If you want to read 20 Chapters ahead, be sure to check out my P-Tang12!!!
...
(A/N: Also everyone I have a new novel named "From Couch To The Inquisitor", be sure to check it out and give some power stone)
...
"I am honored, General," Aerion said smoothly, his golden eyes burning with ambition. "For the Empire." He understood exactly what the title meant. It was far more than a ceremonial badge. It gave him direct access to massive Imperial supply lines, troop deployments, highly classified information, and immense political authority. It placed him much more closer to the center of the Imperial war effort in Skyrim.
"At ease, Praefect," General Tullius said, the corners of his mouth twitching upward in a rare display of genuine satisfaction.
Legate Rikke stepped forward, a broad, approving grin on her weathered face. She extended a steel gauntleted hand. Aerion met her grip firmly.
"Congratulations, Praefect," Legate Rikke said, a genuine, fiercely approving smile crossing her weathered face. "It is well deserved. Your reconnaissance in the eastern holds was nothing short of brilliant. The Empire needs commanders who bring results, not just pedigree. It is a comfort to know we have a highly capable officer anchoring the southern front in this time of war."
The other three Legates in the room stepped forward to offer their own salutes. Their congratulations were highly respectful, though Aerion's sharp eyes caught the subtle, complicated tension in their shoulders.
It was entirely expected. Aerion had shattered the established military hierarchy. He had bypassed months or even years of grinding service, stepping out of the frozen wilderness directly into the rank of Tribune simply by using the legendary Jagged Crown as political leverage. Now, mere weeks later, he had ascended to Praefect, a senior command rank, based entirely on keeping Balgruuf and his family safe and also intelligence reports.
Some of the career officers undoubtedly felt unsettled by his meteoric rise. Yet, none of them voiced a single objection. They all knew the reality of his personal power. The towering Altmer commanded immense wealth, wielded lethal magic, possessed deep political connections as a Thane, and had just delivered military intelligence of such a staggering, high level caliber that it fundamentally altered their entire war strategy. In the brutal calculus of war, results silenced tradition and grinding.
Aerion accepted their salutes with a calm, magnanimous nod and salute of his own, before turning his attention back to Legate Rikke.
"With this promotion, Legate, am I to assume my cohort is being expanded?" Aerion asked smoothly.
Legate Rikke nodded her head, her expression turning strictly professional. "The unit under your command will be reinforced, Praefect. I am assigning an additional four hundred and forty seasoned legionnaires to your direct command. Combined with your existing forces, you now have a full unit legionnaires cohort of five hundred men operating under your banner."
She gestured toward the topographical map on the table, tapping a specific location on the western edge of the plains.
"These reinforcements will be pulled from garrisons all over Skyrim. They will be heading toward the imperial legion encampment on the western border of Whiterun Hold, just east of Rorikstead joining your sixty men there," Legate Rikke explained. "I strongly suggest you make that camp your first priority. You have five hundred soldiers who have never seen your face, nor heard the voice of the commanding officer who will lead them into the meat grinder. Go to them. Introduce yourself."
"I will," Aerion agreed, memorizing the coordinates on the map. He then looked between the Legate and the General. "Do you have any further immediate tasks for me before I return to my command, General? Legate?"
General Tullius leaned heavily over the map table, his eyes locked onto the central piece of the board, Whiterun.
"Your primary task, Praefect, is to prepare Whiterun for the inevitable Stormcloak invasion," he commanded, his voice grave. "Based on your intelligence regarding Ulfric's desperation and the logistical collapse in his eastern holds, the rebel leader will undoubtedly choose to attack. Ulfric knows Balgruuf will never see eye to eye with him, and he cannot afford to wait for the snows to melt."
General Tullius straightened up, crossing his arms.
"However, you must tread incredibly carefully. Until Jarl Balgruuf formally decides to accept the Empire with open arms, you must conduct your preparations strictly as the Thane of Whiterun, not as a Praefect of the Imperial Legion. Do not openly march Imperial banners through his streets until he calls for them. Prepare the city. Anchor its defenses. Ensure that when the storm breaks, the city is ready to welcome the Legion."
"Understood, General," Aerion accepted the task without hesitation. "I will fortify the hold and ensure the transition is seamless."
