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(A/N: Don't forget to give those power stones to Skyrim everyone!)
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The grove fell silent, save for the crackle of the apprentices' residual fire and the soft sobbing of the young Nord warrior. Eisa dropped to her knees beside the altar, her hands hovering over the frozen, lifeless body of her friend. Ra'jirr's face was locked in a mask of sheer terror. Eisa bowed her head, the grief of losing the only person in the world who had truly had her back finally breaking through her hardened exterior.
Aerion stood in respectful silence for a moment, allowing the woman to mourn.
He then walked slowly up to the ancient stone altar. Resting on the cold slab, dropped by the Khajiit, was the cause of the entire bloody massacre.
It was an ancient Nord sword, but its craftsmanship was exceptional. The blade was a pale, gleaming white, polished to a mirror finish. It hummed with a terrifying, palpable aura of dark magic. Aerion could feel the enchantments woven into the steel, a potent mixture of the fear, stamina draining frost, and lethal ice damage.
It was the Pale Blade.
Aerion reached down and picked up the weapon. It was perfectly balanced, a masterpiece of ancient nord forging. It was worth a fortune, and it was significantly more powerful than the crude iron weapons the bandits had wielded.
Aerion turned around. He walked over to where Eisa was kneeling and held the Pale Blade out to her, hilt first.
"Take it," Aerion said softly.
Eisa looked up, her tear stained eyes wide with confusion. She looked at the glowing, enchanted blade, and then up at the towering, masked High Elf.
"This is for you," Aerion continued, his voice gentle. "Wield it to remember the friend that you lost today. Let his memory give you strength in the battles to come."
A shockwave of absolute disbelief rippled through the group.
Lydia and Jenassa were completely unfazed, they knew the depths of their Patron's wealth and his casual disregard for material artifacts when building loyalty. But the three apprentices, and Eisa herself, were utterly stunned.
To hand over a pristine set of steel armor was generous. But to casually hand over a named, highly enchanted, ancient artifact, a weapon that could be sold for a pretty good amount of septims in the markets, to a mercenary he had hired an hour ago was practically incomprehensible.
"Boss... are you sure?" Eisa whispered, her voice trembling. "This is... this is an enchanted blade. It's worth more than what I could possible do for you."
Aerion nodded slowly. "I am sure. A warrior is only as reliable as the steel she carries. Honor your friend, Eisa."
Eisa stared at him in profound silence for a long moment. She reached out with a trembling, steel clad hand and grasped the hilt of the Pale Blade. She stood up, gripping the sword tightly, the magical frost radiating from the steel offering a strange, cold comfort.
"I will," Eisa promised, her voice thick with emotion. She bowed her head deeply. "I will never forget this gesture, Aerion. I swear to you... I will repay this debt in blood and loyalty."
Aerion nodded his head, accepting the vow. He had just secured absolute, unbreakable devotion.
"Can I... can I bury him?" Eisa asked, looking down at Ra'jirr's body.
"Of course you can," Aerion agreed softly. He gestured around the vast, subterranean forest. "There is plenty of soft earth in this grove. Choose a place you believe is fitting."
He turned to the rest of the group. "Lydia, Onmund. Help her dig the grave."
As the retainers and apprentices respectfully moved to assist Eisa with the somber task, Aerion stepped away from the altar.
He felt a deep, resonant hum vibrating in the air, a sound that had nothing to do with the Wispmother's frost. He followed the sound toward the far right side of the massive cavern, near the heavy iron doors that led to the exit.
Standing proudly in the shadows was a massive, curved stone structure. It was a Word Wall, its surface covered in the jagged, sweeping claw marks of the ancient Dragon Language.
As Aerion approached, the humming grew deafening. The ambient magicka in the room swirled wildly, funneling toward the wall.
Aerion walked up to the wall, raising his gauntlet. He pressed his steel clad palm directly against the glowing rune.
The ancient knowledge rushed into his transmigrator soul like a freezing river. The System immediately engaged, translating the draconic concept into comprehensive data.
[WORD OF POWER DETECTED: Ice Form]
[Word Learned: IIZ (Ice)]
[Do you wish to integrate this Word of Power into your matrix?]
[YES / NO]
Aerion smiled behind the cold bronze mask of Krosis.
