If you want to read 20 Chapters ahead and more, be sure to check out my P-Tang12!!!
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(A/N: Don't forget to give those power stones to Skyrim everyone!)
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Lydia raised her dark shield, locking her jaw. Jenassa slipped her steel sword and dagger from their sheaths without a sound. Eisa gripped her steel axe, her eyes fixed on the men who had betrayed her. Aerion looked up at the three glowing apprentices. He gave a single, sharp nod. "Fire," Aerion commanded. As the apprentices unleashed a devastating, roaring volley of magic from the high ground, Aerion led the four warriors in a terrifying, thundering charge down the wooden stairs, plunging directly into the chaos below.
The three apprentices did not hesitate. From the high vantage point of the stone overlook, they unleashed a devastating, coordinated barrage of elemental artillery. The dark, cavernous heart of the bandit camp below was instantly illuminated by the blinding flash of raw magicka.
Onmund's Fireball*sailed in a flawless, glowing arc, detonating violently against the stone floor right in the center of the largest cluster of tents. The concussive shockwave threw three men off their feet, their leather armor instantly igniting.
Brelyna swept her hands in a wide arc, sending a howling Ice Storm tearing through the camp's perimeter, the jagged shards of frost shredding through tents and biting deep into the flesh of the panicked bandits.
J'zargo, his feline eyes narrowed in absolute concentration, released a crackling, jagged web of *Chain Lightning* that danced violently from iron breastplate to iron breastplate, leaving a trail of convulsing bodies in its wake.
Before the echoes of the magical explosions even began to fade, Aerion led the vanguard in a terrifying, thundering charge down the wooden stairs.
He moved with explosive speed, the heavy Nordic Carved plates of his armor clanking like a descending avalanche. He hit the stone floor of the lower chamber just as the surviving bandits were scrambling to draw their weapons, blinded by the smoke and deafened by the thunder.
Aerion did not give them a moment to recover. His Ebony Greatsword hissed through the smoky air in a brutal, horizontal cleave. The razor sharp volcanic glass sheared effortlessly through the raised hide shield of a charging Orc, biting deep through his chainmail and dropping him instantly.
"Eisa?!" a bloodied Nord bandit screamed, staggering out of a burning tent and staring at the young woman charging alongside the heavily armored Elf. "You treacherous bitch! I'll cut your—"
He never finished the sentence. Eisa Blackthorn lunged forward with the cornered ferocity of a wildcat. She deflected his clumsy sword thrust with her battered hide shield and drove her steel war axe directly into the gap beneath his arm. She ripped the blade free with a feral grunt, letting his lifeless body collapse into the dirt. There was no hesitation in her eyes, only cold, brutal survival.
Lydia anchored the center of the skirmish, slamming her massive ebony shield into the face of a bandit archer trying to draw a bead on the balcony above, while Jenassa slipped through the chaos like a crimson-eyed shadow, her twin blades finding the throats of those distracted by the frontline.
From the balcony, the apprentices rained down precise, controlled bursts of fire and sparks, expertly picking off the stragglers attempting to flank the warriors.
Within less than a minute, the skirmish was over. The heart of the bandit camp was completely silent, save for the crackle of burning tents and the low groans of the dying.
Aerion flicked the dark blood from his greatsword and sheathed it in a single, fluid motion. He looked up at the balcony, offering a sharp, approving nod to the three exhausted but exhilarated apprentices.
"Secure the perimeter and search the bodies," Aerion instructed calmly, walking toward the center of the camp. "Jenassa. Bring the scholars down and show them how to conduct a proper field sweep."
Jenassa offered a thin, approving smile. She gestured for the apprentices to descend the stairs. When J'zargo, Onmund, and Brelyna reached the floor, the Dunmer assassin didn't mince words.
"In the Arcaneum, you study history," Jenassa told them, kicking a bandit's iron sword away from his grasping hand. "Out here, you survive on whatever you found. Check their belts for coin pouches. Check their boots for hidden daggers. If they have potions, take them. If they carry soul gems, pocket them. Leave the rusted iron and the ruined leather, it isn't worth the weight."
