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(A/N: Don't forget to give those power stones to Skyrim everyone!)
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Aerion rode Revan inside, bringing the exhausted, lathered warhorse to a gentle halt. He slid from the saddle, his boots hitting the dirt. He had successfully secured his military commission, acquired the necessary leverage, and returned to his homestead in a single, breathless rotation of the board. The Tribune of the Imperial Legion was finally home, and Fort Greymoor was next on the list.
The heavy, iron reinforced gates of the Aerion Estate groaned shut with a resounding thud, sealing out the freezing, pitch black expanse of the Whiterun tundra. The thick wooden crossbar was dropped into place, locking the compound down tightly for the night.
Inside the courtyard, the atmosphere was a stark, comforting contrast to the brutal forced march they had just endured. Warm, flickering orange light spilled from the perimeter braziers, casting long shadows across the packed dirt.
Aerion patted the massive, lathered warhorse on the neck, silently thanking the beast for its incredible endurance, before handing the reins over to one of the night shift mercenaries stand guard. Beside him, Jenassa and Lydia dismounted from the exhausted bay horse, their armor clanking heavily in the quiet night.
Sinmir, the towering mercenary captain, marched across the courtyard to greet them. His steel sword was securely strapped to his hip, and his eyes were sharp despite the late hour.
"Welcome back, Patron," Sinmir saluted, stopping a respectful distance away. "You pushed the beasts hard tonight."
"Necessity dictated our pace, Captain," Aerion replied, his melodic voice completely steady, betraying none of the physical toll of a twenty four hour ride. He looked around the torch lit compound, his golden eyes sweeping the palisades. "What is the condition of the estate? Are the perimeter safe and sound?"
"All is safe and entirely clear, Patron," Sinmir reported confidently. "We doubled the patrols just as you ordered. A few desperate bandits scouted the tree line yesterday evening, likely drawn by the rumors of the dragon bones, but the moment they saw Uthgerd and the boys standing on the walls with bows in hand and their melee weapons, they reconsidered their life choices and scattered. No one has breached the walls."
"Excellent work, Sinmir. Maintain this level of hugh vigilance," Aerion instructed, folding his hands gracefully before him. His tone then shifted from martial security to cold, pragmatic economics. "In the coming days, I intend to officially begin the mass production and fermentation of the mammoth cheese. It will be a highly lucrative export, but the scent of the processing vats will undoubtedly carry across the plains. It may attract wild predators, or worse, wandering Giants. The safety of the immediate area around the homestead, and specifically the mammoth pens, will become even more paramount."
Sinmir nodded his head firmly, understanding the logistical challenge. Protecting a fortune in dragon bones was one thing; protecting a massive herd of temperamental mammoths and their valuable byproducts was another.
"I will make absolutely certain of it, Patron," Sinmir swore. "We'll set up perimeter traps near the pens and extend the patrol radius."
"I leave the defense in your capable hands. Have the men rest in shifts," Aerion commanded gently.
With the security briefing concluded, Aerion turned toward the main house. Jenassa and Lydia fell silently into step behind him. They pushed open the heavy oak doors, greeted by the dying, glowing embers of the central hearth.
The sheer, overwhelming exhaustion of the road finally settled deep into their bones. Without a single word, the trio dispersed to their respective quarters, sinking into the soft mattresses and heavy furs, succumbing instantly to a profound, dreamless sleep.
The next morning, the Whiterun tundra awoke to a brilliant, piercingly clear sunrise. The crisp, biting autumn air carried the scent of dew and woodsmoke across the plains.
Aerion did not linger in bed. He rose precisely at dawn, his transmigrator biology entirely refreshed. He dressed in his immaculate dark robes, his mind already churning through the tactical geometry of the day's objective.
He stepped out onto the front porch of the main house and projected his voice across the courtyard.
"Captain Sinmir! Assemble the company. Everyone."
