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(A/N: Don't forget to give those power stones to Skyrim everyone!)
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For the next two hours, the lesson remained highly interactive. They cast, they failed, they adjusted, and they tried again. Aerion moved between them, using his omniscient perception to make minute, highly specific adjustments to their stances, their focus, and their power modulation based on the distance to their targets.
He praised their successes loudly and corrected their mistakes without a hint of condescension or humiliation. He was building their confidence piece by piece.
As the sun began to dip low over the Sea of Ghosts, casting long shadows across the snow, Aerion called for a halt.
The three apprentices were exhausted, their robes singed and their breath coming in heavy clouds, but their eyes were shining with genuine, profound accomplishment. Onmund had learned to curve his firebolts around obstacles. J'zargo had doubled the duration he could sustain his lightning without tiring. Brelyna had mastered the seamless transition between casting and moving.
Aerion looked at the three of them, feeling a quiet, deep sense of satisfaction.
He had not merely agreed to babysit three students on the road to appease the Arch-Mage. He had actively begun forging three highly capable, magically lethal allies.
And with the Eye of Magnus resting silently in his soul, granting him an understanding of magical energy that transcended mortal limits, Aerion realized that training these apprentices might become one of the most useful, high yield experiments he had conducted since arriving in Skyrim.
The freezing wind howling off the Sea of Ghosts provided a harsh, unrelenting backdrop to the first practical lesson on the frozen shores of Dawnstar.
When Aerion finally called a halt to the casting drills, J'zargo, Onmund, and Brelyna dropped their hands, their breath pluming in massive white clouds. They were physically exhausted, their robes singed and their magicka reserves nearly depleted, but their eyes shone with a profound, triumphant satisfaction.
In a single, grueling afternoon, they had learned more about truly controlling their arcane flow than they had in months of safe, theoretical lectures in the Hall of Countenance.
"J'zargo feels the lightning now," the Khajiit grinned, shaking out his paws. "It is not a wild beast to be caged, but a river to be guided. This is excellent training, Expert Aerion!"
"I must agree," Brelyna panted, pulling her cloak tighter against the biting cold. "I actually managed to sustain a frost cloak while backpedaling. I didn't think I had the stamina for it."
"Where do we go next, Aerion?" Onmund asked eagerly, leaning against a jagged rock. "Are we moving to Restoration drills tomorrow, or do we practice multi targeting?"
Aerion stood before them, a towering silhouette in Nordic Carved steel. He crossed his arms, his golden eyes sweeping over the exhausted apprentices.
He smiled, wrapping his heavy fur cloak tighter.
"Excellent work today," Aerion told them, his voice filled with genuine pride. "Return to the inn. Get warm, and get some rest. Tomorrow, we apply these lessons to a practical trip. We will head south of Dawnstar, deep into the Pale. Our destination is Frostmere Crypt."
The triumphant mood instantly vanished, replaced by a sudden, chilling realization of what that name implied.
"A... a Nord crypt?" Brelyna stammered, her eyes widening.
"I do not yet know if the ruin has been claimed by a local bandit clan, or if its original, mummified inhabitants still hold the lower levels," Aerion explained, his tone completely matter of fact. "But either possibility makes it an absolute perfect training ground for the three of you. The confined, labyrinthine nature of an ancient Nordic ruin is exactly what I require for your next lesson."
He stepped closer, ensuring they understood the gravity of the shift.
"A closed environment will force you to abandon the luxury of distance," Aerion continued. "It will force you to think about positioning, timing, reaction speed, and spell placement in tight corridors. It will force you to calculate friendly fire risks when Lydia and Jenassa are in the melee, and it will hone your combat instincts far sharper than throwing spells at stationary rocks on an open beach."
Aerion paused, letting the reality settle over them.
"Practical experience is not gained solely by reading Urag's books," Aerion concluded firmly. "If you three can perform well inside Frostmere Crypt, maintain your discipline under pressure, and survive the dark... I will begin advancing your training into significantly more difficult, high yield exercises."
The apprentices stared at him in stunned silence. They were surprised by how aggressively Aerion was pushing them from controlled lessons directly into lethal danger. But as the shock faded, a quiet, deep respect began to replace it. He wasn't coddling them. He wasn't treating them like fragile, glass scholars, he was treating them like capable, lethal young mages. It was exactly the crucible they had begged for.