YES.
The moment he mentally confirmed the prompt, the transmigrator System hummed with immediate compliance.
[Thu'um Unlocked: Ice Form (IIZ)]
[Added to available Shouts.]
He closed the translucent golden panel with a thought, feeling the ancient draconic syllable settle into his mind. It wasn't just knowledge, it was a physical weight in his chest, a deep, resonant understanding of the cold that surrounded him. He felt undeniably stronger than he had only moments earlier.
But as the rush of acquiring a new Word of Power faded, Aerion took a quiet, sobering breath, letting his thoughts turn inward.
With the Eye of Magnus now permanently synchronized to his very soul, his magical reserves were effectively limitless. The realization was staggering, shifting the balance of power in the province. He was coming to the conclusion that very few entities in Skyrim could actually threaten him in a direct, conventional confrontation.
Yet, his meticulously pragmatic mind refused to allow arrogance to take root. Absolute power bred absolute carelessness, and he was not the only anomaly walking the face of Nirn.
'Alduin,' Aerion considered, his golden eyes narrowing in the shadows. The World-Eater was not merely a large dragon, he was a fundamental, divine aspect of the world's natural order. Infinite magicka might not be enough to unravel a god of destruction.
There was Aeloria, the Dragonborn, whose destiny was actively backed by Akatosh himself. And there was Miraak, a being who had survived for millennia within the shifting, maddening realm of Hermaeus Mora, absorbing forbidden knowledge that defied mortal comprehension.
Aerion grounded himself. He possessed absurd magical power, yes, but there were still beings and cosmic circumstances that could not be treated lightly. The Eye of Magnus was a tool, an infinite battery, but it was not an absolute shield against the divine. He still needed to be incredibly careful.
He turned away from the Word Wall, walking back toward the center of the massive, subterranean grove.
The group had just finished their grim work. Beneath the pale, glowing leaves of the ancient trees, a mound of freshly turned earth marked Ra'jirr's final resting place.
Eisa stood near the grave, her hand resting on the hilt of the Pale Blade she now carried. Her expression was a complicated, stoic mask. She didn't weep, but the tension in her shoulders spoke volumes. This burial wasn't just the loss of a friend, it was the definitive end of an old, bloody chapter of her life.
Aerion walked up and stood beside her, offering a quiet, solemn moment of silence. He didn't offer empty platitudes or make the scene overly emotional. He simply provided respect. He understood that whatever mistakes the Khajiit had made, whatever crimes he had committed, he had been someone Eisa had trusted in a world completely devoid of it.
After a few minutes, Eisa took a deep breath, the frosty air filling her lungs, and turned away from the grave.
"I'm ready," she said quietly.
"Then let us leave this place," Aerion nodded.
He led the group back toward the Word Wall chamber. From his flawless memory of the crypt's layout, he knew there was an exit located just to the left of the massive, carved stone structure.
As they passed the wall, Lydia paused, looking up at the sweeping draconic script.
"We should remember this location, my Thane," Lydia pointed out practically. "The Dragonborn will eventually need to be brought here. There is ancient knowledge on that wall that belongs to her."
"A sharp observation, Lydia," Aerion agreed, acting like he was making a firm mental note to inform Aeloria. "I will ensure she knows the path."
Just a few paces from the exit door rested a massive, master crafted steel chest, half buried in the ground. Aerion knelt and effortlessly picked the heavy iron lock.
Inside lay the accumulated hoard of the bandit chief. There was a heavy leather pouch containing approximately 1,000 septims, a beautifully forged Elven Shield gleaming with moonstone, and a collection of high quality steel and ancient Nordic weaponry.
Aerion gathered the spoils. He put the septims in his satchel which immediately goes to his inventory, before he turned to Eisa, holding out the golden, eagle crested Elven Shield.
"Take this," Aerion instructed. "Your hide shield served you well today, but it is splintered and brittle. This is vastly superior protection, and you now have a legitimate place in this vanguard."
Eisa blinked, accepting the lightweight, incredibly durable shield. It was worth more than she had ever seen in a single raid. "Boss... I don't know what to say."
"Say nothing. Just keep your self string in this time," Aerion replied smoothly.
