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(A/N: Don't forget to give those power stones to Skyrim everyone!)
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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.
"Now!" Aerion commanded.
The rest of the team arrived.
Valdemar charged through the area, swinging his Steel Greatsword in a desperate horizontal slash, but Krosis simply floated backward, the blade cutting empty air.
Jenassa, repositioning flawlessly, loosed two arrows directly at the bronze mask. The steel arrows struck true, but they simply sparked and bounced harmlessly off the ancient, enchanted metal of the mask.
Krosis raised the Staff of Fireballs again, aiming it directly at the clustered group of mortals. The ruby tip glowed with blinding intensity. If the spell detonated in the center of the formation, they would all burn.
Aeloria, fresh from absorbing the dragon's soul, stepped to the front of the pack. She did not raise her axe. She took a deep breath, accessing the new vocabulary she had claimed in the Redoubt.
"FEIM!"
The word for 'Fade' echoed across the peak.
Instantly, Aeloria's physical form shifted, becoming semi translucent and ghostly pale. She had become Ethereal.
Krosis unleashed the massive fireball. It hurtled toward them, striking Aeloria directly in the chest. But instead of a catastrophic thermal detonation, the fireball simply phased completely through her ethereal body, detonating harmlessly against the cliff face far behind them.
Krosis paused, his ancient, glowing blue eyes narrowing in confusion behind the mask as his ultimate spell failed to find purchase on the mortal plane.
It was a split second distraction, but it was all the master tactician required.
Aerion stepped around Lydia's shield. He didn't use fire, and he didn't use lightning. He reached deep into the restorative, divine energies of his spells, pulling upon the absolute antithesis of the undead.
He thrust both hands forward, funneling his high level Restoration power into a devastating, offensive burst of pure, blinding sunlight.
Bane of the Undead.
A massive, expanding nova of brilliant, holy golden light erupted from Aerion's palms, washing over the entire plateau.
When the light struck Krosis, the effect was catastrophic.
The holy energy actively violently rejected the dark, necrotic magic holding the Dragon Priest together. The ethereal shielding around the entity instantly shattered like fragile glass. Krosis let out a horrific, echoing shriek, a sound like tearing metal and grinding bone, as the divine magic scoured his mummified flesh.
The Priest crashed heavily to the stone floor, his levitation completely broken, his ancient robes smoking.
"End it!" Aerion commanded, his voice cold and absolute.
Aeloria's ethereal form faded back into reality. She stepped forward, raising the Axe of Morthal high above her head. With a devastating, two handed strike, she brought the heavy blade down, burying it directly into the center of Krosis's chest.
The ancient magic holding the entity together finally, violently unraveled.
With a final, hissing gasp of escaping energy, Krosis collapsed into a pile of gray ash, scorched cloth, and ancient bone.
The battle of Shearpoint was over.
The deafening roar of the dragon and the explosive crackle of fireballs was replaced by the eerie, howling silence of the high altitude wind. The plateau was a scene of absolute devastation, scorched stone, frozen craters, and the massive, skeletal remains of the blood dragon.
Lydia dropped to one knee, leaning heavily on her dented shield, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Valdemar slumped against a boulder, clutching his ribs, while Jenassa slowly lowered her bow, her crimson eyes scanning the sky for any further threats.
Aeloria stood over the pile of ash, her chest heaving, her hands trembling slightly as the sheer, apocalyptic reality of what they had just survived settled into her bones. She looked at the High Elf, her respect and trust for the mer deepening into something profound. He had orchestrated their survival flawlessly.
Aerion walked slowly, gracefully across the scorched stone. He ignored the skeletal remains of the dragon, walking directly to the pile of ash that had once been a king of the Merethic Era.
Reaching down into the dust, Aerion picked up the heavy, jagged bronze mask of Krosis. The metal was unnaturally cold to the touch, thrumming with residual, ancient power.
He held it up, inspecting the craftsmanship, before reaching down again to claim the beautifully carved Staff of Fireballs.