The apprentices swallowed their squeamishness and got to work. It was a grim, grounding reality check, but they followed her instructions.
When the looting was finished, they gathered the spoils on a relatively clean stone slab. There was a modest pile of septims, a few minor healing potions, two flawless amethysts, and a silver ring.
As usual, Aerion did not hoard the spoils. He divided the septims and the gems into equal shares, handing the heavy leather pouches directly to Lydia, Jenassa, the three bewildered apprentices, and finally, Eisa.
Eisa stared at the pouch of gold in her palm, her blue eyes wide with genuine shock.
Bandit chiefs took the lion's share, leaving scraps for the foot soldiers. The concept of an even, equitable distribution of wealth from a someone who hired a mercenary was entirely foreign to her.
"You're... you're actually splitting the coin evenly?" Eisa asked, looking at the High Elf as if he were a mythical creature.
"You fought, you bled, you earned your share," Aerion replied smoothly, his tone leaving no room for argument. "A well compensated hired sword is a loyal hired sword. Pocket the coin, Eisa. We are not finished here."
Eisa didn't argue further. She secured the pouch to her belt, a faint, disbelieving smirk touching her lips. "Boss is generous. I can get used to this."
With the immediate area cleared, Aerion noticed a heavy wooden drawbridge on the far side of the chamber. It was raised, secured by thick iron chains that disappeared into a grated section of the wall above.
"Lydia, Jenassa. Go through that open wooden door to the adjacent section," Aerion pointed. "Search the upper walkways. There must be a lever to release the chains."
The two retainers nodded, disappearing into the dark corridor. A few moments later, the loud, grinding screech of rusted gears echoed through the cavern. The heavy wooden drawbridge slammed down across the wide chasm with a deafening crash, kicking up a cloud of ancient dust.
"Move across," Aerion ordered.
The group traversed the heavy wooden planks, entering the next massive cavern of Frostmere Crypt.
But the crashing of the drawbridge had eliminated any element of surprise.
Gathered in the tiered, expansive chamber below and across the stone pillars connecting the walkways, were no fewer than ten heavily armed bandits. It was a diverse, hardened crew, Imperial deserters, roaring Orcs, agile Khajiit, and scaled Argonians, all whom are currently in high alert. They had drawn their weapons, kicked over tables for cover, and knocked arrows to their bows.
"Intruders!" an Orc bandit bellowed, pointing a heavy crossbow toward the bridge. "String 'em up!"
A deadly volley of iron and steel tipped arrows hissed through the damp air, clattering against the stone and biting into the wood of the drawbridge.
"Keep yourself safe! Apprentices, suppressive fire!" Aerion roared, instantly shifting the tactical formation.
Lydia and Eisa threw their shields up, forming a tight, overlapping wall of ebony and hide to protect the squishy scholars behind them.
"Return fire!" Aerion commanded.
He didn't draw his greatsword. He reached over his shoulder, pulling the massive, sleek curve of his Ebony Bow from its harness. In one seamless, blindingly fast motion, he nocked a heavy, black fletched ebony arrow, drew the string back with his augmented strength, and released.
THWACK.
The ebony arrow crossed the cavern in a fraction of a second, punching completely through the thick wooden table an Imperial archer was using for cover, and taking the man's life instantly.
Beside him, Jenassa stepped out from behind Lydia's shield. She raised her golden, Fire enchanted Dwarven Bow. She fired rapidly, her iron arrows streaking across the dark cavern like shooting stars. Every time her arrows struck a target, the impact blossomed into a localized burst of flame, setting the bandits' leather armor alight and forcing them out of cover.
From the safety of the shield wall, J'zargo, Onmund, and Brelyna unleashed a continuous, desperate barrage of Destruction magic, forcing the enemy archers to keep their heads down.
"They're rushing the pillar!" Eisa shouted over the din of battle.
Four bandits, two fierce Orcs wielding battleaxes and two dual wielding Argonians, had abandoned the ranged duel and were sprinting across the narrow stone pillar that connected the lower tier to their position on the drawbridge.
"Hold the line!" Lydia roared, her Nord blood singing.