The order rippled through the estate like a stone dropped in a still pond. Within ten minutes, the large, open dirt training ground situated directly in front of the mercenary barracks was filled to capacity.
It was a formidable, highly lethal gathering. Standing in rigid, disciplined ranks were the seventeen hardened mercenaries Aerion had contracted, with Sinmir and Uthgerd the Unbroken standing proudly at the front. To their right stood Lydia and Valdemar, the two immovable, steel clad Whiterun Housecarls. Jenassa lingered comfortably in the shadows of the barracks roof, her crimson eyes scanning the perimeter.
Standing in the center of the formation, leaning casually against the long leather haft of the Axe of Morthal, was Aeloria. The Dragonborn looked entirely rested and fiercely curious.
And sitting on a nearby barrel, his bushy cinnamon tail wrapped neatly around his paws, was Lupin the fox, acting as a highly attentive, silent observer.
Aerion walked out to the center of the training ground, his golden eyes sweeping over the twenty one warriors standing before him. He have their absolute attention. He did not speak immediately, letting the crisp morning silence build the anticipation.
"Aerion," Aeloria finally broke the silence, pushing herself off the haft of her axe. She offered him a bright, welcoming smile, though her brow was furrowed in confusion. "You certainly didn't waste any time resting. Why have you gathered all of us out here before the day are even fully lit?"
Aerion offered a slow, composed nod.
"I have gathered you all here, Aeloria, to formally announce a shift in our operations and our standing," Aerion projected, his melodic voice ringing clearly across the dirt yard. "As of yesterday afternoon, in the war room of Castle Dour, I have officially entered the service of the Imperial Legion."
A collective, palpable ripple of shock swept through the assembled mercenaries. The sellswords exchanged bewildered glances, completely blindsided by the news. An Altmer? Joining the Legion? It defied all conventional political logic that was happening at this time.
Aeloria's bright blue eyes widened in sudden realization. "The Legion? By the Eight... so that is why you suddenly rode to Solitude. You went to enlist."
"I did," Aerion confirmed. He then delivered the true weight of the revelation. "And I did not enlist as a common foot soldier. I have been formally commissioned with the rank of Tribune."
The shock deepened into sheer, unadulterated disbelief.
Sinmir, a veteran who intimately understood the grueling, unforgiving hierarchy of the Imperial military, took a heavy step forward, his brow deeply furrowed.
"Tribune?" Sinmir repeated, entirely unable to mask his professional astonishment. "Patron, with all due respect, how is that physically possible? The Imperial Legion is rigid. Anyone, even a wealthy noble or a master mage, who joins the army is legally required to start from the absolute bottom. Everyone starts at the rank of Auxiliary and bleeds their way up the chain. How did you bypass the entire command structure in a single afternoon?"
Aerion offered a cold, brilliant, highly calculated smile. He had absolutely no intention of revealing the existence of the Jagged Crown to seventeen mercenaries. Such intelligence was vastly too volatile to share, if a single sellsword got drunk in the Bannered Mare and whispered that the Empire held the Crown, Stormcloak assassins would swarm Whiterun within the week.
"I bypassed the chain of command, Captain, because I did not walk into Castle Dour empty handed," Aerion explained, his words carefully chosen to convey immense power without revealing the specifics. "I presented General Tullius with a highly sensitive and important asset. An asset that will unilaterally boost the political momentum of the Empire and shatter the morale of the rebellion. For this excellent service, rendered before I even swore the oath, I was rewarded with a senior field commission."
The sheer confidence and undeniable authority in Aerion's voice snuffed out any lingering doubts. The mercenaries didn't know what he had given the General, but they knew better than to question their Patron's terrifying brand of leverage. Slowly, the warriors nodded their heads in deep respect.
"But I did not gather you all here merely to boast of my new title," Aerion continued, his tone shifting from political exposition to razor sharp military command. "With the rank of Tribune comes a direct mandate from Imperial Command. And I have received my first tactical objective."