"One last thing, Praefect," General Tullius warned, his expression darkening as Aerion turned toward the door. "When the siege begins, and blood is finally spilled on the plains of Whiterun, your name and your face will be permanently burned into the minds of the Stormcloak command. You will no longer be an anonymous traveler. You will not be able to safely set foot in the eastern half of Skyrim until this civil war is entirely concluded."
Aerion nodded slowly. The days of quietly drinking in the Candlehearth Hall of Windhelm were over. "I will remember that, General. For the Empire."
He turned and strode out of the council room, his heavy cloak billowing behind him.
As Aerion, Lydia, and Jenassa walked out of Castle Dour and began descending the winding stone ramps toward the lower city, the crisp night air of Solitude washed over them.
"Praefect," Lydia said quietly, testing the weight of the title. She looked at him, her blue eyes shining with genuine pride. "Congratulations, my Thane. Command over five hundred men... that is a true army."
"It means vastly more resources, and vastly more blood, Patron," Jenassa added pragmatically, her crimson eyes scanning the darkening streets. "Five hundred soldiers is a heavy blade to swing. I assume we will be inspecting this new camp?"
"We will," Aerion confirmed as the Winking Skeever came into view. "As soon as we return to Whiterun Hold, we ride for Rorikstead."
They pushed through the heavy doors of the inn, stepping into the warm, roaring atmosphere of the tavern.
Aerion immediately spotted Eisa and the three apprentices gathered around a large, circular table near the hearth. They were halfway through a massive feast of roasted pheasant, spiced wine, and fresh bread, the 150 septims Aerion had provided clearly put to excellent use.
Aerion pulled up a heavy wooden chair and sat down, removing his mask.
"Did the Imperial politics go smoothly, Expert Aerion?" Brelyna asked, pausing with a piece of bread halfway to her mouth.
"Very smoothly," Aerion replied, pouring himself a goblet of wine. "General Tullius has promoted me."
Onmund swallowed heavily. "Promoted you? To what?"
"Praefect of the Imperial Legion," Aerion stated calmly. "I have been assigned a reinforced cohort. I now have five hundred soldiers under my direct command, currently staging near Rorikstead."
The entire table went dead silent.
J'zargo nearly choked on his wine. Eisa froze, her dagger resting loosely in her hand as she stared at her employer.
None of them had expected this. They knew Aerion was a Tribune, an officer of some repute from Jenassa and Lydia, but ascending to Praefect with an entire army at his back shattered their perception of him. He wasn't just a powerful scholar leading a handful of retainers anymore. He was a high ranking military commander.
Before the shock could fully settle, Aerion leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table, his golden eyes locking onto the three College scholars.
"With an army of that size, I require specialized assets," Aerion told them smoothly. "I am officially offering the three of you positions as the primary battlemages for my unit."
Brelyna, Onmund, and J'zargo exchanged wild, stunned glances.
"You would not be obligated to swear oaths to the Imperial Legion," Aerion clarified instantly, preventing any political hesitation. "You will not be wearing Imperial armor or taking orders from centurions. You will work directly, and exclusively, under me as my personal retainers. In return, I will pay you a highly generous wage, and I will continue to teach and train you personally."
It wasn't a difficult decision. The opportunity to learn directly from a mage of Aerion's terrifying caliber, while getting paid to do it, was an absolute dream for any aspiring scholar.
"J'zargo accepts!" the Khajiit declared instantly, slamming his hand on the table. "J'zargo will rain lightning upon your enemies, Praefect!"
"I'm in," Onmund agreed, a fierce, excited grin breaking across his face.
"And I," Brelyna added, sitting up straighter, the academic nervousness entirely replaced by a quiet, determined pride.
"Excellent," Aerion smiled, raising his goblet. "Finish your meals, and return to your rooms to rest. We ride early tomorrow."
After the group dispersed upstairs, Aerion did not retire to his own room. He slipped his heavy fur cloak back over his armor and walked back out into the cool, lantern lit streets of Solitude.
It was time to build his web.
He had spent enough time gathering intelligence in the east. Now that he had a moment of freedom in the capital of the Empire, he fully intended to establish an invisible network of spies in the very heart of Skyrim's political power.
Aerion walked leisurely through the city, projecting the image of a wealthy noble taking an evening stroll. He walked past the towering Bards College, descended the stairs toward the Temple of the Divines, and continued all the way to the grand, sweeping courtyard of the Blue Palace.
