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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Aerion stepped forward, raising a hand. A massive, shimmering Greater Ward sprang into existence, parting the toxic breath like a stone parting a river. The gas hissed and bubbled against the magical barrier, completely nullified. "Aeloria! Ground it!" Aerion commanded. Aeloria didn't wait for the dragon to pull up. As it swept low over the barrier, she planted her boots into the dirt, drawing in a massive breath that pulled the power from the very center of her chest.
"FUS RO DAH!"
The Unrelenting Force tore into the sky. It was perfectly timed and flawlessly executed. The invisible, concussive wave slammed directly into the green dragon's chest just as it attempted to beat its wings and climb.
The impact was devastating. The dragon's momentum was completely arrested. It let out a startled, choking roar as it fell from the sky, crashing heavily into the open tundra. It tore up a massive trench of dirt and grass, rolling end over end before finally coming to a halt on its side, dazed and struggling to right itself.
"Push!" Aerion ordered.
The group didn't hesitate. They moved as a single, coordinated, highly lethal unit. The brutal, chaotic struggle they had endured against Krosis had forged them into something far sharper.
Lydia charged first. The dragon snapped its head toward her, attempting to bite, but Lydia slammed the heavy edge of her ebony shield directly into its snout, the dense metal stunning the beast.
Valdemar stepped into the opening Lydia created. He swung his ebony sword with brutal, practiced efficiency, the razor sharp edge biting deep into the vulnerable, unarmored joint of the dragon's left wing, effectively pinning it to the ground.
From her covered position, Jenassa unleashed a relentless volley of arrows. She didn't aim randomly; she targeted the soft tissue around the dragon's eyes and throat with terrifying, mechanical precision, keeping the beast blinded and roaring in pain.
Aerion provided the absolute anchor. He didn't unleash flashy, destructive spells that might catch his vanguard in the crossfire. Instead, he channeled twin streams of grand healing magic. A continuous, radiant golden light bathed Lydia, Valdemar, and Aeloria, instantly mending any minor scrapes or bruises and flooding their muscles with boundless, restorative stamina.
The green dragon thrashed violently, its spiked tail whipping across the ground, but it simply could not break the coordinated assault.
Aeloria stepped forward, the massive ebony greatsword held high. She felt the incredible balance of the weapon, allowing her to swing it with the speed of a much lighter blade. She brought it down in a devastating, horizontal arc, the dark volcanic glass slicing cleanly through the thick scales and bone of the dragon's neck.
The beast let out a final, gurgling hiss, its body going entirely limp against the bloodstained grass.
The fight was over. It had been hard, fast, and remarkably efficient. They hadn't just survived, they had dominated the engagement.
Instantly, the flesh of the green dragon began to burn away, transforming into glowing, ethereal energy. The golden ribbons of light swirled into the air, wrapping around Aeloria and pouring directly into her chest.
She closed her eyes, letting the immense, ancient power wash over her. She reached into her mind, directing the raw soul to the dormant knowledge she had held since Sunderstone Gorge.
The connection snapped into place. She unlocked the first word of her Fire Breath. Yol. Fire.
Aeloria opened her eyes, a fierce, triumphant light burning within them. She looked at her companions, noting that they were entirely unharmed. The teamwork had been flawless.
As the group retrieved their scattered horses, Aerion walked slowly around the massive, gleaming white skeleton of the green dragon. He looked from the green dragon's remains back toward the distant, towering peak of Shearpoint, where the bones of the blood dragon still rested.
He accessed his digital interface, quietly checking his current inventory weight.
Dragon bones and scales were incredibly heavy, dense materials. If he attempted to siphon the remains of both dragons into his inventory, he would immediately hit his absolute maximum weight limit. He would be entirely overburdened, unable to run or fight effectively.
Furthermore, suddenly being unable to carry anything else would inevitably lead to awkward questions from his retainers regarding the specific mechanics and limitations of his 'spatial magic', a conversation he had absolutely no desire to entertain.
Aerion made a quick, pragmatic decision. He would leave the bones where they lay for now.
He opened his map interface and dropped two precise digital markers. One on the peak of Shearpoint, and one right here on the open tundra. He closed the interface, his expression perfectly composed.
"Leave the remains," Aerion instructed as Valdemar approached with Revan. "They are far too heavy to transport on horseback, and my spatial storage is not infinite. I will not compromise our mobility for the sake of crafting materials."
Valdemar nodded in understanding. "As you say, my Thane. The scavengers cannot break dragon bone anyway. They will keep."
