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The coming war was getting closer by the hour. And every single improvement, every piece of armor forged, every arrow purchased, and every spell mastered now, would matter immensely when the Stormcloaks finally marched on the city. He turned back to the anvil, picking up his heavy hammer as the homestead hummed with activity around him. This period of intense preparation was incredibly satisfying, but Aerion knew the truth. This was only the calm. The next major, violent development was rapidly approaching, and he intended to be ready for it.
The acrid smell of hot iron and singed leather finally began to fade from the courtyard of Tundra Homestead.
Aerion stood back, wiping a streak of soot from his forehead with the back of his gauntlet, and looked at the culmination of a grueling, relentless week of experimentation, hammering, cooling, measuring, and exhausting physical labor.
It was finished.
Resting heavily on the massive wooden display racks were eleven complete sets of customized mammoth armor.
They were masterpieces of brutal, functional engineering. Aerion had painstakingly designed the massive, interlocking steel plates to protect the mammoths' highly vulnerable flanks, shoulders, and upper necks. Thick, boiled leather skirts, reinforced with heavy iron rivets, hung over their legs, providing vital protection from plunging arrows without restricting their massive strides.
Most impressively, the tusks had received reinforced, conical steel caps, banded tightly with iron. They would radically increase the armor piercing effectiveness of a devastating charge without making the tusks too heavy or difficult for the animals to wield comfortably.
"Bring the alpha out," Aerion ordered smoothly.
Sinmir signaled two mercenaries, who carefully led the massive, scarred male mammoth out of the reinforced pen and into the center of the courtyard. The beast let out a low, rumbling rumble, shaking its massive head.
Aerion approached calmly, his golden eyes meeting the dark, intelligent eyes of the mammoth. Because of his absolute, maximized Animal Affinity, the creature remained perfectly docile, practically leaning into Aerion's touch as the High Elf ran a hand along its thick, shaggy trunk.
"Easy, friend," Aerion murmured, his voice laced with the calming resonance of the skill.
He gestured for the mercenaries to bring the armor forward. With Aerion acting as the calm anchor, he was able to safely approach the mammoth's massive legs, head, and highly dangerous tusks without fear of being crushed.
They hoisted the heavy steel plating onto the beast's shoulders. Aerion did not simply assume his first design was perfect. He watched closely as the mammoth shifted its weight. He noticed a slight pinch where the leather strap rubbed against the front right shoulder. He immediately pulled out his tools, loosening the buckle and adjusting the heavy iron rivets until the armor sat comfortably. He tested the tusk guards, ensuring they were completely secure and did not obscure the animal's vision.
When the fitting was finally complete, the mammoth looked like a terrifying, unstoppable siege engine wrapped in steel.
Aerion offered a satisfied nod, patting the beast's thick flank.
"Take the armor off, and properly secure all six sets in the warehouse," Aerion ordered Sinmir. "Keep them oiled and covered. I do not want rust compromising the joints."
"Right away, Boss," Sinmir nodded, immediately waving over half a dozen burly mercenaries. It took four men just to safely lift one of the massive steel flank plates.
The mercenaries moved quickly, hauling the heavy, completed pieces away. There was a palpable sense of pride among the mercenaries, they had seen exactly what their boss was capable of building for their largest war assets.
With the physical labor handled, Aerion finally stepped away from the unbearable heat of the forge. He walked into the cool, quiet sanctuary of the manor and retreated to his private room. He locked the heavy oak door behind him, stripped off his soaked tunic, and poured himself a goblet of cold water.
He sat on the edge of his bed, closed his eyes, and mentally accessed the System to review the culmination of a week's relentless work.
The golden text cascaded across his vision, validating his sheer physical and magical output.
[Skill: Smithing ➔ (+1), Leveled Up! Level up to 79]
[Skill: Persuasion (+2) ➔ (+3), Leveled Up! Level up to 28]
[Skill: Two-Handed (+1) ➔ (+2), Leveled Up! Level up to 67]
[Skill: Destruction Fire (+5), Leveled Up! Level up to 13]
[Skill: Destruction Lightning (+2) ➔ (+3), Leveled Up! Level up to 7]
[Skill: Destruction Frost (+2), Leveled Up! Level up to 81]
[Skill: Restoration Healing (+2), Leveled Up! Level up to 76]
[Skill: Alteration Leveled Up! Level up to 43]
[Skill: Illusion Leveled Up! Level up to 62]
[Skill: Conjuration Summoning (+1) ➔ (+2), Leveled Up! Level back to 0]
The massive influx of experience triggered the familiar, resonant chime of his overall level increasing.