He then turned to the three apprentices, holding three distinct weapons from the chest. He handed a heavy steel mace to Onmund, a finely balanced steel sword to Brelyna, and a wicked, curved ancient Nordic war axe to J'zargo.
The three young scholars stared at the cold steel in their hands, utterly bewildered.
"Expert Aerion... we are mages," Brelyna said hesitantly, holding the sword as if it were a venomous snake. "We do not know how to swing these."
"Then you will learn," Aerion stated, his tone brooking no argument. "The Arcaneum teaches you to rely entirely on your magicka. Reality will teach you that magicka can run out. A spell can fail in the cold. A silencing ward can leave you defenseless. There will be situations where no potion is available, or where conserving your magical energy for a larger threat is simply the smarter tactical choice."
He looked each of them in the eye. "Every mage who walks the roads of Skyrim must know how to defend themselves with raw steel when the arcane fails them. It is a matter of survival."
The apprentices exchanged glances, the brutal reality of their near death experiences in the crypt still fresh in their minds. They gripped the weapons tighter, accepting the lesson with solemn nods.
With the loot distributed, Aerion led everyone through the nearby iron door.
The exit passage was vastly different from the crypt. It was a narrow, crumbling stone bridge suspended over a partially flooded, freezing subterranean cavern. The air here was damp and bitingly cold, the sound of dripping water echoing loudly. They moved carefully across the slick stone, the freezing water below reinforcing just how hostile and unforgiving the ancient environment truly was.
At the end of the flooded chamber, they found a heavy wooden bar blocking a final iron door. Aerion lifted the heavy timber aside, pushing the door open to reveal that the route looped seamlessly back to the upper, main passage of Frostmere Crypt.
They retraced their steps, passing the ashes of the staging room, until they finally pushed the main exterior doors open and stepped back out into the open air.
It was around noon. The sun was pale, but it cut through the overcast sky, illuminating the snow swept pines of the Pale.
Despite the biting cold of the wind, the three apprentices visibly sagged with relief. They tilted their heads back, breathing in the clean, sharp air and soaking in the open sky. It was a glorious, welcome change after hours spent suffocating in the dark among the ancient dead, desperate bandits, and damp stone.
"We return to Dawnstar," Aerion announced, moving toward where they had secured the horses.
Since the group had brought six horses and now included a seventh member, logistics required a slight adjustment.
"Eisa, you will ride with Brelyna," Aerion instructed, gesturing to the sturdy bay horse the Dark Elf had ridden.
Eisa nodded, easily swinging herself up behind the slightly nervous apprentice. The arrangement served a dual purpose, it solved their transport issue, and it naturally forced the two women into close proximity, giving them time to speak during the long ride back to the coast.
The group spurred their horses, riding out of the snowy foothills and back toward the bustling port of Dawnstar.
They reached the Windpeak Inn by early afternoon. They quickly stabled the horses, carried their heavy packs into their rented rooms, and gathered around the roaring hearth in the main tavern. The apprentices collapsed into wooden chairs, ordering hot tea and heavily anticipating a long, deeply deserved afternoon of uninterrupted sleep.
Aerion allowed them exactly fifteen minutes of rest.
"Drink your mead quickly," Aerion announced, standing near the fire with his arms crossed. "Your training continues in ten minutes."
The three apprentices groaned loudly, a chorus of absolute, miserable protest.
"Expert Aerion, please!" J'zargo whined, his ears flattening against his head. "J'zargo's paws are frozen, and his magicka is utterly drained! We have just cleared an entire crypt!"
Aerion responded sternly, but not cruelly. He spoke with the voice of a commander who genuinely wanted his soldiers to survive.
"Anyone who wishes to become a truly capable mage cannot expect progress without consistent, grueling practice," Aerion lectured, his golden eyes sweeping over them. "Magic requires repetition. It requires absolute mental discipline. But more importantly, it requires physical conditioning."
He pointed to the steel weapons hanging awkwardly at their belts.
"Melee training provides an incredible, secondary benefit to your casting," Aerion explained. "Building your physical strength and cardiovascular stamina will directly improve your ability to handle prolonged magical exertion. The body and the magicka pool are intrinsically linked. Better physical conditioning will allow you to survive situations where you cannot simply stand at the back of a room and cast spells. You must learn to fight while exhausted."