"We will be ready," Onmund promised, his Nord blood rising to the challenge.
With the lesson concluded, they trudged back through the snow to the Windpeak Inn.
The moment they crossed the threshold into the warm, smoky tavern, the three apprentices practically collapsed into the nearest empty chairs near the hearth, groaning in profound, bone-deep relief. The intense heat of the fire was a glorious reprieve after hours in the sub zero wind.
Jenassa, nursing a mug of ale at the table, watched the exhausted scholars with quiet, predatory amusement.
"You look like you've been dragged behind a carriage," Jenassa chuckled dryly. She took a sip of her drink and offered them a wicked smile. "You should consider yourselves incredibly fortunate. You have it vastly easier than Lydia and I ever did when following the Patron into ancient ruins."
Brelyna looked up, rubbing her temples. "Easier? He just told us we are using a crypt as a classroom tomorrow."
"He did," Jenassa nodded. "But understand this, the Patron does not casually explore a crypt, poke around the entrance, and simply leave when the fighting becomes difficult. Once he crosses the threshold of a ruin... he generally intends to clear the place entirely. He will tear through it, retrieve whatever he came for, and leave nothing but ash in his wake, regardless of how many Draugr, traps, or horrors are waiting in the dark."
The three apprentices exchanged looks of sheer disbelief.
"Are you exaggerating to scare us, Jenassa?" Onmund asked, frowning skeptically.
Jenassa simply shook her head, gesturing lazily toward the bar. "Ask the Housecarl."
Lydia, returning to the table with a fresh plate of roasted venison, heard her name. She laughed, a rich, hearty sound, setting the plate down.
"The Dunmer speaks the truth," Lydia confirmed, taking a seat. She patted the heavy, dark metal of the ebony sword resting against her hip. "I have followed Thane Aerion into several ancient Nordic crypts. The ebony sword and shield I now carry? They were not purchased from a blacksmith. They were ripped from the corpse of a Draugr Deathlord in the deepest, sealed chambers of Saarthal just a few days ago."
The apprentices stared at the pristine, lethally sharp volcanic glass of Lydia's weaponry. The awe in their eyes was instantly renewed, mixed with a healthy dose of rising terror.
"Jenassa is right," Lydia reiterated, her tone turning serious. "When the Thane enters a ruin, he does not stop halfway because the enemy proves stubborn. If he has decided he is retrieving something, or clearing a path, he will see the job through to the bloody end."
Onmund swallowed hard, looking toward the High Elf who was quietly securing rooms with the innkeeper.
"It sounds like tomorrow's trip to Frostmere Crypt is significantly more dangerous than the words 'practical training' imply," Onmund joked weakly.
Aerion, walking back to the table, caught the end of the sentence. He offered a smooth, utterly calm nod.
"It is," Aerion confirmed bluntly, taking a seat. "Frostmere is not a simple adventure, it is your practical examination. Treat it with the gravity it demands."
Jenassa and Lydia both chuckled at the horrified expressions on the apprentices' faces.
"Listen carefully to the Patron's orders once we cross the threshold," Lydia advised them, her maternal instincts momentarily surfacing. "Whatever happens in the dark, stay together, watch your flanks, and follow his instructions to the letter. It will give you the best chance of surviving the crypt."
The apprentices groaned in unison, sinking lower into their chairs, rapidly realizing that following Aerion on a 'field study' was vastly more harrowing than it had appeared in the courtyard of the College.
Later that evening, Aerion retired to his private room in the inn.
He unclasped his heavy steel armor, setting the plates carefully on a wooden stand, before sitting on the edge of the bed. He stared thoughtfully at the dancing flames in the small hearth, reflecting on the rapid progress of his new apprentices.
Internally, he recognized just how staggeringly useful the Eye of Magnus had become.
Its enhanced magical perception had allowed him to fundamentally deconstruct their spellcasting in real time. He could identify flaws in their magicka circulation almost instantly, inefficient channels, blocked pathways, unstable spell formation, and poor distribution of energy, with a level of absolute precision that a normal Master Mage would struggle to achieve through years of observation. He had corrected their habits in hours, accelerating their understanding of arcane mechanics exponentially.