He turned, pointing a long, elegant finger out past the wooden palisades, gesturing toward the western horizon.
"Fort Greymoor," Aerion announced.
A murmur of recognition ran through the ranks. Every warrior in Whiterun knew of the massive, ruined stone fortress sitting ominously on the western edge of the tundra.
"The fortification has been entirely overrun by a massive, highly organized syndicate of bandits, supplemented by a cadre of dangerous rogue mages," Aerion briefed them, his golden eyes hardening. "My orders are to march upon the fort, breach the walls, and completely eradicate the infestation. Leave no survivors."
Aerion paced slowly in front of the vanguard, ensuring every warrior understood the geopolitical stakes.
"We are not holding the fort for the Legion," Aerion revealed, letting the brilliance of the strategy wash over them. "Once the fortress is cleansed of the bandit filth, I am to take the keys, walk directly into Dragonsreach, and present the empty, secured fortification to Jarl Balgruuf. It is a diplomatic gift from the Empire. A demonstration of our strength, intended to gently persuade the Jarl to abandon his neutrality and openly support the Legion in this civil war."
Aeloria let out a low whistle, deeply impressed by the political maneuvering. "That is... incredibly clever. Jarl Balgruuf gets his backyard cleaned up for free, and Tullius gets the leverage."
"Precisely," Aerion agreed. He then stopped his pacing, looking directly at the twenty warriors standing before him.
"However," Aerion stated, his voice dropping into a solemn, pragmatic register. "While Jenassa, Lydia, and I possess the capability to inflict big damage... breaching a fully garrisoned stone fortress and engaging a small army of desperate men in close quarters combat is an entirely different tactical problem than fighting a dragon."
Aerion held up a hand, outlining the logic. "A dragon is a singular, massive target. But twenty to thirty archers firing from high stone battlements, combined with rogue mages casting frost magic in the narrow corridors... the variables become wildly unpredictable. A stray arrow finding a gap in the armor. A chaotic melee in the courtyard. I would honestly rather fight another dragon than risk the unpredictability of a full scale siege with only three people."
He looked directly at Aeloria, and then at Sinmir.
"I require an army," Aerion declared simply. "I want all of you to march with me to Fort Greymoor."
Aeloria did not hesitate for a fraction of a second. She hefted the blazing Axe of Morthal, slamming the heavy leather haft against the dirt with a resounding thud.
"You don't even have to ask, Aerion," Aeloria grinned fiercely, her bright blue eyes burning with Nordic battle lust. "You have stood by me, healed my wounds, and helped me slay myths. If you need a fortress breached, the Dragonborn will break the gates for you."
Sinmir looked back at his seventeen heavily armed men and women. They had spent the last several weeks patrolling empty roads, guarding mammoth pens, and conducting training drills. They were professional killers, and they were incredibly bored.
Sinmir turned back to Aerion, drawing his massive broadsword and resting the flat of the blade against his shoulder. A vicious, bloodthirsty smile split his scarred face.
"We are mercenaries, Patron," Sinmir chuckled darkly. "We follow the man who signs our ledger. And beyond that... the boys and girls have been absolutely itching for a real fight. Guard duty pays well, but a siege? That's what we live for. We are with you."
A loud, unified roar of approval erupted from the mercenary ranks. Swords were drawn and bashed violently against heavy wooden shields, the deafening clash of steel echoing across the tundra.
Aerion smiled, a deep, triumphant expression of absolute command. "Excellent. Then let us begin planning the assault."
The atmosphere in the courtyard instantly shifted into a focused, highly professional war council.
Aerion knelt in the dirt of the training ground, using a broken branch to rapidly sketch a rough, overhead map of Fort Greymoor, with his system map used for example.
He relied heavily on his flawless, encyclopedic memory of the game's layout, but his transmigrator mind actively adjusted the parameters, understanding that the physical reality of the world would be vastly larger and significantly more complex than a digital rendering.