Sitting at a nearby table, listening to the lecture while eating a loaf of warm bread, Eisa Blackthorn perked up.
"Can I join in on this?" Eisa asked, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.
Aerion looked at her, mildly surprised. "You wish to train?"
"I do," Eisa nodded firmly. She had seen enough of Lydia, Jenassa, and the towering High Elf inside Frostmere Crypt to understand that they operated on a martial level that bordered on the mythical. They were vastly, terrifyingly more capable than the brawling bandits she was used to. She wanted to improve. She refused to remain stagnant while surrounded by masters.
"Very well," Aerion agreed. "We leave in five."
He turned to his retainers. "Lydia, Jenassa. Stay here in the warmth of the inn. Keep your ears open and listen for more information from the townsfolk and the miners. I will take the rest of them outside the settlement."
Lydia and Jenassa offered sharp nods, perfectly content to let the apprentices freeze while they gathered intelligence over hot mead.
Aerion led the three groaning mages and the eager Nord warrior back out into the freezing wind, returning to the secluded, rocky shoreline they had used the previous day.
The training session began immediately.
Aerion focused the magical curriculum on the three most immediately useful, combat oriented schools, Conjuration, Destruction, and Restoration.
As the apprentices began their casting drills, Aerion stood back, secretly engaging the cosmic perception of the Eye of Magnus. He did not let them realize what he was doing, maintaining the facade of a highly observant instructor. Through the Eye, he studied their magical structures in minute detail. He saw how the energy flowed from their cores, identifying where they were wasting magicka by over-channeling, and where their spell formations were physically unstable.
He moved between them, correcting their inefficient magicka circulation with simple, practical advice, adjusting their breathing, correcting the tension in their wrists, and teaching them how to anchor their summoned familiars to the physical plane using spatial visualization rather than raw force.
During the Destruction exercises, however, Aerion decided to conduct a highly ambitious experiment of his own.
In his previous life, he had been intimately familiar with the Creation Club spell content associated with Skyrim, specifically, the potent Arcane Accessories. Yet, despite being fairly certain that the conceptual framework for those spells existed somewhere in the world's magical structure, he had never seen any of those tomes being sold by Faralda, Sybille Stentor, or Farengar.
With the Eye of Magnus granting him extraordinary, limitless control over the very fabric of magical energy, he decided to attempt recreating several of those spells entirely from memory.
He didn't try to mechanically force the spells into existence, he used his memories of how the spells were described and functioned in the game as the foundational blueprint for their arcane structure.
He stepped away from the apprentices, facing the frozen Sea of Ghosts.
He raised his hand, channeling fire and shock simultaneously. Usually, attempting to cast two disparate elements from a single focal point resulted in a volatile fizzle. But through the Eye, Aerion seamlessly wove the two frequencies together, creating a perfectly stabilized, dual elemental spell.
Elemental Flare.
He unleashed the spell. It was a fast, incredibly concentrated bolt of raw, searing energy that struck the frozen water, dealing devastating fire and shock damage simultaneously, leaving a hissing, boiling crater in the ice.
He didn't stop. He pushed more magicka into the matrix, expanding the structural containment field.
Elemental Bolt.
Elemental Burst.
Elemental Blast.
The final spell was a masterpiece of raw destruction. He hurled the Elemental Blast into the sky. It exploded over the water with the concussive force of a cannon shot, a massive, roaring sphere of superheated plasma and crackling blue lightning that lit up the overcast sky and sent a shockwave of displaced air rushing over the shoreline.
The three apprentices completely stopped their drills, their jaws dropping in absolute, terrified awe.
Aerion finally turned to Restoration. He drew upon the concept of a holy cloak, weaving pure, radiant sunlight with the searing heat of a destruction aura.
Mara's Wrath.
A brilliant, pulsing ring of golden, holy fire erupted around him. It didn't burn his armor, but the ambient heat melted the snow within a ten foot radius in seconds. It was an aura designed specifically to incinerate the undead the moment they stepped into his proximity, dealing catastrophic sun damage while simultaneously healing his own minor fatigue.
Aerion lowered his hands, letting the golden aura dissipate into the wind. The experiment was a resounding, flawless success.
