping carefully around the glowing, evaporating puddle of Kvenel the Tongue's ectoplasm and the piles of purified ash that used to be Draugr Scourges.
They passed back through the heavy, double iron doors, leaving the ceremonial weapons resting securely in the locking mechanism, and ascended the long, dark corridors of Volunruud.
Finally, they reached the base of the wide, spiraling stone staircase that served as the crypt's primary entrance. They climbed the ancient, uneven steps, the air growing noticeably thinner and vastly colder with every upward rotation.
As they breached the surface and stepped out from beneath the massive stone dome, the brutal, unforgiving climate of the Pale violently reasserted itself.
The freezing, howling blizzard whipped fiercely across the jagged mountainside, driving sharp crystals of ice directly against their exposed skin. The temperature had plummeted significantly since the afternoon, plunging the northern hills into a deep, arctic freeze.
Aeloria immediately pulled her heavy fur cloak tightly around her shoulders, her teeth chattering audibly as the freezing wind instantly sapped the residual warmth from her steel armor.
"By the breath of Kyne," Aeloria swore, shivering violently. She looked at the High Elf, her breath pluming in thick, white clouds. "Aerion, let us get down from these hills fast. The cold up here is absolutely unbearable at night. It's nothing compared to the Throat of the World but still it's cold."
"The Pale is notoriously unforgiving," Aerion agreed, entirely unaffected by the temperature due to his massive Stamina pool, but deeply pragmatic regarding the mortal limits of his team. "Keep a brisk pace. We make for the lower grounds immediately."
Aerion took the absolute lead, navigating the treacherous, snow-covered path with flawless precision.
They marched rapidly down the descending, winding dirt roads, leaving the massive stone pillars of Volunruud behind in the blizzard. As they walked, the elevation began to steadily drop. The howling wind slowly lost its violent, freezing edge, transforming into a brisk, manageable evening breeze.
The environment drastically shifted around them. The deep, blinding white snowdrifts began to thin out, revealing patches of frozen earth and dark rock. Within an hour of rapid descent, the dark, jagged pine trees of the northern hills entirely gave way to the sweeping, open expanse of the central plains.
They had successfully returned to the Whiterun tundra.
The transition was a massive relief. The air was crisp and cool, but it lacked the lethal, biting freeze of the mountains. The sky above was clear, an endless canvas of deep violet scattered with thousands of brilliant, glittering stars, casting a serene, silver light across the golden grass.
Aerion guided the team directly toward the silhouette of the abandoned, heavily fortified wooden palisades of Halted Stream Camp, rising from the plains just ahead.
As they approached the ruined wooden gates, the soft, rhythmic sound of a horse stamping its hooves nervously against the dirt met their ears.
Parked securely just inside the perimeter of the abandoned bandit camp, sheltered from the northern winds by the high wooden walls, was the heavy wooden carriage. However, the scene was entirely lacking in relaxation.
Bjorlam was frantically pacing back and forth near the driver's bench, violently rubbing his arms to stay warm, his eyes darting nervously toward the dark tree line. He was actively in the process of untying the heavy leather securing ropes, fully preparing to abandon the camp.
"Bjorlam!" Aerion's melodic voice cut sharply through the quiet night.
The carriage driver jumped in surprise, spinning around. When he saw the towering silhouette of the High Elf and the heavily armored warriors emerging from the darkness, a massive, incredibly bright smile of pure, unadulterated relief completely split his bearded face.
"Praise the Eight, you are alive!" Bjorlam shouted, dropping the leather ropes and rushing forward to greet them. He let out a loud, breathless laugh, wiping a hand across his forehead. "I swear to you, my Thane, I thought you wouldn't return! The sun went down an hour ago, and the shadows out here were starting to play tricks on my mind. I was just about to pack it in and head back to a civilized place. It's vastly too dangerous for me and the horse to stay out here in the wilds any longer."
"Your caution is entirely justified, Bjorlam," Aerion replied smoothly, stepping up to the wagon as his strike team began heavily clambering into the back, entirely exhausted. "But it is incredibly lucky that we managed to arrive exactly in time to intercept your departure."