He didn't enter the palace. Instead, he turned back, moving purposefully toward a highly secluded, shadowed terrace overlooking the massive stone arch of the city and the bustling docks of the East Empire Company far below.
Standing in the quiet darkness, Aerion closed his eyes and activated his Animal Affinity skill, pushing the magic to its absolute, maximum threshold.
The response was immediate and profound.
Solitude was a wealthy, ancient city, and its shadows were teeming with life. Fat, sleek rats scurried up from the docks. Seagulls drifted silently down from the high stone arches, landing on the terrace railings. Small, intelligent ravens dropped from the rooftops, and thousands of tiny field mice emerged from the manicured gardens of the nobility.
Aerion then immediately opened his mouth, speaking in low, measured, highly deliberate words, seamlessly weaving sharp clicks, low whistles, and guttural sounds into his speech of words.
Because of his maximized affinity, the animals perfectly understood the complex and instinctual frequencies layered within his words.
"Listen to me," Aerion commanded the gathering shadows, the sounds blending perfectly with the wind blowing off the sea. "Spread across this city. Keep your eyes in the dark and your ears open. I want every scrap of information you can find."
He directed the gulls and the dock rats specifically. "Go down to the East Empire Company. Watch the ledgers. Watch the ships. Tell me what they are importing, and exactly who is taking a cut."
He turned his focus to the ravens and the mice. "Infiltrate the Blue Palace. Penetrate the manors of the nobility. Listen to the whispers of Jarl Elisif's court, the complaints of the Thanes, and the secrets they share behind locked doors."
The creatures offered a chaotic, rustling chorus of affirmative chirps, squeaks, and caws before scattering into the night, disappearing into the cracks and crevices of the capital. The network was established.
With his spies deployed, Aerion stepped back into the illuminated streets. He decided to spend the next hour cultivating his public, social network.
He visited the bustling merchant district. He stepped briefly into Angeline's Aromatics, purchasing several rare ingredients while engaging the elderly proprietor in polite, charming conversation about the local alchemy trade, ensuring she remembered his face and his wealth.
Then, he made his way to Radiant Raiment, the premier, highly exclusive clothing boutique in Solitude.
The bell above the door chimed softly as Aerion stepped inside. The interior was immaculate, smelling of expensive perfumes and fine imported silks.
Standing behind the polished wooden counter were the two Altmer sisters who ran the establishment. Taarie, the younger sister, was sharply beautiful, her eyes calculating and highly critical. Endarie, the older sister, possessed a more mature, refined elegance, though her posture was equally haughty.
As Aerion removed Krosis's mask, revealing his striking, aristocratic High Elf features, both women instantly stopped what they were doing.
They were exceptionally beautiful by Aerion's modern earth standards, their golden skin flawless, their hair intricately braided in the latest Summerset fashions. But they were looking at him with an intensity that went far beyond mere customer service for the retail industry.
"Welcome to Radiant Raiment stranger," Endarie greeted, her usually dismissive tone completely vanishing, replaced by a smooth, highly attentive purr. She looked over the immaculate, heavy Nordic Carved armor, recognizing the immense cost of the craftsmanship. "I don't believe we have had the pleasure of knowing each other."
"I am Aerion," he introduced himself smoothly, offering a polite, flawless bow that adhered perfectly to highborn Altmer etiquette.
"Aerion," Taarie repeated, stepping closer, her sharp eyes lighting up with recognition. "Ah, you're the Thane of Whiterun. The rumors did not do you justice. They say you are the one supplying that extraordinary, highly exclusive mammoth cheese to the noble banquets here in the capital. From your own private estate."
"The rumors are entirely accurate," Aerion smiled warmly, effortlessly radiating charm and immense wealth.
The two sisters exchanged a rapid, highly competitive glance.
In the insular, status obsessed world of Solitude's high society, Aerion was the absolute ultimate prize. He was an incredibly handsome, remarkably wealthy, politically powerful High Elf who held the rank of Thane and possessed a private estate. He was a wildly eligible bachelor in the market.
Immediately, a fierce, underlying competition sparked between the sisters.
Endarie leaned gracefully against the counter, adjusting her silken neckline. "It is so incredibly rare to find someone of our refined heritage in Skyrim who actually possesses taste, Aerion. You must find the local Nords dreadfully tedious."