J'zargo, Onmund, and Brelyna practically rushed him.
"Expert Aerion! What... what were those?!" Brelyna gasped, her eyes wide with shock. "I have studied every tome in the Arcaneum, and I have never seen a Destruction spell fuse fire and shock into a single projectile! It shouldn't be physically possible!"
"J'zargo must know this magic!" the Khajiit begged, his tail thrashing wildly. "Please, teach us!"
These were spells they had never seen, concepts that defied the conventional teachings of the College. Aerion's ability to seamlessly create and wield them completely cemented his reputation in their minds as a mage operating on a level far beyond an ordinary Expert.
Aerion held up a hand, demanding silence.
"I will not teach them to you today," Aerion refused, though not permanently. "You have not yet mastered the fundamentals of single element containment. Attempting to weave a volatile dual elements right now would simply result in you blowing your own hands off."
He leveled a serious, commanding look at the three of them.
"When I decide you have the discipline and the structural control to handle them, I will teach you," Aerion promised. "Until then, you are to keep what you have just seen an absolute secret. You are not to discuss these spells with your peers, the faculty, or anyone else, unless I explicitly give you permission. Am I understood?"
The apprentices nodded frantically, deeply understanding that they had just been trusted with highly classified, proprietary magical knowledge.
Aerion turned back to the water, a faint smile on his lips. He made a mental note to experiment heavily with the Conjuration school later. If the Eye of Magnus could help him recreate lost Destruction spells, perhaps it could also allow him to push the boundaries of summoning, creating the Creation Club spells that are powerful to call entities vastly beyond the conventional Atronachs or standard Dremora. The possibility was immensely intriguing.
"Enough magic for today," Aerion announced, clapping his steel gauntlets together. "Draw your steel."
The magical portion concluded, shifting immediately into grueling martial drills.
The three apprentices awkwardly drew the weapons Aerion had given them. Onmund, possessing the thick blood of a Nord, already demonstrated a slightly better, natural instinct for physical combat than J'zargo or Brelyna, gripping his mace with solid intent. But all three were woefully inexperienced compared to the hardened warriors around them.
Aerion spent the next hour acting as a strict drillmaster. He corrected their wide, unbalanced stances. He adjusted their footwork, teaching them to keep their weight centered on the ice. He showed Brelyna how to keep her guard up while retreating, and taught J'zargo how to use the weight of his axe to carry the momentum of a swing.
Eisa leaned against a rock, watching the High Elf move. She had personally witnessed his devastating magical artillery in the crypt, and she had seen him cleave an Orc in half with an Ebony Greatsword.
"How does a High Elf become so capable in both?" Eisa asked aloud, genuinely perplexed. "Most mages can barely lift a broadsword, and most warriors wouldn't know which end of a staff to point. How did you master both?"
Aerion simply laughed, a rich, rolling sound, parrying a clumsy swing from Onmund.
"I have traveled extensively throughout Tamriel, Eisa," Aerion offered his vague, standard cover story. "I have encountered many different teachers, from the sweeping plains of Cyrodiil to the high towers of Alinor. You learn what you must from experience."
He effortlessly disarmed Onmund with a flick of his wrist, turning his golden eyes upon the young Nord woman.
"Would you like to train as well, Eisa?" Aerion challenged softly.
Eisa didn't hesitate. She stepped away from the rock, drawing the glowing, frosty Pale Blade. "I would," Eisa admitted openly. "I'm not a fool. Lydia, Jenassa, and you... you fight at a level I've never seen before. You move differently. I don't want to just watch. I want to catch up."
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[Main Panel]
Name: Aerion
Race: High Elf (Altmer)
Health: 770/770
Stamina: 810/810
Magicka: 980/980 [External Capacity & Regeneration: ∞]
Level: 213
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 45), Smithing (Level 57), Sneak(+1) (Level 50), One Handed(+2) (Level 0), Two Handed(+1) (Level 0), Lockpicking (Level 35), Archery (Level 91), Enchanting(+1) (Level 23), Light Armor(+2) (Level 10), Block (Level 70), Pickpocket (Level 8), & Heavy Armor (Level 31)
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, 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 / 705 KG
Septims: 78,962