[LEVEL UP DETECTED! You have leveled up 14 times!]
[Current Level: 245]
[You have gained 14 Attribute Points!]
Aerion didn't hesitate with the allocation. His Magicka reserves were completely irrelevant due to the Eye of Magnus, so he split the points cleanly to fortify his physical vessel for the brutal frontline combat to come.
[Attribute Points Allocated: Health x7 (+70 Points)]
[Attribute Points Allocated: Stamina x7 (+70 Points)]
[Inventory Weight Limit Increased by 35 KG.]
A deep, vital warmth rushed through his veins. The exhausting ache in his muscles from days of swinging the hammer vanished instantly, replaced by a dense, coiled physical strength. His lung capacity expanded, and he physically felt the invisible dimensions of his inventory stretch wider.
Aerion let out a quiet, genuine chuckle, looking at the glowing numbers.
He hadn't fully expected a single week spent mostly at the homestead, forging armor, negotiating logistics, fighting Giants, and rigorously drilling his apprentices, to yield such a staggering increase in his raw power. In many ways, the week had been profoundly relaxing. It had kept his hands busy and his mind focused on immediate, solvable problems, offering a rare reprieve from constantly calculating the geopolitical fate of the entire continent.
But the brief respite was over. He had to refocus.
While he had been sequestered at the forge, his sprawling, invisible intelligence network had been very active.
He pulled a stack of sealed missives and small scraps of parchment toward him, beginning to review the intelligence gathered over the week.
His Legion Tribunes at the border camp near Rorikstead had been sending precise, daily reports via courier. The Stormcloak scout presence was increasing exponentially. The rebels were probing the Whiterun border with alarming frequency, testing response times and mapping the terrain.
At the same time, every single day, his animal spies had delivered crucial updates. To his absolute astonishment, the network had begun functioning with a terrifying, autonomous efficiency. The small critters, rats, and birds stationed in distant cities were actually communicating with one another, establishing a living relay system. A dock rat in Windhelm would pass a whisper to a raven, the raven would fly to a hawk in the Pale, and the hawk would deliver the message to the mice nested in the walls of Tundra Homestead.
It was an information superhighway built on blood and feathers.
The most damning piece of intelligence they had relayed came directly from the Palace of the Kings in Windhelm.
General Tullius and Legate Rikke had executed his tactical suggestion perfectly. They had deliberately allowed 'leaked' word to reach the Stormcloak spies that the Imperial Legion already possessed the Jagged Crown, safely locked in the vaults of Solitude, already in the Empire's hand.
According to the mice in the Palace of the Kings, Galmar Stone-Fist had eventually realized the agonizing truth, that his exhaustive and desperate search for the crown in the frozen ruins had become entirely pointless.
He had spent precious men, dwindling supplies, veteran scouts, and invaluable time looking for a relic that was already resting in Imperial hands.
The realization was absolutely devastating to the rebel command, because the crown was supposed to become a major, undeniable symbolic victory that would rally the undecided holds to the rebellion. Now, that vital opportunity was permanently gone.
Aerion let out a quiet, dark chuckle, privately appreciating the irony.
He was the one who had violently secured the crown from Korvanjund, seamlessly trading it to accelerate his own meteoric rise through the Legion. Now, Galmar was forced to absorb the catastrophic consequences of that action.
The wasted resources and the sudden, crushing loss of momentum had exponentially increased the pressure on Ulfric. The ravens reported that Galmar had begun pushing much harder, roaring in the war room for an immediate, full scale military move against Whiterun to regain the initiative since they lose momentum and legitimacy.
Aerion tapped his fingers against the desk. He recognized immediately that the tactical situation was rapidly approaching the absolute breaking point he had predicted. The Stormcloaks could not continue waiting forever.
They were restless. The wolves were pacing at the borders. The war was coming.
Aerion rubbed his eyes, digesting the intelligence. The war was imminent, but for tonight, his body demanded sleep. He lay back against the pillows and let the darkness take him.
Aerion was violently pulled from his rest by the muffled, frantic sound of an argument bleeding through his locked door.
He sat up, the room bathed in the dim shadows of the late afternoon. The voices belonged to his apprentices.
"I am telling you, J'zargo, the magical containment matrix on that scroll is completely unstable!" Brelyna's sharp, academic voice hissed urgently. "If you channel raw Destruction energy into a Flame Cloak without anchoring it to Alteration, it will not just burn your enemies. It will detonate in your hands!"