"The head is severed," Aerion stated softly, holding both the artifacts in his hands. He turned back to the exhausted, victorious group, his golden eyes filled with quiet, absolute approval. "Let us loot around while Aeloria took the words carved into the word wall, and then go home."
The pale, gray ash of the fallen Dragon Priest settled slowly across the frozen stone of Shearpoint, catching the biting wind and scattering into the sheer drop of the mountain. The battle was over, leaving behind a profound, ringing silence that felt entirely unnatural after the deafening roars and explosive magic that had just torn the peak apart.
Aeloria stood near the center of the plateau, her chest heaving as she caught her breath. She wiped a streak of soot and sweat from her brow, her blue eyes moving past the skeletal remains of the blood dragon and locking onto the massive, curved stone structure at the far edge of the cliff.
The Word Wall.
It was ancient, weathered by centuries of harsh alpine storms, but the draconic runes carved deep into its surface were currently glowing with a faint, pulsing light. They seemed to hum, a low, resonant frequency that vibrated directly in the Dragonborn's chest, pulling her forward.
Aeloria sheathed the Axe of Morthal and walked slowly toward the wall. As she approached, the ambient wind seemed to die away, replaced by the deep, rhythmic chanting of voices long dead. The sound wrapped around her, heavy with history and intent. She stopped just a few feet from the stone, closing her eyes and letting her mind open to the ancient magic.
Three specific runes flared brightly on the stone before detaching themselves entirely. The ethereal light washed over her, sinking into her skin and etching themselves permanently into her mind.
Zul. Voice.
Mey. Fool.
Gut. Far.
The entire set of the Throw Voice shout settled into her consciousness. She could feel the shape of the words on her tongue, understanding the precise, tricky vocalization required to throw her voice across a distance and deceive her enemies. It was a complete concept, a flawless tool of misdirection.
She opened her eyes, a deep, satisfied smile touching her lips. She could not use the words just yet, the soul of the blood dragon she had slain earlier had already been spent to unlock her understanding of Feim back at the Redoubt, but the knowledge was secure. It marked another tangible step in her growth. She was no longer just a warrior swinging a piece of enchanted steel, she was actively reclaiming the lost arsenal of her ancestors. The realization brought a profound sense of meaning to the exhaustion aching in her bones.
While Aeloria stood before the wall, Aerion remained near the center of the plateau, standing beside the blasted remains of the steel sarcophagus. He held the jagged bronze mask of Krosis in his left hand and the heavy, still warm Staff of Fireballs in his right.
He looked over at Valdemar and Lydia. The two housecarls were leaning against a nearby boulder, catching their breath and checking their armor for damage. Jenassa stood a few paces away, her dark hood pulled back, calmly wiping the soot from one of her ebony daggers with a clean rag.
Aerion weighed the mask and the staff in his hands.
They were incredibly powerful artifacts, but they were also cumbersome, heavy, and highly conspicuous. Carrying them down the mountain by hand or strapping them awkwardly to a saddle would be inefficient. It was time, he decided, to reveal a small, carefully curated fraction of his secret to his Nordic guards.
"Valdemar. Lydia," Aerion called out softly.
The two heavily armored warriors immediately straightened their postures, turning their full attention to the High Elf.
"Yes, Patron?" Valdemar responded, stepping forward.
Aerion held the ancient mask and the staff out slightly. "These artifacts are far too dangerous to leave behind, and far too unwieldy to carry openly on the road. Watch closely, and do not be alarmed."
Aerion engaged his system interface. He didn't speak an incantation, and he didn't wave his hands in a complex somatic gesture. He simply willed the items into his inventory.
A subtle, nearly invisible ripple distorted the air around his hands, like heat rising from a forge. In the blink of an eye, the heavy bronze mask and the long wooden staff simply vanished into nothingness. There was no flash of light, no puff of smoke. One second they were there, and the next, Aerion's hands were completely empty.