The group mounted their horses, the mood vastly lighter than it had been that morning. They had faced a Dragon Priest, slain two dragons, and emerged stronger for it.
They resumed their ride southwest, crossing the rolling plains at a steady pace. By late evening, the familiar, towering wooden palisades of the Aerion Estate finally appeared on the horizon, illuminated by the warm, flickering light of the perimeter braziers.
The heavy gates swung open, and Sinmir stepped out to greet them, looking relieved to see the entire party returning intact.
Aerion dismounted Revan, immediately shifting into logistical command mode. He didn't waste time on greetings.
"Captain Sinmir," Aerion called out, striding toward the mercenary leader.
"Patron. Welcome back," Sinmir saluted. "The estate is secure. The cheese cures well."
"Excellent. Now, I have a new assignment for you," Aerion ordered briskly. "Gather eight of your strongest, most reliable men. Tomorrow at first light, you will march to Whiterun. I want you to hire as many sturdy, heavy duty wagons as you can find at the stables and the market."
Aerion reached into his robes, seamlessly bypassing his inventory limit to retrieve a heavy leather pouch. He tossed it to Sinmir, the thick thud of coins unmistakable.
"There are one thousand, two hundred and fifty septims in that pouch," Aerion stated. "Pay the wagon drivers whatever exorbitant rate they demand for immediate service. You are to lead them northeast. I have marked two specific locations along the road to the Pale. You will find the skeletal remains of two fully grown dragons."
Sinmir's eyes widened slightly, looking at the exhausted but victorious group behind the High Elf. "Two, Patron?"
"Two," Aerion confirmed flatly. "You are to meticulously load every single bone and scale from both sites onto the wagons. Transport them all back here, and store them securely with the other dragon remains we are keeping near the mammoth pens. See that it is done quickly and quietly."
"It will be done, Patron," Sinmir nodded firmly, tucking the heavy pouch of gold into his belt. "We will clear the sites and have the bones secured by tomorrow evening."
Aerion nodded, entirely satisfied with the arrangement. The training was complete, the loot was secure, and his estate was rapidly becoming the most heavily fortified, well supplied stronghold in all of Skyrim. He turned and walked toward the main house, ready for a hot meal and a long, dreamless rest.
The heavy, iron reinforced doors of the Estate closed with a deep, resonating thud, sealing out the freezing winds of the open tundra. After days of relentless travel, ancient crypts, and the apocalyptic fury of two full grown dragons and a resurrected Dragon Priest, the quiet, torch lit warmth of the homestead felt like stepping into another world.
Aerion walked into the main living quarters, the ambient heat of the central hearth instantly melting the high altitude chill from his dark robes. He did not issue any immediate orders.
He simply walked over to one of the high backed, fur lined wooden chairs near the fire, sat down, and allowed himself a rare, profound moment of physical and mental relaxation. He closed his golden eyes, letting the lingering adrenaline of Shearpoint slowly bleed out of his system.
Beside the hearth, the quiet clatter of iron pots and the rhythmic chopping of vegetables provided a grounding, domestic rhythm. Lydia, having shed her heavy ebony shield but remaining in her chainmail, had immediately taken it upon herself to prepare a meal. Using the fresh ingredients stocked in the estate's pantry, she worked with the quiet, dutiful efficiency of a seasoned campaigner.
Within the hour, a thick, hearty stew of venison, wild carrots, and savory tundra herbs was bubbling over the fire, filling the room with a rich, comforting aroma.
Aerion, Aeloria, Jenassa, Valdemar, and Lydia gathered around the heavy wooden dining table. There was little conversation; the sheer physical toll of the past few days demanded calories and rest above all else. They ate the hot stew in a companionable, exhausted silence, the simple food tasting like a feast fit for kings after the ashes of the mountain peak.
When the bowls were cleared, the group quietly dispersed to their respective quarters.
Aerion entered his private master suite, the room comfortably warm and dimly lit by a single candle on the bedside table. He undressed, setting his robes aside, and lay back against the soft feather mattress. The silence of the room was absolute, but within his transmigrator mind, an entirely different kind of storm was waiting to be unleashed.
He closed his eyes and mentally engaged his system interface.
The semi translucent, golden text immediately flooded his vision. He had actively suppressed the notifications during the chaos of the crypts and the dragon fights to maintain his absolute tactical focus.
Now, the dam broke. The sheer volume of raw, accumulated experience from slaughtering hordes of draugr, incinerating rogue pyromancers, and dismantling a Dragon Priest cascaded across his consciousness in a blinding waterfall of data.
