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(A/N: Don't forget to give those power stones to Skyrim everyone!)
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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."
The ride from the open, untamed expanse of the Whiterun tundra back toward the towering, fortified walls of the city was short.
Aerion had successfully established the outer ring of his intelligence network. The ravens, vipers, and spiders of the plains were already bound to his will, their primitive and focused minds linked to his newly maxed Animal Affinity matrix.
But an intelligence network was only as useful as its reach, and the true prize was the bustling, politically dense heart of the capital itself. He needed a seamless, invisible relay that connected the shadows of the city directly to the fortified walls of his estate, eliminating the need to physically commute for information.
Aerion pulled Revan to a gentle halt outside the Whiterun Stables.
Skulvar Sable-Hilt, who had only just seen the High Elf pass through an hour prior, blinked in surprise as he hurried forward to take the heavy leather reins.
"Back so soon, Thane Aerion?" Skulvar asked respectfully, patting the massive black draft horse on the neck. "Have some business to do in the city, did you?"
"Just a few minor loose ends to tie up, Skulvar," Aerion replied smoothly, slipping down from the saddle. "Ensure he has fresh water."
"Always, my lord," the stablemaster promised.
Aerion turned away from the stables, the cinnamon colored fox, Lupin, trotting obediently at his heels. They walked up the winding cobblestone path toward the main gatehouse. The guards, recognizing the Thane, immediately snapped to attention and opened the heavy wooden doors, allowing him entry without a single question.
The moment Aerion stepped through the gates and into the bustling, smoke filled air of the Plains District, the true operation began.
He did not stop. He did not close his eyes, raise his hands, or mutter a single arcane incantation. To the dozens of merchants, guards, and citizens milling about the market square, Thane Aerion appeared exactly as he always did, a towering, immaculately dressed aristocratic scholar, walking with effortless grace and offering polite, composed nods to the people who made way for him.
But beneath that flawless, civilized mask, his transmigrator mind was violently, aggressively expanding.
He pushed the Animal Affinity matrix to its absolute zenith. The invisible, telepathic web instantly erupted from his consciousness, flooding through the cobblestones, sweeping over the thatched roofs, and plunging deep into the dark, damp sewers beneath the city.
The sensory influx was staggering. Aerion's mind was flooded with thousands of tiny, overlapping flickers of intent.
He walked past the Warmaiden's forge, smiling politely at Adrianne Avenicci. Simultaneously, his mind seized control of a colony of black rats scurrying through the drainage grates beneath her shop.
He didn't speak to them, he simply projected an overwhelming alpha level concept of loyalty, observation, and transmission. The rats paused, their beady red eyes flashing in the dark, entirely subsumed by his will. They would become the undisputed masters of the city's underbelly, monitoring every smuggled good, every dropped coin, and every hushed conversation in the alleys.
He strolled casually through the market square, pausing to briefly inspect a display of fresh apples at Carlotta's stand.
As he did, he cast his invisible net upward.
A flock of pigeons roosting on the eaves of the Bannered Mare, and several massive, intelligent ravens perched high upon the wooden dragons carved into the roof of Dragonsreach, suddenly stiffened. Aerion linked them effortlessly. He gave the ravens the directive to watch the Jarl's balconies and the military barracks.
More importantly, he established the relay. He projected a conceptual command that tethered the city birds to the plains birds he had dominated earlier. If a Thalmor ever entered the city, the ravens of Whiterun would conceptually pass the image to the ravens of the tundra, who would in turn feed the intelligence directly to the spiders nesting in the rafters of the Aerion's homestead.
It was a flawless, instantaneous, biological telegraph system. And no one suspected a thing.
He walked up the stone steps toward the Wind District, passing several small urban farms. He cast his net over the livestock. The chickens pecking at the dirt and the cows chewing their cud behind the manors were not intelligent enough to understand complex politics, but their eyes were perfectly capable of registering the faces of the people who walked past them. They were entirely invisible cameras, ignored by every thief and assassin in the province.
Finally, he targeted the most insidious layer of his network, the spiders. Hidden in the dark corners of the taverns, the rafters of the Jarl's longhouse, and the shadowed corners of the guard barracks. They were the ultimate eavesdroppers, sensitive to the vibrations of every footstep and the resonance of every whispered secret.
It took nearly an hour of casual, meandering walking through the three tiers of the city. By the time Aerion finally turned back down toward the market district, the invisible web was entirely complete. The entire city of Whiterun, from its highest spires to its deepest gutters, was entirely, inextricably bound to his will.
He felt a deep, chilling thrill of control wash over him. He was a god wearing the guise of a mortal. With his intelligence network permanently established, Aerion recalled his sensory projection, drawing the massive web back into his subconscious where it would hum quietly, feeding him alerts only when necessary.