"Aye, lucky indeed, my Thane!" Bjorlam laughed heartily, his nervous energy completely evaporating now that he was surrounded by five elite warriors. He bounded up onto the driver's bench, grabbing the reins. "Well, since you're all in one piece, I suppose we should ride straight back to the gates of Whiterun, then?"
"Actually," Aerion corrected him softly, taking his seat behind the driver. "Do not take us to the city gates. We will disembark at my personal homestead, situated just to the east of the city on the main road."
Bjorlam paused, recalling the massive, estate with the towering palisades and the giant mammoths. He nodded his head enthusiastically.
"Say no more, my Thane," Bjorlam agreed, snapping the heavy leather reins. "Just lead the way. I know the road."
The draft horse snorted, pulling the heavy carriage out of the abandoned bandit camp and merging back onto the main, paved cobblestone highway.
The ride south was quiet, filled only with the rhythmic clatter of the wooden wheels and the deep, exhausted breathing of the strike team in the back. Aeloria leaned her head back against the wooden frame of the canopy, her eyes closed, completely drained by the trials of the day.
It was not a long journey. The carriage rolled swiftly across the starlit tundra, and within forty minutes, the massive, imposing, torch lit palisades of the Aerion Estate loomed out of the darkness on the left side of the road.
Bjorlam pulled the carriage off the highway, bringing it to a gentle halt directly in front of the heavy iron reinforced wooden gates of the compound.
The perimeter was heavily guarded. Standing at attention on either side of the gate, illuminated by the flickering light of the iron braziers, were two imposing figures.
Sinmir, the towering mercenary captain, stood with his arms crossed, while Uthgerd the Unbroken, the fierce, battle hardened Nord warrior Aerion had recruited weeks prior, held a heavy steel greatsword resting casually against her armored shoulder.
"Halt and be recognized!" Uthgerd called out automatically, her sharp eyes scanning the carriage.
"At ease, Uthgerd," Aerion's calm, authoritative voice drifted from the wagon.
Sinmir and Uthgerd immediately relaxed their defensive postures, snapping into crisp, respectful salutes as the High Elf and his heavily armored team stepped down from the carriage.
"Welcome back, Patron," Sinmir greeted him, flawlessly maintaining the operational security of the company by avoiding the title of 'Boss' in front of the carriage driver.
Aerion nodded in acknowledgment. He then turned back to Bjorlam, who was looking up at the towering, heavily armed mercenaries and the massive wooden walls with a mixture of awe and profound relief.
"Bjorlam," Aerion offered smoothly, gesturing to the open gates. "The hour is late, and the roads between here and the city gates can still harbor desperate men. You are more than welcome to rest yourself and your horse here for the night. The area around this estate is absolutely, unconditionally secure. I have paid this mercenary company extremely well to guard my homestead and aggressively patrol the surrounding plains. They are vastly more capable than the standard Whiterun Guards you see sleeping on their posts."
Bjorlam looked at the fierce, scarred faces of Sinmir and Uthgerd, and then back at the High Elf. He didn't hesitate for a second.
"I wholeheartedly agree, my Thane," Bjorlam nodded his head emphatically, a look of immense gratitude on his face. "I feel infinitely safer behind these walls than I would on the open road. I accept your hospitality with deep thanks."
"Sinmir, direct him to the stables and ensure he has a warm bedroll in the barracks," Aerion instructed.
"Right away, Patron," Sinmir nodded, stepping forward to guide the carriage.
With the logistical details settled, Aerion led Aeloria, Jenassa, Valdemar, and Lydia into the warmth and absolute safety of the main house.
The interior was quiet and comfortably warm, the central hearth fire banked low for the night. The absolute, crushing physical exhaustion of climbing the Seven Thousand Steps, fighting ghosts, and descending freezing mountains finally caught up with them all simultaneously. There was no grand debriefing or celebration; survival was celebration enough.
They immediately dispersed to their respective sleeping arrangements.
Aerion retired to the private, luxurious master bedroom at the rear of the house. Jenassa claimed one of the comfortable single beds in the secondary room, entirely ignoring her armor as she collapsed onto the mattress.