[Skill: Destruction (Fire) (+4) Leveled Up! Level 0 ➔ Level 73]
[Skill: Destruction (Lightning) (+2) Leveled Up! Level 25 ➔ Level 91]
[Skill: Destruction (Frost) (+2) Leveled Up! Level 0 ➔ Level 70]
Aerion felt a massive, rushing expansion within his arcane pathways. His mastery over the destructive elements had deepened to a huge degree. The conceptual understanding of thermal volatility, electrical conductivity, and absolute zero snapped into his mind with crystal clarity.
[Skill: Restoration (Healing) (+2) Leveled Up! Level 0 ➔ Level 55]
[Skill: Restoration (Purify) (+2) Leveled Up! Level 50 ➔ Level 75]
The golden, holy light of Restoration magic pulsed through his veins, his ability to mend flesh and banish the undead solidifying into a profound, almost instinctual reflex after the intense warding and healing he had performed on his vanguard.
[Skill: Conjuration (Summoning) (+1) Leveled Up! Level 60 ➔ Level 90]
[Skill: Persuasion (+2) Leveled Up! Level 0 ➔ Level 19]
[Skill: Sneak (+1) Leveled Up! Level 0 ➔ Level 33]
His mind expanded further, effortlessly accommodating the complex dimensional geometries required to pull elemental entities from the void of Oblivion, while his social and stealth matrices absorbed the passive experience of his recent diplomatic and tactical maneuvers.
And then, a profound notification chimed, glowing brighter than the rest.
[Skill: Light Armor +1 Leveled Up! Level 75 ➔ MAX]
[Maximum Mastery Reached. Initiate Legendary Reset?]
Aerion did not hesitate. He mentally confirmed the prompt.
[Skill: Light Armor (+1) reset to Level 0. Skill is now Light Armor (+2).]
The practiced habits of moving in light armor dissolved, instantly replaced by a vastly deeper, almost subconscious understanding of kinetic deflection and evasive footwork. He was starting over, but his baseline potential was now exponentially higher.
Finally, the system tallied the overarching accumulation of his skill progression.
[LEVEL UP DETECTED! You have leveled up 18 times!]
[You have gained 18 Attribute Points!]
Aerion's analytical mind immediately went to work, balancing the mathematics of his own biology. He had eighteen points to distribute. He made his selections with deliberate, calculated precision.
[Attribute Points Allocated: Magicka x6 (+60 Points)]
[Attribute Points Allocated: Health x6 (+60 Points)]
[Attribute Points Allocated: Stamina x6 (+60 Points)]
[Inventory Weight Limit Increased by 30 KG.]
The physical sensation of the attributes settling into his body was intoxicating. It was not a violent surge, but a deep, structural fortification of his very existence.
His arcane reservoir, the well of Magicka within his soul, expanded like a vast, calm ocean, giving him the capacity to sustain master level spells for terrifying durations. But it was the physical changes that truly satisfied him. The six points funneled into Health microscopically increased his bone density and muscle fiber resilience to a point that rivaled natural ebony. The six points in Stamina flooded his cardiovascular system with boundless, inexhaustible kinetic energy.
Aerion opened his golden eyes in the dark room, a slow, deeply satisfied smile touching his lips.
His power had increased by a staggering margin. He ran the tactical assessments through his mind. With his Destruction, Conjuration, and Restoration skills hovering near or at maximum mastery, he could confidently call himself the strongest, most versatile mage in the entirety of Skyrim. Even the Arch-Mage of Winterhold would likely struggle to match his raw, sustained elemental output.
'But relying entirely on one set of skills is a vulnerability,' Aerion reasoned calmly. 'My magical supremacy is absolute. Therefore, to avoid the stagnation of diminishing returns, and to fully exploit my vastly enhanced physical attributes, it is time to pivot.'
He would step away from the cloth robes and the exclusive reliance on spells. He would transition into heavy melee combat and archery. He would become the ultimate spellsword, a warrior who could crush a skull with a mace just as effortlessly as he could incinerate it with a fireball. He would be the best in both magic and steel.
With that grand, overarching tactical strategy firmly set in his mind, Aerion closed his eyes once more and drifted into a deep, highly restorative sleep.
The next morning dawned with the crisp, biting clarity typical of the Whiterun tundra.
When Aerion woke, dressed, and stepped out onto the front porch of the main house, the estate was already a hive of organized, industrial activity.