He looked down at Lupin, who let out a soft, relieved yip as the crushing weight of the alpha magic faded from the immediate air.
"Come, my friend," Aerion murmured softly to the fox. "Let us seek vastly more pleasant company."
They walked across the bustling market square, approaching the heavy wooden doors of the Bannered Mare. The tavern was doing excellent midday business, the sounds of lute music and boisterous laughter spilling out into the street.
Aerion pushed the doors open, stepping out of the bright Skyrim sun and into the warm, fragrant, dimly lit interior. The smell of roasting meats and spilled ale was a comforting, familiar anchor.
He looked toward the main counter, fully expecting to see the beautiful, auburn haired merchant who grounded him.
But Ysolda was not there. Instead, Hulda, the older, pragmatic Nord woman who had sold the inn to Ysolda, was wiping down the polished wood, serving tankards to a pair of traveling merchants.
Hulda looked up, recognizing the High Elf instantly. She offered a warm, highly respectful smile.
"Good afternoon, Thane Aerion," Hulda greeted him, gesturing over her shoulder with a rag. "If you are looking for your sweetheart, she's back in the kitchens. We had a large shipment of fresh vegetables come in this morning, and she's sorting out the inventory."
"Thank you, Hulda," Aerion nodded gracefully.
He walked past the crowded tables, making his way toward the doorway, which have a swinging wooden doors now, at the side of the tavern that led into the sprawling kitchens.
As he approached, the sounds of the tavern faded slightly, replaced by the sharp, exasperated tone of his lover's voice.
"Saadia, I simply do not understand what has gotten into you lately," Ysolda was saying, her voice carrying a rare edge of genuine frustration.
Aerion paused just outside the door, pushing it open a fraction of an inch to observe the scene.
The kitchen was warm, filled with the scent of boiling broth and fresh herbs. Ysolda stood near the large central chopping block, her hands resting firmly on her hips, looking incredibly stressed. Standing before her, holding a stack of wooden bowls with trembling hands, was Saadia.
The Redguard barmaid looked absolutely terrible. Her dark eyes were heavily bagged with exhaustion, her posture was rigid with sheer, unadulterated terror, and she looked as though she was hovering on the absolute brink of a massive panic attack.
"Three times this morning you have dropped plates," Ysolda scolded gently but firmly, rubbing her temples. "You gave the wrong change to Mikael, and you completely forgot to tap the new keg of Black-Briar mead. I know the dragon attacks have everyone on edge, but you have been completely unfocused for days. If this continues, I won't be able to keep you on the floor during the dinner rushes."
Saadia swallowed hard, her eyes darting nervously toward the back door of the kitchen as if expecting an assassin to burst through the wood at any second.
"I... I am so incredibly sorry, Ysolda," Saadia stammered, her voice thick with barely suppressed panic. She bowed her head, clutching the wooden bowls tightly against her chest. "I haven't been sleeping well. My mind is wandering. I swear to you, by the Divines, I will get a hold of myself. I will make sure everything is perfect for the evening shift."
Ysolda let out a soft sigh, her natural empathy completely overriding her frustration. She stepped forward, placing a gentle, comforting hand on the terrified woman's shoulder.
"Just take a breath, Saadia," Ysolda murmured softly. "If you are unwell, you can take the afternoon to rest in your room. I just need to know that I can rely on you."
Aerion decided that was his cue. He pushed the swinging door open, stepping smoothly into the warm kitchen, Lupin trotting quietly at his heels.
"The rigors of the hospitality industry are demanding, to be sure," Aerion announced his presence, his melodic voice completely calm and even.
Ysolda gasped slightly, spinning around. The moment she saw the towering High Elf standing in the doorway, the stress and frustration of the ledger entirely vanished from her face. A brilliant, radiant smile broke across her features, her eyes lighting up with profound relief and joy.
"Aerion!" Ysolda breathed, quickly wiping her hands on her apron as she stepped away from the chopping block. "You're back!"
But as Ysolda moved toward him, Aerion's golden eyes flicked instantly, sharply, to the Redguard woman standing behind her.
The absolute moment Saadia heard his name and saw his face, her reaction was visceral. Her breath hitched violently in her throat. Her dark eyes widened in sheer, absolute desperation. She knew he possessed a terrifying network of mercenaries and political power. She knew he had coerced her into spying for him.
From behind Ysolda's back, Saadia caught Aerion's eye. She gave a frantic, almost imperceptible shake of her head, mouthing the words, 'They are here,' her eyes silently screaming for an urgent, private audience.