Lydia and Eisa stepped into the narrow choke point. The clash was brutally intense. An Orc brought a massive iron axe down on Eisa's hide shield, splintering the wood, but the young Nord didn't buckle. She ducked beneath the blow, driving the spike of her war axe into the Orc's thigh, hamstringing him before Lydia bashed him backward into the abyss below.
The combat stretched on, significantly longer and vastly more taxing than the initial ambush. The bandits were desperate, fighting for their lives in the enclosed space. A stray iron arrow deflected off the stone wall and grazed Onmund's shoulder, tearing through his robes and drawing a sharp line of blood. A burst of frost magic from a bandit hedge mage caught Brelyna's arm, leaving her shivering violently.
Aerion remained a terrifying, precise engine of ranged destruction. He methodically picked off the enemy archers and spellcasters one by one, his ebony arrows finding throats and eye sockets with impossible accuracy.
Finally, after several grueling minutes of chaotic, close quarters bloodshed and magical spells, the last bandit collapsed over the stone railing.
The cavern fell silent, the air thick with the smell of blood, ozone, and woodsmoke.
Onmund hissed in pain, clutching his bleeding shoulder, while Brelyna rubbed her frostbitten arm. J'zargo was panting heavily, leaning against the cavern wall.
Aerion slung his Ebony Bow back over his shoulder and approached the apprentices. He looked at their minor wounds.
"You held the line admirably," Aerion praised them gently. "But combat inevitably exacts a toll. Gather around me. This is your next lesson."
The apprentices stepped closer, wincing at their injuries.
Aerion raised his hands. He did not cast a simple, generic healing spell. He tapped into his limitless, optimized Magicka pool through the Eye of Magnus, weaving the arcane energy with an absolute, fundamental understanding of reality itself.
A warm, brilliant, profoundly pure golden light erupted from his palms.
He bathed Onmund in the radiant aura. The apprentice watched in absolute, wide-eyed shock as the bleeding gash on his shoulder knit itself back together in a matter of seconds, the pain vanishing entirely.
But the magic didn't stop at the flesh.
Aerion extended the manipulation of the restorative magicka, guiding it into the very fibers of Onmund's torn College robes. The golden light wrapped around the shredded blue fabric. Right before the apprentices' disbelieving eyes, the threads actively rewove themselves, mending the tear flawlessly until the cloth was pristine, without a single seam to show it had ever been ripped.
Brelyna gasped, taking a step back. J'zargo's jaw literally dropped.
Even Tolfdir had never demonstrated something like this. Mending living flesh was standard Restoration. Mending dead matter, fabric and cloth, using Restoration magic was a feat that blurred the lines of Alteration and defied conventional academic theory entirely.
"By the Divines..." Onmund whispered, touching the flawless fabric of his shoulder. "Expert Aerion... how did you do that? The Arch-Mage himself says Restoration cannot affect inanimate matter!"
Aerion lowered his hands, the golden light fading. He smiled behind the bronze mask, delivering a lie so smooth it sounded like gospel.
"The curriculum of the College of Winterhold is excellent, Onmund, but it is not the maximum ceiling of magical theory," Aerion explained, his voice laced with the esoteric weight of a world traveler. "During my travels across Tamriel, long before I ever set foot in Skyrim, I studied under masters whose understanding of Restoration surpassed the rigid classifications of the Arch-Mage. Magic is not simply a tool to heal wounds, it is the fundamental manipulation of the world's tapestry. When you truly understand the weave, mending a thread of cotton is no different than mending a vein."
The apprentices stared at him in absolute, reverent awe. In their eyes, Aerion was no longer just an Expert Mage, he was a walking library, a repository of lost, ancient knowledge.
"Come," Aerion instructed, turning away from their shocked faces. "We push deeper."
They moved past the corpses on the drawbridge, descending a winding, natural stone tunnel that plunged deeper into the bowels of the mountain.
They dispatched two more isolated bandits along the path, unlucky sentries who hadn't heard the massive battle above. Aerion silenced one with an arrow to the throat before he could shout, while Jenassa slipped behind the other, snapping his neck with a swift, brutal twist.