Sinmir was standing in the center of the courtyard, overseeing a crew of mercenaries as they unloaded a convoy of heavy, reinforced wooden wagons. The air was thick with the scent of old earth and the sharp, metallic tang of ancient bone.
Aerion descended the wooden steps and approached the wagons.
The sheer volume of the haul was impressive. The massive, bleached white ribs, the heavy, jagged skull, and the thick, diamond hard green scales of the dragon they had slain on the plains were meticulously stacked and secured. The mercenaries were currently moving the heavy materials toward the secure storage sheds constructed specifically for the dragon remains, situated safely near the sprawling mammoth pens.
"Captain," Aerion greeted him smoothly.
Sinmir turned, wiping a streak of dust from his forehead, and offered a crisp salute. "Patron. The first site has been completely cleared. The green beast's bones are secured."
"And the road?" Aerion inquired, his eyes scanning the massive scales being carried away. "Did you encounter any trouble along the way?"
Sinmir let out a low, rough chuckle, shaking his head. "All clear, Patron. Or, at least, it is now. We had a few opportunistic bands of thieves and local highwaymen who saw a line of slow moving wagons and thought we were easy prey. They tried to set up an ambush near the crossroads to take the cargo."
The mercenary captain patted the heavy pommel of his broadsword. "We drove the smart ones away. We killed the stupid ones on the spot. Everything looks more or less intact, there's nothing that has been stolen or compromised. We didn't lose a single scale."
Aerion nodded his head, entirely pleased with the ruthless efficiency of his private army.
"Excellent work, Sinmir," Aerion commended him. "Take a brief rest, resupply the wagons, and then proceed on your way to Shearpoint. The blood dragon's remains will require a more careful descent down the mountain paths."
"We'll have it handled before nightfall, Patron," Sinmir promised, turning back to bark orders at the unloading crew.
With the logistics of his draconic hoard well in hand, Aerion turned his attention away from the wagons and walked toward the far side of the estate's courtyard.
Here, beneath a massive, sturdy wooden pavilion, lay his newly completed, personalized smithing area. It was a masterpiece of industrial design. A massive stone smelter radiated a low, ambient heat. A pristine, heavy iron anvil sat perfectly leveled on a massive tree stump. Racks of tongs, heavy hammers, and grinding wheels were meticulously organized, alongside deep quenching troughs and a roaring, coal fired forge.
It was complete with every single tool he needed to craft, temper, and refine any material on Nirn.
Aerion ran a gloved hand over the cold iron of the anvil, formulating his next sequence of moves.
He needed to travel to Solitude to formally report to General Tullius and Legate Rikke. He had to deliver the political victory of Fort Greymoor and confirm that Jarl Balgruuf had accepted the Empire's 'gift.' That was his primary geopolitical obligation.
But once that diplomatic mission was concluded and he returned to the estate, Aerion decided he would spend a full, uninterrupted day here at the forge. He would engage his transmigrator focus and level his Smithing skill continuously until he achieved absolute mastery.
'Eorlund Gray-Mane is revered as the finest smith in Skyrim,' Aerion mused, his golden eyes reflecting the dull gray of the anvil. 'I will surpass him by sunset. And once my metallurgical supremacy is established, I will return to Adrianne Avenicci. I will teach her the secrets of master tier forging, and in exchange, I will seamlessly rope the entirety of Warmaiden's operations into my own business empire. A total monopoly on Whiterun's steel.'
It was a flawless economic strategy.
But to pivot to melee combat, he required the proper equipment now. He could not march back into Castle Dour wearing silk robes if he intended to present himself as a frontline Tribune.
Aerion turned away from the forge and walked briskly toward the stables. He seamlessly saddled Revan, the massive black warhorse snorting eagerly in the morning air. Without needing an escort, Aerion rode out of the estate gates, guiding the warhorse at a swift canter across the golden plains toward the towering walls of Whiterun.
The ride was short and uneventful. He arrived at the Whiterun Stables, handing Revan's reins over to Skulvar with a few septims for fresh apples, before walking up the winding, cobblestone path to the city's main gates.
The guards recognized him instantly, snapping to respectful attention as the Thane of Whiterun passed beneath the heavy iron portcullis.
The market district was bustling with its usual morning chaos, merchants shouting their wares and citizens haggling over fresh produce. Aerion ignored the crowds, his tall, aristocratic frame cutting smoothly through the traffic. He navigated the winding streets until he found a quiet, entirely empty alleyway nestled between two large stone residences, shielded from the prying eyes of the main thoroughfare.