Their improvement was happening far faster than it naturally should.
And that realization led Aerion down a deeply complex, incredibly ambitious train of thought.
If he could train young, talented mages this efficiently... he could build a circle of highly capable, fiercely loyal magical allies around himself in a matter of months. A private army of battlemages.
But his ambition did not stop at a small squad. It naturally drifted north, toward the towering spires of the College of Winterhold.
'I possess overwhelming power. I possess ancient knowledge. I have political connections in Whiterun and Morthal, and my influence within the College itself is growing daily,' Aerion calculated coldly. 'If I truly wanted to... I could eventually seize the position of Arch-Mage. I could gain absolute control over Skyrim's largest magical institution, its resources, and the vast knowledge of the Arcaneum.'
It was a geopolitical masterstroke waiting to happen.
But there was a significant obstacle.
Savos Aren still occupied the position.
Aerion possessed no desire to simply assassinate the man in his sleep. Savos had treated him fairly, recognized his talent, trusted him with a consultant position, and openly defended him against the Thalmor. Betraying that trust purely to accelerate his timeline felt unnecessarily ruthless and politically messy.
So, Aerion's mind began weaving a different, far more intricate tapestry.
Labyrinthian.
He knew exactly what was waiting in the depths of the ancient, cursed city. He knew the Staff of Magnus and the Dragon Priest Morokei were sealed there. But more importantly, he knew that the ruins were deeply, traumatically tied to Savos Aren's past, the very trauma that had shaped the Arch-Mage into a cautious, isolated leader.
'Perhaps Labyrinthian can become the turning point,' Aerion thought, his golden eyes narrowing as he stared at the fire. 'Perhaps I can manipulate events just enough to force Savos to finally confront the ghosts of his past. And after seeing what I am capable of accomplishing in that abyss... perhaps Savos himself might decide that he is tired of the burden, and that I am better suited to lead the institution into the future.'
He recognized that the thought was highly manipulative, carefully orchestrating a man's trauma to secure a political promotion.
But he was nothing if not pragmatic. If he could destroy the threat that had haunted Savos for decades, retrieve the Staff of Magnus, defeat a Dragon Priest, and save the College from whatever Ancano was planning in the process... it would be a bloodless, entirely legitimate transfer of the position.
He didn't finalize the plan yet. He treated it as a seed, a tactical possibility beginning to take root in his mind.
With his long term strategies laid out, Aerion closed his eyes and finally allowed himself to rest.
The following morning, the sky was a pale, icy blue.
Aerion led the entire group out of Dawnstar. They rode their horses across the freezing, snow swept landscape of the Pale, following the main road south for several miles before turning off the cobblestones and heading into the rugged, isolated pine forests surrounding the ruin.
The journey was quiet, the anticipation hanging heavily in the air among the apprentices. They had practiced their casting, but this was the first time they were expected to unleash those lessons against living, breathing enemies.
When the jagged, dark stone peaks of Frostmere Crypt finally appeared through the trees, Aerion signaled a halt.
They secured their horses to a sturdy cluster of pines a safe distance from the entrance, ensuring the animals wouldn't panic and wander off once the screams started.
As they approached the top of the snow covered stairs leading down toward the massive, iron banded doors of the crypt, the unmistakable sounds of violent combat echoed up from the sunken entranceway.
The sharp clash of steel. The heavy thud of a shield. Frantic, desperate shouting.
Aerion instantly raised a fist, halting the group at the top of the stairs. He peered down over the edge.
Fighting desperately for her life in the snow-choked clearing before the crypt doors was a single woman. She was a young Nord, wearing ragged hide armor, wielding a crude hide shield and a steel war axe.
She was surrounded by four heavily armed bandits. She was bleeding, clearly struggling against the overwhelming numbers, but she fought with the cornered ferocity of a wildcat, managing to keep them at bay for the moment.
Aerion's transmigrator mind instantly recognized the woman.
It was Eisa Blackthorn. The bandit who had joined to the Bandits group occupying Frostmere Crypt after her failed internal mutiny, and was now fighting the same group she joined due to the Pale Blade.