Aeloria, groaning as she finally unbuckled the last heavy plate of her steel armor, practically fell onto the other single bed, instantly falling into a deep, dreamless sleep.
As for the Housecarls, Valdemar and Lydia strictly refused to sleep in beds while on active duty. They unfurled their heavy winter bedrolls directly onto the woven rugs in the main living room, positioning themselves strategically between the front door and the bedrooms. Lupin the fox happily curled up on a pile of soft mammoth furs near the dying embers of the hearth.
The estate fell into a profound, restorative silence.
The next morning, the bright, golden light of the Whiterun sun streamed through the heavy glass windows of the main house.
Aerion was the first to rise. His transmigrator physiology required incredibly minimal rest to achieve total recovery. He dressed flawlessly, ensuring his dark robes were immaculate, and stepped quietly into the main living room.
Lydia and Valdemar were already awake, silently maintaining their gear near the door.
Aerion moved gracefully into the kitchen area. He didn't rely on his Housecarls for basic sustenance, he enjoyed the precise, alchemical process of cooking. He accessed his storages, pulling fresh leeks, thick cuts of salted venison, heavy cream, and a selection of sharp, fragrant mountain spices he had procured in the markets.
He moved with effortless culinary precision. Within thirty minutes, a massive iron pot was bubbling cheerfully over the reignited hearth fire, filling the entire house with the rich, incredibly savory, mouth watering aroma of a thick, perfectly seasoned Nordic stew.
The smell acted as an irresistible alarm clock.
Jenassa emerged from the side room first, her crimson eyes blinking against the morning light. A few moments later, Aeloria stumbled out, her blonde hair messy, rubbing her eyes and following her nose directly to the kitchen.
"By the Eight, that smells divine," Aeloria mumbled, sitting heavily at the large wooden dining table.
"Eat," Aerion instructed warmly, placing large, steaming wooden bowls of the thick soup in front of his team. "We have a significant amount of ground to cover today."
They ate in comfortable silence, the hot, rich broth entirely revitalizing their tired muscles.
Once the bowls were scraped clean, Aerion poured a cup of spiced wine and leaned back in his chair, shifting the atmosphere from domestic comfort to strategic planning.
"Aeloria," Aerion began smoothly, resting his golden eyes upon the Dragonborn. "We have successfully secured the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller. The artifact is safely in our possession. The question now is one of timing. Do you wish to depart immediately and return to High Hrothgar to deliver the Horn to the Greybeards? They indicated that the artifact is the key to unlocking the next phase of your training, and potentially, the information we seek regarding the return of the dragons."
Aeloria swallowed her wine, her expression growing entirely serious. She nodded her head firmly.
"I do, Aerion," Aeloria confirmed without hesitation. "I want to go back up that mountain today. I need to give the Horn to Master Arngeir and hear exactly what he has to say next. I feel like I am standing on the edge of something massive, and I cannot simply wait around in Whiterun."
Aerion offered a deeply approving, supportive smile.
"Then we shall march for the mountain once more," Aerion declared smoothly. "We will accompany your journey exactly as we did before. We will not let you face the steps alone."
Aeloria's face lit up with genuine, profound happiness. The sheer reliability of the High Elf and his team was her greatest anchor in the madness of her new destiny.
"Thank you, Aerion. Honestly," Aeloria smiled broadly. She then glanced toward the heavy, empty leather backpacks resting near the door. "But before we leave... I feel like we definitely need to resupply our provisions first, right? We completely burned through the salted meats, the mead, and the healing poultices yesterday."
"A highly astute observation," Aerion agreed, nodding his head. He turned his gaze toward his two rigidly attentive protectors. "Lydia. Valdemar."
The two Housecarls instantly stood at attention from their seats.
Aerion seamlessly reached into his dark leather satchel, accessing his massive digital treasury, and withdrew a heavy leather pouch of gold.
"Take this," Aerion instructed, tossing the pouch perfectly into Valdemar's awaiting hand. "There are exactly one hundred and fifty septims inside. I want the two of you to march into Whiterun immediately. Purchase fresh climbing rope, heavy winter rations, and several reinforced waterskins. Once the supplies are secured, return here directly. We will depart for Ivarstead the moment you return."