Taarie smoothly sidestepped her sister, offering a bright, captivating smile. "If you require proper attire for the Blue Palace, Aerion, I would be more than happy to personally tailor a set of fine clothes for you. I know exactly how to compliment your... striking height and proportions."
Aerion noticed the aggressive maneuvering instantly. He remained perfectly polite, navigating the conversation with the effortless grace of a diplomat.
He used the interaction to gauge their political leanings. Through careful, subtle conversational prompts, he quickly deduced that while the sisters were fiercely proud of their Altmer heritage and possessed a tremendous amount of traditional elven arrogance, they did not share the fanatical, genocidal ideology of the Thalmor. They were ruthless businesswomen, not zealots. That made them vastly more useful.
They were successful business owners who dressed the entirety of Jarl Elisif's court. The amount of idle gossip, political connections, and noble secrets they possessed was staggering.
Aerion stayed for twenty minutes, enjoying the attention and allowing the sisters to quietly fight over him, but he deliberately remained charmingly non committal. He knew that leaving them wanting more would guarantee his access to their connections in the future.
"I must return to my duties, ladies," Aerion finally excused himself, offering a respectful nod to them both. "But it has been an absolute pleasure. I will be sure to return to Radiant Raiment the next time I require fine tailoring or to expandy my wardrobe with more refined clothings."
"We will be waiting, Aerion," Endarie purred.
"Do not wait too long," Taarie added, her eyes flashing competitively.
Aerion slipped away gracefully, exiting the boutique and stepping back into the cool night air. He allowed himself a small, private smile. The social maneuvering had been entirely successful. He had secured a vital social bridge to the Solitude nobility without committing to anything.
He returned to the Winking Skeever, ascending the wooden stairs to his rented room. Exhausted by the sheer volume of the day's political and social maneuvering, he removed his heavy armor and fell into a deep, restful sleep.
When Aerion woke the next morning, the sun was just beginning to crest over the high walls of the capital.
He packed his gear and walked downstairs to the main tavern room, joining his diverse entourage for a hearty breakfast of baked salmon, boiled eggs, and hot tea. The apprentices were buzzing with quiet excitement, heavily anticipating their formal induction into his military unit.
After finishing his meal, Aerion returned the heavy iron room keys to Corpulus Vinius, flipping the innkeeper a generous tip for the excellent service.
"Keep your blades sharp out there, friends," Corpulus waved as they departed.
The group stepped out of the tavern and made their way down the winding stone ramps, exiting the main gates of Solitude. They walked down the long, sweeping path to the stables, where the hostler had their horses fed, saddled, and ready for the road.
Aerion swung up into Revan's saddle, the massive warhorse letting out a soft, eager snort in the morning air.
"Mount up," Aerion commanded, pulling Krosis down over his face, instantly transitioning from the charming diplomat back into the Praefect of the Imperial Legion.
The group mounted their horses, forming a tight, disciplined column behind him.
Aerion spurred Revan forward. They rode away from the towering stone arches of Solitude, taking the main southern road that cut through the sprawling, misty marshes of Hjaalmarch.
Their destination lay miles ahead, nestled on the western plains of Whiterun Hold.
It was time to ride to Rorikstead. It was time for Praefect Aerion to finally take command of his army. The ride out of Solitude felt fundamentally different from the previous trip.
Aerion was returning with a very different understanding of his own position in the world. He was no longer merely a capable soldier running dangerous errands for his superiors.
He was a Praefect. He directly commanded half a legion. He was the sole military liaison between the Empire and the most strategically vital city in Skyrim. His name would no longer be a whisper in the future, it will spread like a fire across the province.
As they rode, the apprentices eagerly discussed what it truly meant to become attached battlemages.
"Boss," Eisa called out from her position behind Brelyna, leaning around the Dark Elf to look at Aerion. "Do you really intend to personally train five hundred soldiers? I've seen you drill these three, and you're relentless. You don't have the hours in the day to teach every single five hundred men how to hold a shield."
Aerion chuckled softly, shaking his head. "I cannot individually train all of them, Eisa. That is impossible. But I can establish brutal, unyielding standards. I can organize specialized cohorts, and I can select and promote highly trusted officers to handle the daily, grueling work of turning farmers into killers."
Lydia, riding close by, offered her own quiet thought. "Your responsibilities have expanded incredibly fast, my Thane. But having seen you fight... I pity the Stormcloaks who meet the unit you will train in the future."