Aerion did not break his stride. He did not let a single micro expression of acknowledgment cross his face that Ysolda could perceive. But for a fraction of a millisecond, he locked his golden eyes directly onto Saadia's terrified gaze.
He gave a single, slow, incredibly deliberate blink. 'I know. Rest assured, you are with me, and the problem will be eliminated.'
The silent, heavy transmission of absolute, terrifying control hit Saadia like a physical weight. She let out a small, shuddering breath, her trembling hands finally stilling slightly against the wooden bowls. He knew about the Alik'r, and he was handling it.
Aerion shifted his gaze smoothly back to Ysolda as she closed the distance between them.
He reached out, taking both of her soft hands in his own. He bowed his head gracefully, pressing a warm, lingering kiss to her knuckles, entirely ignoring the smell of chopped onions and herbs on her skin.
"I have returned, my dear," Aerion murmured affectionately, looking down into her bright eyes. "Safe, sound, and precisely on schedule. How is your condition?"
Ysolda laughed a bright, sweet sound, completely captivated by his courtly charm. "Vastly better now that you are standing in front of me. I was worried the Imperial Legion would march you out to the front lines the moment you signed your name."
"General Tullius is demanding, but even he recognizes the necessity of proper logistical planning," Aerion smiled smoothly. He gently laced his fingers through hers. "I have missed you. Would you do me the honor of taking a late lunch? Just the two of us?"
"I would love nothing more," Ysolda beamed. She turned her head slightly, looking back over her shoulder. "Saadia, take those bowls out to Hulda, and then go upstairs and rest for a few hours. I will handle the kitchen for the afternoon."
"Thank you, Ysolda. Thank you, my lord," Saadia bowed deeply, scurrying quickly out the swinging doors, entirely eager to escape the suffocating presence of her terrifying patron.
Ysolda quickly assembled a beautiful, hearty platter of sliced roasted pheasant, sharp Eidar cheese, fresh bread, and two goblets of expensive, imported Alto wine. She led Aerion out of the kitchens and up the wooden stairs, bypassing the crowded common room entirely in favor of the quiet, secluded balcony that overlooked the tavern floor.
They sat down at a small, intimate table. The roaring hearth below cast a warm, flickering light across their faces, providing a perfect, insulated bubble of privacy.
Aerion took a sip of the rich wine, savoring the taste. He leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on the table, his tone dropping into a low, confidential murmur.
"My trip to Solitude was highly illuminating, Ysolda," Aerion began quietly, ensuring their conversation remained entirely between them.
"Did you enlist?" Ysolda asked, leaning in close, her eyes filled with a mixture of pride and deep concern.
"I did," Aerion confirmed. A slow, deeply satisfied smirk touched his lips. "And the negotiations proceeded exactly as I anticipated. I was not assigned as a common auxiliary. General Tullius personally commissioned me with the rank of Tribune."
Ysolda actually gasped, her hand flying up to cover her mouth.
A Tribune. She was a merchant who dealt intimately with military supply lines, she knew exactly what that rank meant. It was a senior staff officer position. It carried immense authority, operational independence, and a salary that rivaled the Jarl's senior staffs.
"Aerion, that... that is incredible!" Ysolda whispered, her eyes wide with shock and sheer joy. "But how? I know you are powerful, but the Legion doesn't just hand out officer commissions to outsiders in a single day."
"I presented the General with a highly sensitive and impactful asset," Aerion explained smoothly, entirely omitting the apocalyptic reality of the Jagged Crown. "An asset that will significantly boost the tactical momentum of the Legion in the coming months. Tullius recognized the value of the leverage, and he rewarded the service accordingly. I now answer exclusively to him and Legate Rikke."
Ysolda shook her head slowly, a massive, incredibly proud smile breaking across her face. She reached across the table, taking his hand.
"You are a force of nature, Aerion," Ysolda murmured affectionately. "You walk into the capital of Skyrim, and within a day, you are commanding the Emperor's armies. I am so incredibly happy for you. It seems everything is falling perfectly into place for your plans."
"It is," Aerion agreed, returning her warm squeeze. He then gracefully pivoted the conversation away from his military conquests and toward her domain. "But enough of politics and war. Tell me, my dear, how goes the true lifeblood of the city? How is business at the Mare?"
Ysolda let out a soft sigh, taking a bite of the fresh bread. The pride of the Tribune was briefly replaced by the pragmatic reality of the merchant.
"Business is doing well, all things considered," Ysolda answered, her analytical mind engaging. "We have the most strategic position in the entire city, sitting right on the main square. No other tavern or inn can compete with our location, and the locals keep the tables full in the evenings."
She frowned slightly, swirling the wine in her goblet.