"It will be done, Thane Aerion," Valdemar saluted crisply.
"We shall be swift," Lydia added, grabbing her heavy supply pack.
The two Housecarls immediately turned and marched out of the main house, their heavy steel armor clanking purposefully as they headed for the city gates.
With the logistical chores delegated, a quiet, comfortable lull settled over the homestead. Aeloria moved to the sitting area near the fire to begin polishing the heavy steel plates of her armor, while Jenassa took a seat nearby, meticulously fletching a new batch of iron arrows.
Aerion remained seated at the dining table, resting his chin lightly on his steepled fingers.
'Perfect,' Aerion thought, his transmigrator mind entirely shielded behind his calm, aristocratic mask. 'I finally have a moment of absolute, uninterrupted peace to process the combat data.'
He closed his eyes for a fraction of a second, mentally engaging his digital system.
The massive, golden interface violently flared into existence across his vision. The sheer, overwhelming volume of the notifications waiting for him was staggering. Clearing the high tier undead in Volunruud, battling a spectral boss, and continuously utilizing dual cast, master level magic had pushed his arcane and stealth matrices to absolute, unprecedented limits.
He began to read through the cascading text, a deeply sociopathic, immensely satisfied smile touching his lips.
[Destruction (Fire) (+3) Leveled Up 24 Times! Current Level: 67]
[Destruction (Lightning) (+1) Leveled Up 16 Times! Current Level: 92]
[Destruction (Frost) (+1) Leveled Up 15 Times! Current Level: 56]
Aerion felt a profound, crackling surge of raw elemental density solidify within his power. His continuous, dual cast Incinerate barrage against Kvenel the Tongue had forced his Fire magic to adapt and expand exponentially.
[Restoration (Healing) (+1) Leveled Up 21 Times! Current Level: 52]
[Restoration (Purify) (+2) Leveled Up 25 Times! Current Level: 50]
The sheer, overwhelming volume of unholy, necromantic energy he had violently eradicated with his holy light had skyrocketed his divine affinities. His Purify beam was no longer just a tactical advantage against the undead, it was a localized, holy bomb.
[Conjuration (Summoning) (+1) Leveled Up 12 Times! Current Level: 38]
The tactical deployment and subsequent detonation of the Flame Atronachs against the Ebonywielding Deathlords had significantly reinforced his connection to the planes of Oblivion.
And then, he read the notification that brought the widest, most triumphant smirk to his face.
[Sneak Leveled Up 15 Times!]
[Sneak has reached MAX LEVEL!]
Aerion felt his physical body undergo a subtle, yet profound metaphysical shift. The concept of stealth was no longer an action he performed, it was a state of being. He was fundamentally, perfectly unperceivable. He could likely walk directly through a fully lit Thalmor embassy without displacing a single molecule of air or casting a shadow.
[Light Armor (+1) Leveled Up 18 Times! Current Level: 18]
The glancing blows and kinetic shockwaves he had endured during the chaotic melee in the Elder's Cairn had rapidly begun rebuilding his physical durability after the legendary reset.
Finally, the overarching culmination of his absolute dominance manifested.
[LEVEL UP DETECTED!]
[You have leveled up 13 times! You are now Level 158!]
[You have gained 13 Attribute Points!]
Thirteen points of attributes points, ready to be deployed. The sheer, compounding growth of his power was intoxicating. He was rapidly transitioning from a powerful mage into an untouchable, continent level threat.
Before Aerion could allocate the points, the heavy wooden door of the main house abruptly opened.
Aerion instantly dismissed the interface, his golden eyes snapping toward the entrance.
Sinmir, the mercenary captain, stepped into the house. The towering Nord looked serious, highly professional, completely masking the informal nature of his employment in the presence of an outsider.
"My apologies for the interruption, Thane Aerion. Thane Aeloria," Sinmir announced loudly, respectfully ensuring his tone conveyed absolute subservience to the local nobility. "First of all, congratulations to you both on your well deserved elevations in the Jarl's court."