Eventually, after days of hard riding, the rocky hills of Hjaalmarch finally gave way to the sprawling, golden plains of Whiterun.
As planned, they doesn't turn directly toward Whiterun and then to Tundra Homestead, Aerion directed Revan's reins, leading the group further west.
"We should be close now everyone," Aerion announced, pointing toward a massive plume of campfire smoke rising on the horizon. "Don't act suspicious and draw them to be on guard, after all we are heading the Imperial Legion camp."
His absolute first priority was meeting his new soldiers.
The group rode steadily until the sprawling Imperial camp finally came into view.
It was massive. Precise, orderly rows of heavy canvas tents stretched across the plains. Heavy supply wagons were circled defensively. Dozens of cooking fires burned brightly. Long horse lines were filled with massive Imperial chargers. In the distance, Aerion could see designated training areas where men were already drilling with swords and shields. Sentries patrolled the perimeter with clockwork precision, and officers shouted orders over the din.
Aerion slowed Revan to a trot as they approached the outer perimeter.
He looked over the sprawling sea of tents, taking in the sheer, physical scale of what he now commanded.
Five hundred soldiers was no longer a tidy, abstract number on a piece of parchment in Castle Dour. These were living, breathing men and women. They were soldiers who would look to him for orders that would dictate whether they lived or died.
Some would undoubtedly question him. Some would respect him. Many would likely doubt him because of his race, his terrifying armor, or the unusually explosive nature of his promotion.
Aerion understood with chilling clarity that this was the beginning of an entirely different phase of his life in Skyrim. Adventuring in ancient ruins was one thing, gathering intelligence in the shadows was another, but commanding five hundred soldiers in open war was an entirely different game. Aerion straightened his spine, sitting tall in the heavy Nordic saddle. His golden eyes hardened. He spurred Revan forward, leading his retinue toward the barricades to meet the men who would soon become his own, personal legion.
_____________________________
[Main Panel]
Name: Aerion
Race: High Elf (Altmer)
Health: 860/860
Stamina: 900/900
Magicka: 980/980 [External Capacity & Regeneration: ∞]
Level: 231
Skills: Animal Affinity (MAX LEVEL), Fast Skill Levelling (MAX LEVEL), Fast Magic Mastery (MAX LEVEL), Instant Shout (MAX LEVEL), Dragon Master (MAX LEVEL), Eye Of Magnus (MAX LEVEL), Summon Dragon (MAX LEVEL), Destruction (Fire(+5)/Lightning(+2)/Frost(+2)) (Level 0/91/70), Restoration (Healing(+2)/Purify(+2)) (Level 50/98), Alteration (Level 35), Illusion (Level 50), Conjuration (Necromancy/Summoning(+1)) (Level 37/90), Persuasion(+2) (Level 83), Smithing (Level 57), Sneak(+1) (Level 64), One Handed(+2) (Level 0), Two Handed(+1) (Level 29), Lockpicking (Level 55), Archery(+1) (Level 0), Enchanting(+1) (Level 23), Light Armor(+2) (Level 10), Block (Level 70), Pickpocket (Level 8), & Heavy Armor (Level 59)
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), & IIZ (Ice)
[Inventory Panel]
1x Small Sack, Poacher's Axe, the Golden Claw, Arvel's Journal, Inkwell & Quill, Thief Book, Parchment Rolls Of Mammoths Farm And Loan, Ebony Claw, The Mirror, Ring of Pure Mixtures, Grand Soul Gem (Filled), Deed to Tundra Homestead, Dawnbreaker, Traveling Backpack (Supplies), Vampire Armor, Vampire Boots, Movarth's Golden Ash (Unique), Potion of Healing, Wuuthrad's Fragments, Mage Boots Of Weight, Master Robes Of Destruction, Staff of Jyrik Gauldurson, & Gauldur Black Bow
2x Common Soul Gem (Empty), Black Soul Gem (Empty), & Potions of Plentiful Magicka
3x Potions of Minor Stamina, Petty Soul Gem (Filled), Potions of Minor Magicka, Grand Soul Gem (Filled), & Greater Soul Gems
5x Mod Chests
8x Iron Arrows, Ancient Nord Arrows, & Common Soul Gem (Filled)
9x Potions Of Minor Healing
10x Lesser Soul Gems
12x Black Soul Gem (Filled)
Weight: 47.71 KG / 750 KG
Septims: 102,867