"But... the volume of actual traveling customers has noticeably dropped," Ysolda admitted. "The dragon threats are terrifying people. Merchant caravans are canceling their routes, bards are refusing to travel the roads, and adventurers are staying behind fortified walls. With fewer people traveling into the city, our coin from the rented rooms and the exotic drink sales has thinned out. It isn't a crisis, but it is a noticeable dip in our margins."
Aerion listened intently. The economic contraction caused by the dragon crisis was perfectly logical.
"If the inn requires an injection of capital to weather the storm, Ysolda, you need only say the word," Aerion offered immediately, his tone entirely sincere. "My pockets are vastly more than sufficient to cover your overhead until the trade routes stabilize."
Ysolda smiled warmly, deeply touched by his generosity, but she firmly shook her head. Her fierce, independent ambition would not allow her to accept charity, even from the man she loved.
"Thank you, Aerion, but the funds are more than enough," Ysolda assured him proudly. "We have plenty of coin in the lockbox to survive a lean season. We just need to find a way to draw more septims from the locals to make up for the lack of travelers."
Aerion's transmigrator mind instantly sparked.
He looked at the platter of roasted pheasant and thick, heavy bread sitting between them. The culinary landscape of Skyrim was hearty, highly caloric, and aggressively practical. It was designed to keep Nords warm in blizzards. Stews, roasted meats, hard cheeses, and sweetrolls. It was delicious, but it was entirely stagnant.
If he introduced the highly addictive, massively appealing, incredibly cheap to produce fast food concepts of Earth to a medieval fantasy setting... the profit margins would be absolutely astronomical.
"If you are looking to draw the locals in droves, Ysolda, perhaps the solution is not in the drinks, but in the kitchens," Aerion suggested smoothly, a brilliant, highly calculated mercantile gleam appearing in his golden eyes.
Ysolda tilted her head, her curiosity instantly piqued. "The kitchens? We already serve the best venison stew in the district. What do you mean?"
Aerion leaned forward, weaving a masterful, entirely fabricated tale of culinary exploration.
"During my extensive travels across Tamriel, long before I settled in Skyrim," Aerion lied flawlessly, spinning a web of exotic mystery, "I spent time in several deeply secluded, highly eccentric ports in the southern provinces. And I encountered culinary concepts there that would absolutely revolutionize the tavern industry here in Whiterun. Dishes that are completely unknown to the Nords, incredibly flavorful, and perfectly designed to be eaten with one hand while holding a tankard of mead in the other."
Ysolda, possessing the soul of a true merchant, leaned in closer. "Exotic dishes? Like what?"
"Imagine this," Aerion described, utilizing his high Persuasion to paint a mouth watering picture. "We take the standard ground beef or venison you already buy in bulk from the hunters. We season it heavily with salt, pepper, and garlic, and sear it perfectly on a blazing hot iron skillet so it forms a crisp crust. We then place that hot, savory meat directly between two halves of a soft, freshly baked, savory bread bun. We top it with a slice of sharp, melted Eidar cheese, and perhaps a crisp leaf of lettuce."
He watched her eyes widen.
"I call it a 'Burger'," Aerion smiled. "It requires no utensils. It is hot, it is immensely satisfying, and the locals will line up out the door for it."
"A meat and cheese sandwich, but served hot off the skillet?" Ysolda murmured, her mind rapidly calculating the ingredient costs versus the potential markup. "That... that is actually brilliant. The guards would absolutely devour those during their lunch breaks."
"And that is merely the beginning," Aerion continued, pressing his advantage. "Imagine taking a thin, flat round of hearth baked dough. We smear it with a rich, spiced reduction of crushed tomatoes and garlic. We cover it entirely in shredded, melting goat cheese, and top it with thin slices of cured meats and herbs. We bake it until the crust is crisp and the cheese is bubbling. A 'Pizza'."
Ysolda actually leaned back in her chair, staring at him in sheer, unadulterated mercantile awe.
"And for a side dish to accompany the drinks," Aerion finalized his pitch. "We take standard, cheap potatoes. We cut them into thin, uniform sticks. We plunge them into boiling beef tallow until they are perfectly golden and crispy on the outside, but fluffy on the inside. We dust them generously with some salt. 'French Fries'. They cost pennies to produce, but the salt will make the patrons unbelievably thirsty. They will buy twice as much ale to wash them down."
Ysolda was completely, utterly sold. Her merchant's ledger was already writing itself in her mind.
"Aerion," Ysolda breathed, a massive, brilliant smile breaking across her face. She reached across the table, grabbing his hand with both of hers. "Those recipes... they are incredible. They are so simple, but completely unheard of. If we introduce those dishes to the Bannered Mare, we wouldn't just make up for the lost travelers. We would monopolize the entire dining economy of the city. People would travel from other holds just to taste them!"
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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