"Brelyna is too cautious," J'zargo's voice countered, thick with Khajiit pride. "J'zargo has perfected the formula. The scrolls will be magnificent! Expert Aerion will be deeply impressed by J'zargo's ingenuity."
"Expert Aerion will be deeply annoyed when he has to scrape your ashes off the sparring ring," Onmund muttered dryly.
Aerion sighed heavily. He threw on a loose linen shirt and opened his door.
The three apprentices were huddled around a table in the main hall, several glowing, highly volatile scrolls spread out before them. At the sound of Aerion's door opening, they froze, looking up like children caught stealing sweetrolls.
"Keep it down," Aerion instructed, his voice low and groggy, rubbing the back of his neck. "And J'zargo, if you intend to test those Flame Cloak scrolls, do it in the center of the plains. Not inside my wooden house."
"Yes, Expert Aerion," they chorused in unison, quickly gathering up the glowing parchment and offering sheepish apologies.
Aerion shook his head, walked past them, and stepped out onto the front porch of the manor.
The sun was already setting, painting the Whiterun tundra in breathtaking shades of deep violet, crimson, and gold. The cool evening wind washed over his face, clearing the lingering fog of sleep from his mind.
As he leaned against the wooden railing, taking a deep breath of the crisp air, a sudden movement near the edge of the estate caught his eye.
A lone figure was standing near the shadows of the outer stone wall, entirely wrapped in a heavy, nondescript traveler's cloak, the hood pulled low over their face to obscure their features.
Aerion's eyes narrowed. He stepped off the porch and walked casually toward the perimeter.
As he approached, the figure shifted, looking around nervously. Aerion recognized the posture and the dark, striking eyes barely visible beneath the cowl.
It was Saadia.
Aerion was genuinely surprised. For the fugitive Redguard noblewoman to leave the heavily guarded, bustling safety of the Bannered Mare and travel alone across the open plains to his estate meant she was taking an incredible, desperate risk.
Aerion didn't approach her directly near the guards. He simply caught her eye and subtly jerked his chin toward the main road leading away from the homestead. He walked out of the gates at a leisurely pace, acting as though he were simply taking an evening stroll.
A few moments later, Saadia emerged from the shadows and hurried to fall into step beside him on the dirt road, keeping her head down.
When they were far enough from the patrolling mercenaries to ensure absolute privacy, Saadia finally broke the silence.
"You promised me, Aerion," Saadia hissed, her voice trembling with a mixture of raw fear and mounting frustration. "I agreed to work for you. I trusted you with my life. When are you going to fulfill your end of the bargain?"
Aerion kept his pace slow, his hands clasped casually behind his back. "Calm yourself, Saadia. What has happened?"
"The Alik'r are still roaming the hold!" Saadia whispered fiercely, grabbing his arm and forcing him to stop. "They are creeping closer to Whiterun by the day. One of them was even captured trying to sneak through the city gates, he is sitting in the Dragonsreach dungeon right now! They know I am here. If they coordinate a raid on the tavern, I will be dragged back to Hammerfell in chains before the guards even draw their swords! How much longer am I expected to live like this? Looking over my shoulder every time a shadow moves?"
Aerion looked down at the terrified woman. He could see the deep exhaustion in her eyes. The paranoia of being hunted by elite mercenaries was breaking her spirit.
He let out a quiet sigh. She had been incredibly useful in helping at the tavern, and he needed her loyalty absolute if she was going to continue act as his human spy in his business operations in the city.
"I apologize, Saadia," Aerion said, his voice entirely calm, projecting a soothing, unshakable authority. "You are right. I have allowed my military duties to delay this for too long."
He looked toward the setting sun. "I will handle it tonight."
Saadia blinked, caught completely off guard by the sudden, absolute commitment. "Tonight? But... how? Do you even know where the rest of them are hiding?"
Aerion didn't skip a beat.
"They are dug into a cavern known as Swindler's Den," Aerion stated casually, as if discussing the weather. "It is located in the rocky ridges just west of Whiterun. They are currently sharing the space with a local bandit clan."
Saadia stared at him, her mouth parting in sheer disbelief. "How... how could you possibly know that? The city guard has been searching for their encampment for weeks without finding a single trace."
Aerion offered a faint, enigmatic smile, effortlessly leveraging the metaknowledge from his past life to project the aura of an omniscient spymaster.
"It is my business to know everything that happens within this hold, Saadia," Aerion bluffed flawlessly, his Persuasion skill weaving the lie into an undeniable truth. "Do not worry. I will ride out and permanently sever the contract on your head before the sun rises."
