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 is true," Aerion confirmed smoothly. "Aeloria requires a soul to forge her dragon shouts. We are going to rip one from the sky. And if the ancient texts are correct, we will find an enemy resting there that will make everything we have faced these past two days look like child's play." The combat group didn't hesitate. They followed their Patron down the rocky path, their morale absolutely unshakeable. They mounted their draft horses, the beasts snorting in the cold air, and turned their reins toward the freezing, lethal peaks of the Pale.
The ride northeast was a stark departure from the jagged, vertical cliffs of the Reach. As the group crossed the borders into the Pale, the landscape opened up into vast, sweeping stretches of alpine tundra. The sky above was a pale, bruised gray, and the wind that swept down from the northern glaciers carried the crisp, heavy scent of damp grass, exposed granite, and distant, freezing rain.
Aerion set a comfortable but highly alert pace. They had spent the last two days continuously breaching ancient tombs and slaughtering heavily entrenched enemies, the steady, rhythmic gait of the horses provided a much needed window for the group to breathe, tend to their minor aches, and settle their nerves.
But despite the physical rest, a heavy, unspoken tension hung over the riders. The name Shearpoint had been spoken the night before with a gravity that even the battle hardened mercenaries couldn't ignore.
Aeloria, riding abreast of Aerion on her sturdy draft horse, finally broke the steady rhythm of hooves against the dirt road. She looked over at the High Elf, studying the perfectly composed, focused lines of his face.
"You haven't relaxed your shoulders since we left the Redoubt," Aeloria noted quietly, her voice carrying over the whistling wind. "Aerion, what exactly is waiting for us up on that peak? What kind of enemy could make a man who effortlessly incinerates entire bandit camps speak so seriously?"
Aerion did not immediately answer. He kept his golden eyes fixed on the distant, snow capped peaks looming on the horizon.
"Tell me, Aeloria," Aerion finally spoke, his melodic voice cutting cleanly through the chill air. "In all your knowledge of Nordic history, have you ever heard of the Dragon Priests?"
The question caused Valdemar and Lydia, riding just behind them, to instinctively stiffen in their saddles.
Aeloria frowned, her blue eyes narrowing as she searched her memory. "Of course I have. Every child in Skyrim knows the legends. They were the highest ranking men of the ancient Atmoran animal cults. The kings who ruled humanity on behalf of the dragons during the Merethic Era, demanding absolute, bloody tribute. But... they are myths, Aerion. Forgotten warnings told by firesides to keep children from wandering into the barrows at night."
"It is good that you know the legends," Aerion nodded slowly, his expression entirely grim. "Because the entity we may be facing at the summit of Shearpoint is one of them."
The statement hit the group like a physical blow. The rhythmic sound of the horses seemed to suddenly fade into the background. The tone of the ride shifted instantly from a weary, vigilant march to a cold, creeping dread.
Jenassa, her dark hood pulled low against the wind, guided her bay horse closer to the vanguard. She was the first to break the stunned silence.
"A Dragon Priest," the Morag Tong assassin repeated, her usually smooth, detached voice laced with sharp, professional skepticism. "Patron, I have assassinated warlords and slaughtered master necromancers. But an undead demigod from the dawn of time? How likely is it, truly, that we will face such a thing today?"
"The chance is incredibly high, Jenassa," Aerion answered honestly, refusing to sugarcoat the tactical reality. He looked back at the group. "Furthermore, the whispers in the holds and my own research indicate that Shearpoint is currently an active dragon's lair. Which means it is highly probable that we will be dealing with two high threats simultaneously."
Aerion turned his gaze back to the road, his mind running through the combat variables. In a purely tactical sense, Aerion actually considered the dragon to be the lesser threat. Dragons were massive, loud, and relied on raw, elemental brute force. A Dragon Priest, however, was a concentrated, hovering nexus of ancient, catastrophic arcane power.
They possessed centuries of combat experience, devastating magical staves, and elemental cloaks that could turn a melee fighter to ash in seconds.
Behind him, the heavy clanking of Whiterun steel signaled Valdemar shifting uncomfortably in his saddle. The older Nord warrior looked at Lydia, reading the same deep, ancestral apprehension in his fellow Housecarl's eyes.