"Stop," Jenassa whispered suddenly, throwing an arm out to stop J'zargo from taking another step.
The assassin pointed down at the dusty stone floor. Barely visible in the dim light was a thin, taut tripwire stretched across the corridor, connected to a wooden peg. She pointed upward. Suspended in the shadows of the ceiling directly above the wire was a massive net filled with jagged boulders.
"Step over it," Jenassa advised coldly. "Or some big chunk stones will crush you."
The apprentices carefully stepped over the lethal trap, their respect for the deadly realities of ruins vastly increased.
Beyond the trap, they found a heavy, frost covered iron door.
Aerion pushed it open, and the environment drastically, breathtakingly shifted.
They stepped out of the confined stone corridors and into a massive, sprawling underground cavern. It was an astonishing subterranean forest. The ceiling was impossibly high, held up by gargantuan, natural stone pillars. Ancient, pale trees and thick, thorny shrubs grew wildly out of the rocky soil. A thin, creeping white fog rolled across the ground, illuminated by the faint, eerie glow of bioluminescent fungi clinging to the cavern walls.
It was beautiful, and it was hostile.
As they moved cautiously through the mist, stepping over the gnarled roots of the pale trees, they heard the ragged, wet sound of a man struggling to breathe.
Aerion led the group around a massive boulder.
Slumped against the cold stone, a pool of dark blood spreading out from a devastating wound in his stomach, was a man wearing a high quality set of steel armor. He was clutching a rusted iron dagger, his face pale and slick with cold sweat.
It was Kyr, the bandit chief of Frostmere Crypt.
When Kyr heard their footsteps, he slowly raised his head, his eyes glassy and unfocused. His gaze swept over the heavily armored warrior, the Dunmer, and the apprentices, before finally settling on the young Nord woman standing in the vanguard.
Kyr's eyes widened in profound, bewildered shock.
"Eisa...?" Kyr coughed, a thin stream of blood spilling over his lips. "You... you brought group of outsiders? You came back to finish me?"
Eisa stared down at the dying man who had ordered her death just a few hours prior. Her expression was a complicated mix of anger, pity, and cold detachment.
"I didn't do this to you, Kyr," Eisa said flatly. "I told you Ra'jirr was losing his mind."
"Ra'jirr..." Kyr wheezed, his head lolling against the stone. "That damned cat... he took the Pale Lady's sword. He went mad. Said he had to return it. He gutted me... he gutted his own chief."
Brelyna stepped forward, her hands glowing with a soft healing light, her empathetic nature overriding the fact that the man was a bandit. "Expert Aerion, I can try to stabilize him—"
"Save your Magicka, Brelyna," Aerion commanded softly, placing a hand on her shoulder. "His organs are severed. It is too late."
As if to prove the High Elf right, Kyr let out a final, shuddering breath. His eyes rolled back, and the bandit chief of Frostmere Crypt died in the cold dirt.
Aerion looked down at the corpse. His pragmatic mind instantly evaluated the resources. Kyr was wearing an excellent, master, crafted set of standard steel armor, cuirass, gauntlets, and boots,bvastly superior to the ragged hide armor Eisa was currently wearing.
Aerion knelt beside the body. He placed his hands directly over the bloody, sundered steel of Kyr's cuirass. He channeled his Magicka, utilizing the same principle he had used on Onmund's robes, but focusing the energy on the metallic structure.
The apprentices watched in stunned silence as the torn, bent steel groaned softly, the metal actively heating and reforming under the High Elf's hands until the massive gash in the cuirass was completely, flawlessly sealed, leaving the armor pristine.
Aerion stood up and looked at Eisa.
"Strip the steel armor from him," Aerion ordered casually. "It is yours."
Eisa blinked, looking from the dead chief to the High Elf in absolute disbelief. "Mine? Boss, this is a good quality set. This could worth a fortune. You're just... giving it to me?"
"You cannot hold the front in ragged hide, Eisa," Aerion reasoned simply. "Consider it a signing bonus. Put it on."
Eisa stared at him for a long moment, the reality of her new employment fully sinking in. This man didn't just pay well, he equipped his people to survive.