"Thank you, Sinmir," Aerion replied smoothly, instantly matching the formal tone. "What is the matter?"
"There is someone at the gates who specifically requested to meet with the two new Thanes of Whiterun," Sinmir reported, stepping aside slightly to clear the doorway.
Aerion's transmigrator mind instantly flared with a sudden, sharp spike of profound, instinctual paranoia.
A guest? Specifically seeking both Thanes? Aerion calculated rapidly. The nobles of the Cloud District are far too arrogant to travel into the plains uninvited. The Jarl would send a courier, not a personal audience. Who would possibly have the audacity, and the specific intelligence, to track us directly to this heavily guarded, private estate?
"Who is the guest, Sinmir?" Aerion asked, his voice calm, but his golden eyes narrowing dangerously.
L
Before the mercenary captain could answer, a figure stepped smoothly past him, entering the warmth of the main house without waiting for a formal invitation.
It was a woman. She was a Nord, dressed in worn, highly pragmatic, deeply weathered dark leather armor that spoke of years spent sleeping on the hard ground. A heavy, dark gray hood was pulled low over her head, completely obscuring her features in shadow.
The absolute moment Aerion laid eyes upon the specific, tailored cut of the leather armor, a massive, deafening alarm bell violently began ringing inside his Gamer mind.
'No,' Aerion thought, a cold, terrifying realization washing completely over him. 'That is impossible. I broke the sequence. She has absolutely no reason to be here.'
The woman reached up with a leather gloved hand and slowly, deliberately pulled the dark hood back, revealing her face.
She had sharp, fiercely intelligent, deeply suspicious eyes, and blonde hair tied back tightly.
It was Delphine.
The Grandmaster of the Blades. The paranoid, hyper competent, utterly ruthless spymaster who was supposed to be hiding in Riverwood.
Aerion's mind raced with terrifying speed.
'She adapted,' Aerion realized with absolute horror. 'I stole the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller before she could leave her note. When she arrived at Ustengrav and found the crypt completely cleared and the artifact missing... she didn't just give up. She activated her spy network. She heard the rumors of a dragon being slain at the Western Watchtower. She heard the rumors of two outlanders being suddenly elevated to Thanes. And she connected the dots entirely on her own.'
The woman had violently broken the rails, and she was standing directly in his living room. Delphine looked at Aeloria, and then locked her sharp, calculating eyes directly onto the towering High Elf. She offered a tight, utterly humorless, fiercely evaluating smile. "I deeply apologize for interrupting your morning," Delphine spoke, her voice smooth but laced with cold, hidden steel. "But I have traveled quite a long way. I simply had to meet the two legendary new Thanes of Whiterun... face to face."
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[Main Panel]
Name: Aerion
Race: High Elf (Altmer)
Health: 540/540 Stamina: 560/560 Magicka: 750/750
Level: 145 ➝ 158
Skills: Animal Affinity (MAX LEVEL), Fast Skill Levelling (MAX LEVEL), Fast Magic Mastery (MAX LEVEL), Instant Shout (MAX LEVEL), Dragon Master (MAX LEVEL), Destruction (Fire(+3)/Lightning(+1)/Frost(+1)) (Level 67/92/56), Restoration (Healing(+1)/Purify(+2)) (Level 52/50), Alteration (Level 35), Illusion (Level 50), Conjuration (Necromancy/Summoning(+1)) (Level 37/38), Persuasion(+1) (Level 89), Smithing (Level 22), Sneak (Level MAX), One Handed(+1) (Level 72), Two Handed (Level 81), Lockpicking (Level 35), Archery (Level 72), Enchanting (Level 66), Light Armor(+1) (Level 18), Block (Level 70), & Pickpocket (Level 8)
Shouts: Fus Roh Dah (Force Balance Push), Tiid (Time), Krii (Kill), Feim Zii (Fade Spirit), Su (Air), & Laas (Life)
[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, 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, Grand Soul Gem (Filled), Glass Boots, Dwarven Sword, & Dwarven Shield
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: 95.21 KG / 580 KG
Septims: 83,277