"Patron," Valdemar spoke up, his voice tight. "Is this truly necessary? Facing a living dragon in the open is already tantamount to a death sentence for most armies. But a Dragon Priest? That is something else entirely. Even the Skaal and the oldest Greybeards speak of them with absolute fear. If one slumbers there, should we not simply leave it to rot?"
"We do not have the luxury of avoidance, Valdemar," Aerion answered, his voice firm and laced with unyielding logic. "We require the dragon's soul to fuel Aeloria's growth. That is non-negotiable. And regarding the Priest... think about the overarching reality of our situation. Alduin has returned. He is actively flying across this province, resurrecting the ancient dead. If the World-Eater is bringing back his draconic generals, it is only a matter of time before he begins waking his high priesthood to lead the new dragon age into an era of terror. We must cut the head off this snake now, before it fully realizes it has awakened."
His words settled heavily over the riders. The sheer, terrifying scale of the war they were waging felt incredibly oppressive under the gray sky.
Aeloria looked down at her leather gloved hands, gripping the reins tightly. She could feel the ancient, draconic syllables she had absorbed over the past two days burning within her chest, a well of raw, untested power. She looked back at Lydia, Valdemar, and Jenassa. These people had bled for her. They had followed her into darkness without question.
"I could go alone," Aeloria said suddenly, her voice quiet but entirely resolute.
Aerion immediately pulled Revan's reins, bringing the massive warhorse to a sudden, complete halt in the middle of the road.
Aeloria stopped her draft horse, looking over at him. "I mean it, Aerion. You just said it yourself, the dragon is dangerous, and the Priest is worse. It is a slaughter waiting to happen. But I have the Voice now. I have shouts of my own. I can absorb the dragon's fire. Perhaps... perhaps I am meant to face this trial by myself. I will not drag all of you to your deaths for my destiny."
Aerion turned in his saddle. His golden eyes locked onto hers with a fierce, absolute, and terrifying intensity that entirely paralyzed any further argument she might have formulated.
"No," Aerion stated, the single syllable ringing with absolute, unbreakable authority.
He did not raise his voice, but the sheer weight of his command forced the air from her lungs.
"You will not go alone, Aeloria," Aerion commanded, his tone completely uncompromising. "You are the Dragonborn, yes. But you are not a martyr, and you are not invincible. We will ride up that mountain, and we will face whatever nightmares crawl out of the dirt together. Nothing you say, and no misplaced sense of Nordic sacrifice, will change that. I am not about to send you into that ruin to die alone. Do you understand me?"
Aeloria stared at the High Elf. The immense, protective gravity in his voice entirely dismantled her attempt at isolation. She saw the absolute refusal to let her fall in his eyes.
She swallowed hard, the tension slowly draining from her shoulders. She gave a slow, firm nod. "I understand, Aerion. Together."
Aerion held her gaze for a second longer, ensuring the matter was permanently settled, before flicking his reins and urging Revan back into a trot. The group followed in silence, the bond between them having been tested and forged into something vastly stronger on the cold road.
By late afternoon, the winding dirt path steepened drastically, leading them into the harsh, jagged foothills of the Pale.
"We stop here," Aerion ordered, holding up a hand.
They had reached the base of a massive, rocky incline. Above them, obscured by a swirling, freezing mist and jagged outcroppings of gray stone, lay the summit of Shearpoint.
The group dismounted, moving with quiet, practiced efficiency. They securely tied their horses' reins to the thick, sturdy trunks of the ancient pine trees clinging to the base of the hill, ensuring the animals were shielded from the immediate line of sight.
Aerion turned to his team. He didn't offer a rousing speech; he offered cold, tactical reality.
"Stay fully alert," Aerion warned, his eyes scanning the steep, rocky path ahead. "Keep your spacing wide. Do not bunch up, or a single breath of fire will reduce this entire company to ash. This may very well be the most chaotic, lethal battle we have fought yet. Trust your training, and trust each other."
Everyone nodded, drawing their weapons. Lydia unslung her massive Kite shield, Valdemar gripped the hilt of his broadsword, and Jenassa nocked an ebony arrow to her bowstring. Aeloria took a deep breath, the Axe of Morthal burning to life in her right hand.
They moved up the hill.
The ascent was treacherous. Loose scree and jagged rocks made footing difficult, and the freezing wind howled through the crags, tearing at their cloaks. As they crested the final, steep ridge, the summit of Shearpoint finally revealed itself.