Lydia gasped, taking a sudden half-step backward, her dark eyes wide with shock. Valdemar simply froze, his heavy brow furrowing in absolute, dumbfounded disbelief. He blinked rapidly, looking from Aerion's empty hands to the ground, fully expecting to see the items dropped in the snow.
"By the Eight..." Valdemar murmured, his voice thick with confusion. He reached out a gauntleted hand, waving it cautiously through the empty space where the staff had just been. "What manner of sorcery is that? Where did they go?"
Jenassa let out a soft, dry chuckle from the sidelines. She slid her clean dagger back into its leather sheath and walked over to the bewildered Nords.
"There is no need to look for trapdoors in the stone, Valdemar," the Morag Tong assassin said smoothly, her crimson eyes glinting with amusement. "The Patron possesses a highly specific, very rare form of magic. It allows him to store physical items within a separate space, entirely removing their weight from his person."
She gestured casually toward Aerion. "It is the exact same method he uses to store his septims. Did you truly believe he was carrying thousands of gold coins in those delicate silk robes without a single pouch jingling?"
Lydia stared at Jenassa, and then slowly turned her gaze back to Aerion. The sheer logistical impossibility of it clashed violently with her straightforward, physical understanding of the world. She tried to process the sight, her mouth opening and closing as she struggled to find the right words.
Aerion offered a warm, quiet chuckle, finding their sheer bewilderment genuinely endearing.
"It is a useful talent, is it not?" Aerion smiled, dusting off his hands. His expression then shifted, the warmth remaining, but a clear, serious boundary settling into his golden eyes. "However, it is also a secret. If the wider world knew I could carry the wealth of a city or an armory of weapons completely unseen, it would invite a level of unwanted attention that none of us have the time to deal with. This stays between us."
He looked directly at the two housecarls. "I trust you both to take this to your graves."
Valdemar straightened his back, recovering from his shock. The Nord brought his fist sharply across his heavily dented breastplate.
"My lips are permanently sealed, Patron," Valdemar swore, his voice carrying the deep, sincere gravity of an ancestral oath. "I saw nothing but the wind."
"On my honor, Thane Aerion," Lydia echoed immediately, matching Valdemar's salute. "No one will hear of this from me. You have my absolute word."
There was no dramatic flair to their promises, just the solid, reliable weight of Nordic loyalty. Aerion nodded, entirely satisfied.
Aeloria stepped away from the Word Wall, rolling her shoulders to loosen the tension in her muscles. She walked back toward the group, her face bright with the satisfaction of her newly acquired knowledge.
"The words are secured," Aeloria announced. She looked around at the others, noticing the lingering expressions of awe on the housecarls' faces. "Did I miss something?"
"Just a brief discussion on inventory management," Jenassa replied dryly.
Aerion smiled faintly and nodded to the Dragonborn. "Excellent work, Aeloria. Join the others and catch your breath. Give me just a moment to inspect the stonework."
Aeloria nodded and walked over to Lydia, immediately asking the housecarl if she had any water left in her canteen.
With the group distracted, Aerion walked unhurriedly toward the massive curved stone of the Word Wall. He didn't approach it with the reverence or the mystical anticipation that Aeloria had. To him, it was a data point waiting to be collected.
He stopped in front of the wall, raising his hand to rest his palm against the freezing, rough hewn stone.
The moment his skin made contact, his transmigrator system flared to life in his peripheral vision.
[Word Wall Detected: Throw Voice]
[Learn Words of Power: Zul, Mey, Gut?]
Aerion mentally accepted the prompt.
There was no chanting, no glowing light, and no rushing wind. The system seamlessly bypassed the mystical theatrics, instantly injecting the complete vocabulary and the fundamental understanding of the shout directly into his matrix.
[Words of Power Learned: Zul (Voice), Mey (Fool), Gut (Far)]
Aerion lowered his hand, his face perfectly impassive. He had secured the full shout quietly, efficiently, and completely unnoticed by the rest of his team. It was a valuable tactical tool, and he was highly satisfied to have it resting in his arsenal.