He stepped into the shadows, ensuring he was completely unobserved.
Aerion engaged his system. He reached into the void of his inventory and materialized a simple, sturdy burlap sack. With practiced, mental efficiency, he began transferring specific, highly valuable magical artifacts from his limitless storage into the physical sack.
First, a gleaming Gold Ruby Ring of Fortify Magicka.
Next, a heavy Iron Garnet Ring of Fortify Conjuration & Magicka Regen.
Then, a long, heavy Honed Ancient Nord Sword that crackled faintly with a latent enchantment of Sparks.
Followed by a simple, unadorned silver Ring of Archery.
A pair of worn, but highly enchanted Hide Boots of Stamina.
And finally, another heavy Ancient Nord Sword, this one radiating the dark, vampiric aura of an Absorbing enchantment.
As the last heavy iron sword slipped into the sack, Aerion checked his interface.
[Inventory Weight Reduced by 10.00 KG]
He tied off the sack, holding it casually in his left hand.
Aerion stepped back out of the alleyway and walked purposefully toward the front gates of the city, stopping at the massive, open air forge of Warmaiden's. Adrianne Avenicci was busy at the grindstone near the front counter, completely absorbed in her work.
She did not notice the High Elf slip quietly down the narrow, shadowed side path of the building, moving to the secluded area directly behind her massive stone smelter.
Here, resting against the stone wall, entirely invisible to the physical inhabitants of Nirn, was a spatial anomaly. It was a localized tear in reality that only a transmigrator's eyes could perceive, his generated Mod Chest.
Aerion reached out, his hand passing through the invisible barrier. The interface for the chest opened in his mind, displaying an absolute treasure trove of highly customized, flawlessly rendered armaments and materials.
He needed heavy armor. Something that offered maximum physical protection for a melee fighter, but also possessed an aesthetic that commanded respect and authority.
He mentally scrolled through the heavy armor sets. Daedric was vastly too demonic and suspicious. Ebony was excellent, but he had already distributed pieces to his retainers.
His eyes landed on a masterfully crafted set of Nordic Carved Armor.
It was a brutal, beautiful design. Heavy, polished steel plates etched with intricate, ancient Nordic knotwork, layered over thick, dark leather and lined with dense, insulating bear fur. It looked like the armor of a true northern warlord.
Aerion extracted the pieces one by one. The heavy steel chest plate, the thick, fur-lined gauntlets, and the reinforced steel boots.
He paused when he reached the helmet. The Nordic Carved helmet was forged to resemble the snarling head of a bear. It was incredibly intimidating, but to Aerion's refined, aristocratic sensibilities, it was simply too barbaric. He despised the design. 'I will leave the helmet,' Aerion decided smoothly. 'When I have a moment to properly clean and polish the bronze, I will utilize Krosis's mask instead. It offers vastly superior magical protections and a far more terrifying psychological profile.'
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[Main Panel]
Name: Aerion
Race: High Elf (Altmer)
Health: 710/710 Stamina: 740/740 Magicka: 950/950
Level: 182 ➔ 200
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(+4)/Lightning(+2)/Frost(+2)) (Level 73/91/70), Restoration (Healing(+2)/Purify(+2)) (Level 50/75), Alteration (Level 35), Illusion (Level 50), Conjuration (Necromancy/Summoning(+1)) (Level 37/90), Persuasion(+2) (Level 19), Smithing (Level 57), Sneak(+1) (Level 33), One Handed(+1) (Level 72), Two Handed (Level 81), Lockpicking (Level 35), Archery (Level 72), Enchanting (Level 66), Light Armor(+2) (Level 0), Block (Level 70), & Pickpocket (Level 8)
Shouts: Fus Roh Dah (Force Balance Push), Tiid (Time), Krii (Kill), Feim Zii Gron (Fade Spirit Bind), Su (Air), Laas (Life), Yol Toor (Fire Inferno), Kaan (Kyne), & Zul Mey Gut (Voice Fool Far)
[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, Elven Dagger, Potion of Healing, Honed Ancient Nord Sword of Sparks, Gold Emerald Circlet, Scroll of Fire Storm, Iron Garnet Circlet, Iron Sapphire Circlet, Grand Soul Gem (Filled), Glass Boots, Dwarven Sword, Dwarven Shield, Wuuthrad's Fragments, Krosis's Mask, & Staff of Fireball
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: 91.21 KG / 670 KG
Septims: 81,082