It was a wide, uneven plateau of blasted, frost covered stone. At the far edge of the summit stood a massive, semi circular Word Wall, the ancient draconic runes etched deeply into the dark rock.
And perched directly atop the Word Wall, its massive, spiked tail curling lazily down the stone, was a dragon.
It was a terrifying, majestic beast. Its scales were a deep, mottled crimson and dark, earthy brown, giving it the appearance of dried, ancient blood. Spikes ran down its spine, and its massive, horned head rested upon its front talons.
But Aerion's eyes instantly darted past the dragon, locking onto the ground just a few dozen feet in front of the Word Wall.
Resting on a raised stone dais was a heavy, masterfully forged steel sarcophagus. A large steel chest sat nearby, half-buried in the snow. The coffin was entirely still, the heavy lid sealed shut, looking as though it was simply waiting for a careless soul to disturb its ancient slumber.
'Distance,' Aerion calculated rapidly. 'As long as we do not cross the invisible proximity distance of the dais, the Priest will remain dormant. We must pull the dragon away from the wall.'
Suddenly, the wind shifted.
The blood dragon's massive head snapped up. Its reptilian, slit pupil eyes locked directly onto the five mortals standing at the edge of the plateau.
The beast inhaled, its massive chest expanding, and let out a deafening, world shaking roar that physically vibrated the stones beneath their boots.
"SCATTER!" Aerion screamed, his voice magically amplified to cut through the monster's roar.
The group violently broke apart, diving in opposite directions just as the dragon's jaws unhinged.
A massive, concentrated torrent of absolute, freezing death erupted from the beast's throat. The frost breath hit the exact spot where they had been standing a fraction of a second prior. The sheer kinetic and thermal impact of the breath shattered the loose rocks, coating the edge of the plateau in a thick, jagged layer of instantaneous, unnatural ice.
Aeloria rolled through the snow, feeling the agonizing, biting chill of the frost clip her shoulder pauldron. She scrambled to her feet, her breath pluming in the freezing air.
With a powerful thrust of its hind legs, the blood dragon launched itself off the Word Wall. Its massive, leathery wings snapped open with a sound like tearing canvas, kicking up a blinding cloud of snow and dust as it took to the sky.
The true chaos began.
The dragon circled high above the plateau, its massive shadow passing over the strike team, plunging them into momentary darkness.
"Keep it tracked! Do not let it blindside you!" Valdemar roared, holding his broadsword high, his eyes desperately tracking the dark silhouette against the gray sky.
Jenassa was already moving. The assassin sprinted toward a cluster of jagged boulders on the left flank, sliding into the rocky cover. She drew her bowstring back to her cheek, her crimson eyes tracking the beast's flight path.
THWACK.
An steel arrow launched into the sky, striking the dragon cleanly in the fleshy membrane of its left wing. The beast let out a screech of annoyance, banking sharply to the right.
Aerion stood near the center of the plateau, his dark robes whipping wildly in the gale force winds generated by the dragon's wings. He didn't bother with subtle magic. He reached deep into his internal reservoir, his hands erupting in blinding, crackling arcs of high voltage electricity.
He thrust his hands toward the sky.
Thunderbolt.
A massive, continuous beam of jagged, purple white lightning tore across the sky, striking the dragon directly in the chest. The sheer voltage caused the beast's muscles to violently spasm in mid air. The smell of ozone and burnt scales instantly filled the plateau.
Enraged by the arcane assault, the blood dragon folded its wings and executed a terrifying, high speed dive directly toward the High Elf.
"Lydia! The line!" Aerion commanded, not moving an inch.
Lydia charged forward, planting her steel boots directly in front of her Patron. She raised her heavy steel shield, bracing her shoulder behind the metal.
The dragon swooped low, its massive, scythe like talons extending to rip them both in half.
As the beast reached the apex of its dive, Aeloria stepped out from the right flank. She planted her feet, drew in a massive breath, and felt the ancient power of the barrows rise in her throat.
"FUS RO DAH!"
The Unrelenting Force tore from the Dragonborn's lips. The concussive, invisible shockwave slammed into the side of the diving dragon with the force of a battering ram. The sheer kinetic impact disrupted the beast's aerodynamic trajectory, knocking it violently off balance.