He turned away from the wall and walked back toward the shattered remains of Krosis's sarcophagus.
Sitting just a few feet away, half buried in a drift of snow and frozen dirt, was a massive, iron banded steel chest. It was locked, the mechanism rusted and ancient, but the metal had held strong against the elements.
Aerion approached the chest and knelt beside it. He placed a hand over the heavy iron lock. A brief, focused surge of kinetic magic snapped the internal tumblers, and he pushed the heavy lid open with a loud, grating creak.
The inside of the chest was remarkably well preserved.
Sitting on top of the pile was a heavy leather sack. Aerion opened it, revealing a massive cache of ancient gold coins. A quick assessment by his system confirmed the count, exactly 2,500 septims. With a simple thought, he siphoned the gold directly into his inventory, leaving the leather sack empty.
Beneath the gold lay the true prizes of the Dragon Priest's hoard.
Aerion reached into the chest and pulled out a large, heavy shield. It was forged of solid ebonyz the dark, volcanic glass native to Morrowind, polished to a flawless, midnight gleam and etched with subtle, elegant curves. Beside it lay an ebony one-handed sword, its edge terrifyingly sharp, and a massive, perfectly balanced ebony greatsword.
Finally, resting in the corner of the chest, was a pair of malachite glass boots, the green material glowing faintly with a woven enchantment designed to steady the hands and enhance the draw weight of a bow.
Aerion gathered the items and walked back over to his resting team.
"It seems Krosis was a collector of fine armaments before he went to sleep," Aerion says, dropping the heavy pile of dark metal and green glass onto a flat rock near their horses.
He did not treat the distribution like a lord handing out alms, nor did he read off a list of magical properties. He handled it with practical, character focused efficiency.
He picked up the glass boots and tossed them casually toward Jenassa. The assassin caught them with ease, turning the malachite over in her hands.
"The enchantment is tailored for archery, Jenassa," Aerion noted. "And glass is vastly lighter than the heavy leather you currently wear. They should suit your skirmishing tactics perfectly."
"A beautiful piece of craftsmanship," Jenassa murmured, her crimson eyes gleaming with appreciation as she immediately sat down to swap her footwear. "My thanks, Patron."
Aerion then picked up the heavy ebony shield, holding it out to Lydia. The Housecarl stepped forward, her eyes widening as she took the dark metal. The shield was incredibly dense, yet somehow perfectly balanced.
"Your current steel took a significant beating holding the line against those fireballs," Aerion pointed out, gesturing to the scorch marks on her Whiterun shield. "Ebony will not dent so easily. Keep the vanguard secure."
Lydia gripped the handle, a look of profound respect crossing her face. "It is an honor to bear this, Thane Aerion. No fire will break this line."
He handed the one handed ebony sword to Valdemar. The older Nord warrior took the weapon reverently, testing the edge with his thumb.
"A blade fit for a Jarl," Valdemar breathed, giving the sword a few experimental swings. It cut through the cold air with a deadly, silent hiss. "I will put it to good use, Patron."
Finally, Aerion picked up the massive ebony greatsword. It was a huge, imposing weapon, as tall as a man and broad enough to act as a shield in its own right. He held it out to Aeloria.
The Dragonborn approached, looking at the dark metal with a mix of awe and hesitation. She reached out with both hands, bracing herself to accept the massive weight of the broad iron and steel she was used to wielding.
As Aerion let go, Aeloria's hands dipped only a fraction of an inch. She blinked, genuinely surprised.
"By Kyne," Aeloria breathed, hefting the greatsword and giving it a slow, practiced twirl. "It looks like it should weigh forty pounds, but it feels... light. The balance is incredible. It feels almost weightless on the backswing."
"Ebony is volcanic glass, Aeloria. It is denser than steel, but vastly superior in its weight distribution when forged correctly," Aerion explained smoothly. "It will serve you far better than standard iron when you face the thick scales of the next dragon."