Saadia exhaled a long, shuddering breath, the crushing weight of paranoia visibly lifting from her shoulders. She looked up at the towering Altmer, her dark eyes shining with profound gratitude and a newfound, deep seated awe.
"If you resolve this matter properly, Aerion, if you lift this death sentence from my neck... I will fully, permanently commit my loyalty to you and your businesses. Whatever you need in Whiterun, I will ensure it is done." Saadia swore, her voice unyielding. "But if you fail, I will have to flee Whiterun and find another way to survive."
"I accept the challenge," Aerion said simply. "Return to the city, keep your hood up, and stay inside the tavern. Wait for me."
Saadia nodded rapidly, pulling her cloak tight around her shoulders, and hurried away down the road toward the distant gates of Whiterun.
Aerion watched her go, turning back toward Tundra Homestead. Inwardly, he heaved a quiet sigh of relief. It was incredibly fortunate that he vividly remembered the exact location of the Alik'r hideout from his countless playthroughs of the game. Tracking elite Hammerfell mercenaries through the wilds of Skyrim without a quest marker would have been a logistical nightmare.
As Aerion walked back through the heavy wooden gates of the estate, he immediately noticed Sinmir and several of the off duty mercenaries leaning against the sparring ring, grinning like a pack of wolves.
"Well, well, Bods," Sinmir called out, his deep voice carrying a rare, highly amused lilt. "Going out for an evening stroll to spend time with a mysterious, cloaked lady? Just the two of you, in private?"
Eirik, the young battlemage, snickered loudly from the back of the group. "Should we dispatch a courier to the city and report this matter to Ysolda? It seems only fair."
The mercenaries erupted into loud, boisterous laughter.
Aerion simply shook his head, a wry smile crossing his face. He didn't pull rank or demand discipline.
"It was a business contact, Captain," Aerion replied smoothly, walking past them toward the manor. "And I highly suggest you all keep your mouths entirely shut. This particular contact is incredibly secretive about her movements. If your idle gossip reaches the wrong ears and foils the commercial plans I have laid out, the loss of profit will come directly out of your hazard pay."
The laughter died instantly. Sinmir and the mercenaries exchanged wide eyed looks, immediately making exaggerated, solemn gestures of locking their lips and throwing away the key. Nobody messed with the Boss's gold, they all knew that.
Aerion chuckled as he stepped inside the manor and walked directly to his room.
The time for diplomacy and estate management was over for the day. He needed to be a warrior again.
He stripped off his linen shirt and systematically strapped on the heavy, fur lined steel plates of his Nordic Carved Armor. He fastened the jagged, bronze visage of Krosis to his belt, secured his quiver of ebony arrows, and slid the massive, pitch black Ebony Greatsword and his Ebony Bow into the heavy leather harnesses on his back.
Fully armed and armored, Aerion stepped back out into the main hall.
Lydia and Jenassa were sitting near the fire, sharpening their weapons, while Eisa was polishing her Elven shield.
"Where are you going, my Thane?" Lydia asked, noting the heavy armament.
"I have immediate business to attend to," Aerion stated, his voice clipping with military authority. "Lydia, Jenassa, Eisa. You are with me. Gear up. We leave in five minutes."
The three women looked surprised by the sudden, late night deployment. J'zargo, Onmund, and Brelyna also stepped out into the hall, noticing the sudden, heavy preparation. J'zargo immediately straightened up, clearly expecting to be deployed.
Aerion did not allow a long, awkward debate to form.
"Prepare yourselves quickly," Aerion told the three warriors.
He then turned to the apprentices. "The three of you will remain at the homestead tonight."
Onmund frowned, looking slightly disappointed, while J'zargo's tail twitched in annoyance. "But Expert Aerion, we are your battlemages—"
"This is not a training exercise, nor is it a military deployment against the Stormcloaks," Aerion explained firmly, making the distinction absolutely clear so the young mages did not feel dismissed. "This is a highly specific, localized business matter. I require experienced, close quarters warriors for this task, not artillery mages. You will remain here and study the tomes I provided."
The three apprentices accepted the order reluctantly, bowing their heads and returning to the dining room.
Aerion didn't leave any room for debate or requests. He turned on his heel and walked straight out the door. He didn't want the apprentices on this run. Kematu's Alik'r warriors were elite, highly disciplined, dual wielding mercenaries who specialized in fast, lethal close quarters combat. He needed a small elite hardened strike team, not a barrage of area of effect spells in a tight cavern.