"The primary challenge is the approach," Aerion lectured, tracing the path leading up to the fortress. "The fort sits on a slight elevation. The main courtyard is surrounded by high, ruined stone walls. They will have archers positioned on the battlements, and likely a choke point established at the main gate."
"We can't just march up the road in a shield wall," Uthgerd pointed out pragmatically, leaning over the dirt map. "They'll rain arrows down on us before we even reach the wood of the gates."
"We will not march up the road," Aerion corrected smoothly. "We will utilize the element of surprise. We attack tomorrow, just before the break of dawn. The darkness will mask our approach, and the majority of the bandit garrison will be asleep or dealing with the shift change."
Aerion pointed to the front gate on his dirt map.
"Aeloria," Aerion commanded, looking up at the Dragonborn. "You are our siege engine. When we reach the gates, you will utilize the Unrelenting Force to completely shatter the wooden barricades. Blow the doors off their hinges."
Aeloria nodded firmly. "Consider the gates gone."
"The moment the gates fall, the chaos begins," Aerion detailed, his golden eyes flashing with tactical brilliance. "Sinmir, you and the heavy infantry will pour through the breach. Form a tight, overlapping shield wall and secure the center of the courtyard. Draw their fire. Jenassa, you will take the archers, flank the courtyard, and immediately begin picking off their mages on the upper levels. Do not let them cast."
"And what of you, Patron?" Jenassa asked, her crimson eyes gleaming.
Aerion's smile turned downright terrifying. "I will be providing the heavy artillery. I will summon a group of Flame Atronachs directly into their backlines to incinerate their archers, while I lay down a barrage of master level Destruction magic from the rear. It will not be a battle, it will be a massacre."
The planning continued for another hour, with Sinmir, Uthgerd, and Jenassa offering highly valuable, pragmatic adjustments to the flanking maneuvers and the shield formations. By the time the sun had fully risen over the estate, the strategy was flawless.
"Rest your bodies today, and sharpen your steel," Aerion finalized the meeting, standing up and brushing the dirt from his hands. "We march at three hours past midnight."
The mercenaries immediately dispersed, a palpable, buzzing energy of violent anticipation filling the air as they hurried to the grindstones and the armory.
With the military assault fully prepped, Aerion turned his attention toward his secondary, vastly more insidious objective.
"Lupin," Aerion called out softly.
The cinnamon colored fox, who had been sitting patiently on the barrel for the entire hour, immediately perked its ears up. It let out a soft, high pitched yip, hopping gracefully down to the dirt and trotting eagerly over to the High Elf's boots.
Aerion walked toward the stables, the fox following closely at his heels. He smoothly saddled Revan, swinging up onto the dark leather. He patted his thigh, and Lupin easily climbed up, scrambling securely into the saddle in front of Aerion.
He didn't bring Lydia or Jenassa. This was a task that required absolute solitude.
Aerion guided Revan out of the estate gates, riding away from the main cobblestone highway and directly out into the sprawling, untamed, golden grass of the open Whiterun plains. He rode for several miles, ensuring they were entirely isolated from traveling merchants, guard patrols, and the prying eyes of the city.
He brought Revan to a halt near a small, rocky hillock overlooking a vast expanse of the tundra. The wind whispered softly through the tall grass.
Aerion closed his eyes, taking a slow, deep breath.
He didn't cast a spell. He didn't access his inventory. He reached deep into the core of his transmigrator soul and fully, actively engaged the absolute of his maxed skill.
Animal Affinity (MAX).
The shift in his sensory perception was instantaneous, profound, and deeply unsettling.
It wasn't a sudden burst of noise, it was an overwhelming, expanding, telepathic aura. It felt as though a massive, invisible web had violently erupted from his mind, casting itself out over the plains for miles in every direction.
Aerion's eyes snapped open. The world had not physically changed, but the energetic reality of it was completely laid bare to him.
He could feel them.