Aerion did not reveal this knowledge. Instead, he saw an immediate, perfect tactical opportunity.
"Apprentices," Aerion commanded in a sharp, quiet whisper. "Target the four bandits. Use the strongest Destruction spells you can safely control. Do not hit the woman."
J'zargo, Onmund, and Brelyna hesitated for only a fraction of a second, the reality of taking human lives momentarily stalling them.
But the rigorous training of the previous day took over.
They stepped to the edge of the stairs, raised their hands, and unleashed their magic.
A massive, concentrated volley of fire and lightning rained down into the clearing. Onmund's dual cast Firebolt slammed into the chest of the largest bandit, dropping him instantly. J'zargo's tightly focused beam of Sparks arced across two of the attackers, paralyzing their muscles and sending them convulsing into the snow.
Eisa, seizing the sudden, explosive opening, didn't hesitate. She stepped into the guard of the final, entirely disoriented bandit and drove her steel axe deep into his collarbone, killing him on the spot.
The silence that followed the ambush was sudden and deafening.
Eisa ripped her axe free, panting heavily, blood dripping from a shallow cut on her forehead. She spun around, expecting Stormcloak patrols or rival bandits.
Instead, she realized that six people were standing casually at the top of the stairs, looking down at her. Three heavily armed warriors, three young scholars whose hands were still smoking with residual magicka... and standing at the absolute front was a towering, terrifying figure in heavy steel, wearing a jagged bronze mask.
Eisa instantly dropped into a defensive stance, raising her battered hide shield.
"Who in Oblivion are you?!" Eisa demanded, her voice hoarse and defensive. "Why did you help me? What do you want from me?!"
Aerion slowly reached up and pulled the mask of Krosis from his face, revealing his calm, aristocratic features. He did not draw his greatsword. He engaged his Persuasion skill, letting his voice project a smooth, deeply non threatening aura of calm authority.
"Peace," Aerion requested gently, holding up a hand. "I am Aerion, and these are my companions. We heard the clash of steel and simply saw someone severely outnumbered and fighting for her life. We decided to intervene. We mean you no harm."
He walked slowly down the stairs, stopping a respectful distance away.
"May I ask your name?" Aerion asked, despite already knowing the answer perfectly.
Eisa lowered her shield an inch, her eyes darting between the High Elf and the heavily armed retainers behind him, assessing the sheer impossibility of winning a fight against them.
"Eisa. Eisa Blackthorn," she answered cautiously. She wiped a streak of blood from her cheek. "I... I thank you for the assist. Truly. But I'll make this clear right now, your help doesn't buy my loyalty. I don't owe you anything, and I don't want you following me. I work alone."
Aerion accepted the blunt rejection without a hint of argument. He simply nodded.
"You owe us nothing, Eisa," Aerion agreed smoothly. "You are free to walk away. But if you do not mind my asking... why were you being hunted by your own kind right outside a crypt?"
Eisa hesitated, looking at the bodies of the bandits in the snow. The adrenaline was fading, replaced by a bitter, exhausted anger.
"Because my former crew has lost their minds," Eisa spat reluctantly, kicking the corpse nearest to her. "One of our crew and my friend, Ra'jirr, went completely mad. He stole Kyr's, our leader's, sword, a strange blade he found deep in the crypt. Ra'jirr wounded Kyr and ran off into the ruins. When Kyr needed someone to blame for the mutiny, they turned on me. I managed to escape the crypt, but they sent these bastards to hunt me down."
She sheathed her axe with a heavy sigh. "I'm finished with this gang. I'm finished with Frostmere. I'm leaving."
Aerion listened carefully, his analytical mind dissecting her situation.
He could easily let her walk away into the snowy pines. But he saw immense potential in the young Nord. Eisa had survived a violent confrontation with four armed men while already wounded. She possessed a fierce survival instinct. She knew the treacherous terrain of the Pale, she knew the internal layout of Frostmere Crypt, and most importantly, she had just suffered a great deal of betrayal. She should had realized that the life of a bandit was a dead end.
Aerion raised a hand, stopping her just as she turned to leave.
"Where do you intend to go, Eisa?" Aerion asked quietly.