Its talons missed Lydia's shield by mere inches, the sheer wind pressure of its passing throwing the Housecarl to her knees. The dragon crashed heavily onto the snowy stones on the far side of the plateau, tearing up a massive trench of dirt and rock as it skidded to a halt.
"Push the advantage! Hit it while it's grounded!" Aeloria roared, charging across the plateau with her axe raised.
Valdemar sprinted right beside her, closing the distance rapidly.
But the dragon was ancient, and it was fiercely intelligent. It didn't try to immediately take flight again. It used its massive, armored bulk as a weapon. As Aeloria and Valdemar closed in, the beast whipped its incredibly long, spiked tail in a devastating, horizontal sweep.
"Down!" Aeloria yelled, throwing herself flat against the stone.
Valdemar wasn't fast enough. The heavy tail slammed into the Nord warrior's breastplate with the force of a swinging tree trunk. Valdemar was violently launched backward, flying through the air and crashing heavily into the frozen dirt.
Aerion's eyes widened in sheer horror.
Valdemar hadn't just been thrown backward. He had been thrown directly toward the back of the plateau. He landed less than ten feet away from the steel sarcophagus.
"Valdemar, move! Get away from the dais!" Aerion screamed, breaking his composed facade, his voice laced with genuine panic.
It was too late.
The proximity wards etched into the ancient stone violently flared to life, glowing with a sickening, toxic green light. The air around the dais suddenly plummeted to a temperature so absolute it felt as though the oxygen was freezing.
BOOM.
The heavy, enchanted steel lid of the sarcophagus did not slide open. It violently detonated outward, blown entirely off its hinges by a concussive blast of ancient, necrotic energy.
From the depths of the steel coffin, a nightmare rose into the light.
It did not climb out, it hovered. The entity was draped in tattered, ancient robes of deep blue and rusted gold, floating effortlessly two feet above the snow covered stones. Its face was completely obscured by a terrifying, angular mask forged of jagged bronze and iron, its empty eye sockets glowing with a malevolent, ethereal blue light.
In its skeletal, mummified right hand, it gripped a beautifully crafted, highly volatile Staff of Fireballs, the tip already glowing with blistering, superheated plasma.
Krosis had awakened.
The sheer, oppressive aura of ancient, unadulterated magical supremacy that radiated from the Dragon Priest washed over the plateau, suffocating the combatants.
Krosis turned its masked face toward the nearest living soul. Valdemar, groaning and struggling to rise to his knees, looked up in absolute terror.
The Priest casually raised the staff. A massive, roaring sphere of fire erupted from the tip, hurtling directly toward the prone warrior.
"Greater Ward!"
Aerion materialized out of the swirling snow, stepping directly between the Priest and Valdemar. He threw both hands forward, a massive, multivlayered dome of golden light violently exploding from his palms.
The fireball slammed into the arcane barrier with the force of a siege engine. The thermal detonation was blinding, washing over the golden shield and scorching the stones in a ten foot radius. Aerion gritted his teeth, his boots sliding back an inch against the stone as he actively channeled massive amounts of magicka to hold the shield against the ancient artifact's power.
The battlefield had instantly, catastrophically fractured.
"The board has changed!" Aerion commanded, his voice slicing through the roar of the flames and the screeching of the dragon. He had to split the team immediately, or they would all die in the crossfire.
"Lydia! On me! We contain the Priest!" Aerion barked the tactical orders. "Aeloria, Jenassa, Valdemar! Pull that dragon away from us and bring it down! Do not let it breathe on this flank!"
Lydia didn't hesitate. She charged through the dissipating smoke of the fireball, placing her massive Kite shield directly beside the High Elf, forming a desperate defensive wall against the hovering horror.
Valdemar, clutching his bruised ribs, scrambled to his feet and ran toward Aeloria, pulling the dragon's attention away from the dais.
The battle of Shearpoint fractured into two desperate, brutally violent arenas.
Aeloria stood her ground as the blood dragon recovered from its crash. The beast snapped its massive jaws, lunging forward with terrifying speed, attempting to bite the Dragonborn in half.
Aeloria stepped inside the guard, parrying the massive teeth with the haft of her axe, the sheer physical force of the block sending a jarring shockwave up her arms.
"Jenassa! The eyes!" Aeloria screamed, ducking beneath a snap of the jaws.