"I... thank you," Eisa said, her voice unusually thick with genuine gratitude. She cleared her throat awkwardly, pointing toward a thick cluster of pale shrubs. "Just... give me a minute of privacy to change out of this bloody hide."
Aerion nodded, turning his back and signaling the group to face the perimeter.
A few minutes later, Eisa emerged from the shrubs. She had strapped the heavy steel cuirass, gauntlets, and boots over her leather under-tunic. The armor was clearly forged for a broader man, it was a bit loose in the shoulders and long in the greaves, but she moved in it with immediate, natural comfort.
"It's a bit big," Eisa noted, rolling her steel clad shoulders, the metal clanking softly. "But it'll definitely stop a blade better than boiled leather. It does the job."
"You look like a proper warrior now," Lydia complimented her with a firm nod of approval.
"Let us find the cause of this mutiny," Aerion instructed, leading them deeper into the underground forest.
They navigated through the creeping fog, following a winding, descending path until the cavern opened up into a massive, breathtaking central grove. Huge, ancient trees with glowing white leaves dominated the space. In the absolute center of the grove, built upon a raised stone foundation, was a circular, ancient Nordic altar.
And on that altar, a frantic, desperate battle was taking place.
A lone Khajiit, his fur matted with frost and blood, was swinging a pale, glowing sword wildly at a terrifying entity.
The entity was a woman, or the ghost of one. She hovered above the ground, draped in tattered, ethereal white rags. Her skin was the color of glacial ice, and she radiated an aura of bone chilling cold. Swarming around her were three smaller, glowing orbs of volatile frost, Wisps.
"Ra'jirr!" Eisa shouted, her voice echoing across the cavern. She recognized her friend instantly, her heart sinking at the desperate, losing battle he was fighting. "What in Oblivion is that thing?!"
Aerion narrowed his eyes behind the bronze mask. He knew exactly what it was.
"It is a Wispmother," Aerion identified coldly, drawing his greatsword. "A malevolent, ancient spirit of frost. She is a nuisance, and highly lethal to the unprepared. She will use those smaller wisps to drain his life force."
Aerion didn't hesitate. He issued his tactical commands with rapid fire precision.
"Apprentices! Target the smaller wisps! Blast them out of the air with fire! Do not let them swarm the vanguard!" Aerion roared. "Lydia, Jenassa, Eisa! Form a wedge! We push through the frost and take the Mother!"
The apprentices reacted instantly, hurling rapid fire Firebolts into the grove, shattering the smaller, glowing orbs of frost before they could converge on the Khajiit.
Aerion charged across the cavern floor, the heavy steel vanguard following right behind him.
But as they reached the edge of the stone foundation, the Wispmother let out a shrieking, unearthly wail. She raised her pale hands, unleashing a massive, localized blizzard. The sheer, terrifying drop in temperature froze the moisture in the air instantly.
Ra'jirr, already exhausted and bleeding, was caught directly in the blast. The frost magic slammed into the Khajiit, instantly freezing the blood in his veins. Ra'jirr let out a final, choked gasp, dropping the pale sword as he collapsed lifelessly onto the ancient altar.
"No!" Eisa screamed, surging forward.
Aerion stepped past her, placing himself directly between the grieving Nord and the Wispmother.
The Wispmother turned her hollow, glowing eyes upon the High Elf, raising her hands to unleash a barrage of ice spikes.
Aerion did not give her the chance. He tapped into the Eye of Magnus, funneling a massive, concentrated surge of thermal energy directly into the blade of his Ebony Greatsword. The dark volcanic glass instantly ignited, roaring with superheated, white hot flames.
Aerion swung the flaming greatsword in a devastating, sweeping arc.
The intense heat instantly vaporized the Wispmother's frost armor. The heavy ebony blade cleaved cleanly through her ethereal form. The spirit shrieked in absolute agony as the fire consumed her necrotic essence, her form violently shattering into a cloud of harmless, glittering snow that drifted softly to the cavern floor.
The battle was over as quickly as it had begun.
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.
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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)
[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: 77,962