Eisa froze. Her shoulders slumped slightly. She looked out at the freezing, unforgiving landscape of the Pale, the bravado slowly leaking out of her.
"I don't know," Eisa admitted softly, her voice barely carrying over the wind. "South, maybe. Try to find work in a mill. Or a tavern. Anywhere but here."
"If you truly have nowhere to go," Aerion asked, his golden eyes locking onto hers, devoid of any judgment, "why did you choose the life of a bandit in the first place?"
Eisa didn't immediately bristle. The genuine lack of condemnation in the High Elf's voice caught her off guard.
"Because honest work in Skyrim doesn't feed a starving mouth, Elf," Eisa answered bitterly, crossing her arms. "I lost my family early. I grew up with nothing but the clothes on my back. When you're freezing in the streets of Windhelm, and a crew offers you a warm fire, a share of the loot, and a sword to protect yourself... you don't ask questions. You just survive. But I guess I joined the wrong crew."
Aerion nodded slowly, absorbing the possible earlier story part of her life, since he knew that she was part of a different group before jojing here. It was the tragic reality of the province.
He recognized that a woman with her survival skills and martial competence could become a highly useful, loyal asset if given a vastly different path, perhaps as an intelligence operative, or an agent in his expanding network. But he also understood that loyalty born of betrayal took time to forge. Trust had to be earned.
"What do you plan to do now, Eisa?" Aerion asked, his voice calm and steady, leaving the choice entirely in her hands. "The only group you called yours has turned against you. The roads are freezing, and the Civil war is escalating. What is your next move?" Behind him, on the stairs, the three apprentices watched the exchange, slowly beginning to realize that following Expert Aerion into the field was vastly more complicated, and far more human, than simply casting spells at Draugr.
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[Main Panel]
Name: Aerion
Race: High Elf (Altmer)
Health: 710/710
Stamina: 740/740
Magicka: 980/980 [External Capacity & Regeneration: ∞]
Level: 200
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), Destruction (Fire(+4)/Lightning(+2)/Frost(+2)) (Level 73/91/70), Restoration (Healing(+2)/Purify(+2)) (Level 50/75), Alteration (Level 35), Illusion (Level 50), Conjuration (Necromancy/Summoning(+1)) (Level 37/90), Persuasion(+2) (Level 19), Smithing (Level 57), Sneak(+1) (Level 33), One Handed(+1) (Level 72), Two Handed (Level 81), Lockpicking (Level 35), Archery (Level 72), Enchanting(+1) (Level 2), Light Armor(+2) (Level 0), Block (Level 70), & Pickpocket (Level 8)
Shouts: Fus Roh Dah (Force Balance Push), Tiid (Time), Krii (Kill), Feim Zii Gron (Fade Spirit Bind), Su (Air), Laas (Life), Yol Toor (Fire Inferno), Kaan (Kyne), & Zul Mey Gut (Voice Fool Far)
[Inventory Panel]
1x Small Sack, Poacher's Axe, Mammoth Tusk, the Golden Claw, Calm Spellbook, Arvel's Journal, Inkwell & Quill, Thief Book, Scroll Of Summoning (Wolf), Scroll Of Healing, Weak Potion of Paralysis, Golden Staff of Flames, Parchment Rolls Of Mammoths Farm And Loan, Ebony Claw, Orcish Dagger, The Mirror, Ring of Pure Mixtures, Grand Soul Gem (Filled), Reanimate Corpse Tome, Staff of Lightning, Deed to Tundra Homestead, Sapphire, Ruby, Dawnbreaker, Traveling Backpack (Supplies), Potion of Minor Magicka, Vampire Armor, Vampire Boots, Movarth's Golden Ash (Unique), Dwarven Sword, Elven Dagger, Potion of Healing, Gold Emerald Circlet, Scroll of Fire Storm, Iron Garnet Circlet, Iron Sapphire Circlet, Grand Soul Gem (Filled), Glass Boots, Dwarven Sword, Dwarven Shield, Wuuthrad's Fragments, Staff of Fireball, Mage Boots Of Weight, Master Robes Of Destruction, & Staff of Jyrik Gauldurson
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: 93.41 KG / 670 KG
Septims: 77,962