Aeloria smiled, sliding the greatsword smoothly into the heavy leather harness on her back. It sat perfectly, comfortable and ready to draw. "Thank you, Aerion. Truly."
With the loot distributed and everyone significantly upgraded, the group gathered their horses. They mounted up, leaving the desolate, ash covered peak of Shearpoint behind them, and began the long, winding descent back down the rocky trails.
The ride down was relatively quiet, the team settling back into a comfortable rhythm. They navigated the steep switchbacks, eventually leaving the freezing altitude behind as the terrain leveled out into the rolling, golden brown tundra of the lower Pale. The biting wind faded, replaced by a much gentler breeze.
They were making good time, heading southwest toward the borders of Whiterun, when the ambient tranquility was suddenly, violently shattered.
A shadow passed rapidly over the group, followed instantly by a deafening, echoing roar that tore through the sky. Aerion looked up, his golden eyes narrowing.
Diving directly out of the low gray clouds, moving with terrifying, predatory speed, was another dragon. This one was entirely different from the blood dragon they had fought on the peak. Its scales were a brilliant, toxic shade of emerald green, lined with pale yellow spikes down its spine.
The beast didn't circle or assess the threat. It banked sharply, leveling out just a few dozen feet above the tundra, and dove straight for Aeloria, its massive jaws opening wide.
Aerion did not hesitate for a fraction of a second.
He pulled Revan's reins with his left hand, while his right hand instantly flared with a blinding, roaring manifestation of pure fire. He thrust his arm forward, unleashing three massive, rapidly sequential Incinerate blasts directly into the diving dragon's path.
The condensed fireballs slammed into the side of the dragon's head and neck with concussive force. The explosions blossomed in the air, a brilliant flash of orange and red against the gray sky.
The green dragon shrieked in pain and shock. The sheer force of the arcane impacts knocked it off its trajectory. It violently flapped its massive wings, breaking off its dive and climbing rapidly back into the sky to gain altitude and avoid the sudden retaliation.
"Dismount!" Aerion roared, his voice cutting through the panic of the startled horses. "Combat positions, now! Keep the spread wide!"
The group reacted with the practiced, immediate efficiency of veterans. They threw themselves from their saddles, giving the terrified horses a quick slap on the flanks to send them scattering away from the immediate danger zone.
Lydia hit the ground and instantly brought her new ebony shield up, locking herself into a defensive stance. Valdemar drew his ebony sword, standing shoulder to shoulder with the housecarl. Jenassa was already moving, sliding behind a low, rocky outcropping and nocking an arrow to her string.
Aeloria drew her ebony greatsword, looking up at the circling green dragon. She tracked its movement, her heart pounding, but her mind was remarkably clear.
"Aerion!" Aeloria shouted over the sound of the wind. "What in Oblivion are the odds of another dragon appearing this close to Shearpoint so soon?"
Aerion stood in the center of their loose formation, his hands glowing with a soft, restorative golden light as he prepared to support his vanguard. He looked up at the beast, his analytical mind rapidly processing the behavior.
"The odds are remarkably low," Aerion answered, his voice calm, delivering the tactical assessment naturally amidst the chaos. "Dragons are fiercely territorial creatures. It is highly probable that this green dragon sensed the death of the blood dragon on the peak, and it flew here immediately to claim Shearpoint as its own nest."
The dragon banked sharply, preparing for another dive.
"It was likely driven off or wounded in a previous territorial dispute with the blood dragon," Aerion reasoned loudly, keeping his eyes on the sky. "It is acting aggressively, but its flight pattern is slightly erratic. It may be weaker or already exhausted. Do not let it intimidate you! Bring it to the ground!"
The green dragon folded its wings, diving toward them once more. This time, as it opened its jaws, a sickening, acidic hiss filled the air. A concentrated stream of corrosive, toxic green gas erupted from its throat, sweeping across the ground toward the group.
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.
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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), & 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, 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, 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: 101.21 KG / 640 KG
Septims: 81,082