He could feel the frantic, terrified heartbeat of a snow hare hiding in a burrow fifty yards away. He could sense the cold, calculating, patient hunger of a small spider waiting in the dark crevices of a nearby rocky overhang. He could feel the sharp, intelligent curiosity of a massive black raven circling high in the thermal currents above.
It was a chaotic symphony of pure, primal intent. But at MAX level, Aerion didn't just hear the noise, he possessed the absolute authority to command the orchestra.
Aerion focused his mind, isolating the sharp, intelligent signature of the raven circling above. He didn't use human words. He projected a raw, telepathic concept of safety, abundant food, and absolute, alpha level aura protection directly into the bird's consciousness.
High above, the raven suddenly broke its circling pattern. It folded its dark wings and dropped into a steep, controlled dive, plummeting directly toward the High Elf.
At the last possible second, the raven flared its wings, the air rushing loudly against its feathers, and landed perfectly, lightly upon Aerion's outstretched, leather gloved forearm.
The bird was massive, its feathers shimmering with an iridescent, oily black sheen. It tilted its head, fixing one beady, incredibly intelligent black eye directly on Aerion's golden ones.
Aerion felt the connection solidify. He couldn't speak to it in Cyrodiilic, but the exchange of raw concept was flawless. He projected the image of a Thalmor uniform. He projected the concept of 'watching', of 'following', of 'reporting'.
The raven let out a low, guttural croak. It understood perfectly. It was not a mindless beast, it was now a loyal and intelligent extension of his will, bound by the undeniable magic of his affinity.
Aerion smiled, a cold, majestic thrill running down his spine.
He shifted his focus downward. He projected the same aura of absolute authority into the tall grass and the rocky crevices.
The grass began to rustle.
A long, thick, venomous pit viper slithered out from beneath a flat stone, raising its diamond shaped head and tasting the air, completely docile in his presence. From the shadows of the rocks, three small hairy spiders scuttled out into the sunlight, their multiple eyes locked onto the High Elf, waiting for his conceptual command.
Sitting in the saddle, Lupin the fox let out a soft whine, feeling the immense lovable pressure of the alpha magic radiating from his master. Aerion gently reached down, stroking the fox's head, using Lupin's familiar, established bond as an anchor to help manage the influx of the connections.
The ravens for the skies and the high windows, Aerion orchestrated, looking at his gathered menagerie. The spiders for the dark corners, the rafters, and the crypts. The serpents for the tall grass and the hidden paths. And the rats for the sewers and the dungeons.
He had done it. He had successfully laid the absolute foundation of an invisible, omnipresent intelligence apparatus.
Aerion raised his arm. The raven let out a sharp cry, launching itself back into the sky, already bound to its new, unseen duty. The viper slithered back into the grass, and the spiders retreated into the shadows, entirely integrated into the network.
Aerion looked out over the vast, golden plains of Whiterun, his golden eyes burning with the terrifying light of absolute control. The dragons ruled the skies, and the Empire ruled the roads, but from this day forward, Aerion ruled the shadows. "Come, Lupin," Aerion commanded softly, turning Revan back toward the homestead. "We have a fortress to burn."
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[Main Panel]
Name: Aerion
Race: High Elf (Altmer)
Health: 630/630 Stamina: 660/660 Magicka: 830/830
Level: 172
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(+2)/Frost(+1)) (Level 97/0/84), Restoration (Healing(+1)/Purify(+2)) (Level 79/50), Alteration (Level 35), Illusion (Level 50), Conjuration (Necromancy/Summoning(+1)) (Level 37/38), Persuasion(+1) (Level 89), Smithing (Level 57), Sneak(+1) (Level 0), One Handed(+1) (Level 72), Two Handed (Level 81), Lockpicking (Level 35), Archery (Level 72), Enchanting (Level 66), Light Armor(+1) (Level 50), 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, 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: 94.21 KG / 630 KG
Septims: 81,582