From her elevated position on a nearby boulder, the Morag Tong assassin unleashed a rapid, flawless volley of arrows. Three steel arrows sank deep into the soft, unarmored scales around the dragon's right eye.
The beast roared in absolute agony, blindly thrashing its head.
Valdemar seized the opening. The veteran warrior charged the beast's flank, swinging his heavy Steel Greatsword in a massive, two handed overhead arc, burying the steel deep into the dragon's heavily armored knee joint, crippling its ability to pivot.
The dragon, realizing it was losing the ground war, inhaled deeply, preparing to unleash a point blank blast of frost breath that would freeze the two warriors solid.
Aeloria felt the temperature drop. She didn't retreat. She stepped directly into the path of the beast.
"FUS ROH DAH!"
The ancient words of Unrelenting Force ripped from her throat. The massive, roaring cone of wind and gravity violently erupted from the Dragonborn, slamming directly into the dragon's open maw just as it released its frost.
The two forces collided in the center, creating a massive, blinding explosion of shock.
The dragon staggered backward, blinded and suffocating on its own frost.
Aeloria surged through the cloud. She leaped off a jagged rock, launching herself into the air. With a final, roaring battle cry, she brought the blazing Axe of Morthal down with all her Nordic strength, burying the ebony blade directly into the soft, vulnerable scales at the base of the dragon's skull.
The heavy axe severed the spinal column. The blood dragon let out a final, gurgling rattle, its massive eyes rolling back in its head. It collapsed heavily onto the stones, its immense weight shaking the plateau one last time.
Immediately, the flesh of the ancient beast began to violently burn away, transforming into glowing, ethereal ribbons of pure, golden energy. The soul of the dragon howled as it was ripped from the bones, swirling around Aeloria before pouring directly into her chest, expanding her power with a rush of profound, intoxicating warmth.
But there was no time to celebrate.
While the dragon fell, Aerion and Lydia were fighting a desperate war of attrition against an entity that didn't need to breathe, blink, or rest.
Krosis was terrifying. The Dragon Priest moved with an ancient, uncanny confidence, floating smoothly over the jagged rocks, entirely unhindered by the terrain. He did not speak, but the malevolent intent radiating from the bronze mask was palpable.
BOOM. BOOM. BOOM.
Krosis repeatedly leveled the Staff of Fireballs, unleashing a relentless, blistering barrage of heat artillery and shoot out frost spells in the meantime from his other hand.
Lydia held the vanguard, her boots locked into the stone. Every time a fireball detonated against her shield, the steel grew hotter, the concussive force rattling her teeth and bruising her shield arm. She was an immovable object, but the intense heat was rapidly exhausting her.
Aerion stood just behind her, his tactical mind working at terrifying speeds.
He could end this in three seconds. He knew it. If he simply drew in a breath, accessed the syllables locked in his system, and unleashed the true power of the Thu'um, he could blast the ancient Priest entirely off the mountain peak.
'But I cannot reveal the Voice,' Aerion calculated coldly, maintaining his absolute restraint. 'Not to Aeloria, not to Valdemar, and certainly not to the gods watching this world. I am the brilliant mage. I must win this as the mage.'
Krosis lowered the staff, raising his skeletal left hand. A massive, swirling vortex of jagged, razor sharp ice formed in his palm, an Icy Spear aimed directly at Lydia's exposed legs.
Aerion reacted instantly. He dropped his ward and thrust his hand forward.
Incinerate.
A hyper lance of pure, dark red hot plasma shot from Aerion's palm, striking the ice spear in mid air and instantly vaporizing it into a cloud of harmless steam.
Before Krosis could counter, Aerion followed up. He unleashed a dual cast stream of Chain Lightning, the jagged purple arcs slamming into the Dragon Priest's ethereal shielding. The voltage actively drained Krosis's magicka reserves, forcing the undead entity to momentarily stagger backward in the air.
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[Main Panel]
Name: Aerion
Race: High Elf (Altmer)
Health: 650/650 Stamina: 680/680 Magicka: 890/890
Level: 182
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 0/25/0), Restoration (Healing(+2)/Purify(+2)) (Level 0/50), Alteration (Level 35), Illusion (Level 50), Conjuration (Necromancy/Summoning(+1)) (Level 37/60), Persuasion(+2) (Level 0), 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 75), 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)
[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, & Wuuthrad's Fragments
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 / 640 KG
Septims: 78,582