Lydia, Jenassa, and Eisa meanwhile immediately scrambled, instantly strapping on their armor, grabbing their weapons, and hurrying out into the courtyard.
Aerion was already in the stables, swinging smoothly into Revan's saddle. The three women mounted their own horses, falling into a tight, disciplined formation behind him.
Aerion spurred Revan, and the strike team rode hard out of the gates, their cloaks snapping in the cold night wind.
They bypassed Whiterun entirely, cutting straight across the open, moonlit plains, heading directly west into the rugged, rocky ridges that bordered the hold.
"Where exactly are we going, Patron?" Jenassa called out over the pounding hooves, her crimson eyes scanning the dark horizon.
"Swindler's Den," Aerion answered, his voice carrying back to them. "We are handling a mercenary problem. A band of Redguard assassins from Hammerfell have taken refuge inside the cave. We are going to permanently void their contract."
"Redguards?" Eisa shouted, frowning. "In a bandit cave? Why haven't the local cutthroats killed them?"
"Because Kematu, their leader, is pragmatic," Aerion explained, accessing the internal, glowing map interface in his mind to navigate the winding, treacherous gullies in the dark. "He has likely reached a financial agreement with the local bandit chief, paying them heavily in septims for the right to use the cavern as a forward operating base while they search the hold. It means the cave will be very fortified."
They rode for another thirty minutes, navigating through the open plains before then they saw a flickering, orange glow of a campfire became visible in the distance.
Aerion pulled back on the reins, bringing Revan to a silent halt. The others followed suit.
Nestled into the side of a sheer rock face was the jagged entrance to Swindler's Den. Stationed outside, huddled around the fire for warmth, were two heavily armored bandits acting as sentries.
Aerion and Jenassa dismounted in complete silence. They drew their Ebony Bows, moving like ghosts into the sparse brush overlooking the entrance.
Aerion notched a heavy ebony arrow, targeting the sentry on the left. Jenassa mirrored his movement, aiming for the one on the right.
Aerion didn't need to give an order. He simply released the bowstring.
Thwip.
Both arrows flew simultaneously through the darkness. The impacts were brutal and instantaneous. The bandit on the left was thrown backward into the dirt, an arrow buried deep in his chest. The bandit on the right collapsed silently beside the fire, an arrow protruding from his throat.
Neither man had time to scream.
Aerion lowered his bow, signaling for Lydia and Eisa to bring the horses forward. They tied the mounts securely to a dead pine tree near the entrance.
"Listen closely," Aerion ordered, his voice a low, lethal whisper as he pulled the bronze mask of Krosis over his face, his golden eyes glowing from the dark eye slits. "We have to cut through the local bandit clan to reach the lower levels. The Redguards mercenaries group will be waiting at the bottom. No quarter. We clear the cave."
Aerion then turned specifically to Eisa.
"Some of these bandits may know you, Eisa," Aerion warned her softly. "They may recognize your face, or your association with other criminal groups from your past. You must not let old loyalties, memories, or hesitation distract you for a single second in there."
Eisa met his golden eyes without flinching.
"I am entirely finished with that life, Patron," Eisa assured him, her voice cold and absolute. "Whoever is in that cave is just meat in the way."
Aerion hearing that nodded his head, as he thought in his mind how knew well from his previous knowledge of the game that Kematu and his elite Alik'r warriors were waiting somewhere in the deepest, flooded cavern, but he did not reveal how much he knew.
He simply led from the front, his Ebony Greatsword drawn. Seeing this, Lydia drew her sword and shield, her face set in grim determination. Eisa tightened her grip on the hilt of her Pale Blade, eager for a fight. Jenassa simply smiled, drawing her sword and dagger, her eyes gleaming in the firelight. Without another word, Aerion turned and led his strike team into the dark, damp throat of Swindler's Den. The cave was incredibly dark and overwhelmingly damp. The smell of wet earth and unwashed bodies hung heavy in the air.
_____________________________
[Main Panel]
Name: Aerion
Race: High Elf (Altmer)
Health: 930/930
Stamina: 970/970
Magicka: 980/980 [External Capacity & Regeneration: ∞]
Level: 231 ➔ 245
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(+3)/Frost(+2)) (Level 13/7/76), Restoration (Healing(+2)/Purify(+2)) (Level 76/98), Alteration (Level 43), Illusion (Level 62), Conjuration (Necromancy/Summoning(+2)) (Level 37/0), Persuasion(+3) (Level 28), Smithing(+1) (Level 79), 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, 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: 47.21 KG / 785 KG
Septims: 252,867