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(A/N: Don't forget to give those power stones to Skyrim everyone!)
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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."
"Then defend yourself," Aerion invited.
The ensuing sparring session perfectly highlighted the difference between magical and martial training. Eisa possessed a highly competent, brutal foundation forged in the desperate life of a bandit. She fought with wild aggression and unpredictable strikes.
But Aerion didn't fight back with aggression. He fought with calm an deliberate precision.
He methodically stripped away her sloppy habits. When she overcommitted to a heavy swing, leaving her flank exposed, he didn't strike her, he simply tapped the flat of his blade against her ribs, showing her exactly where a real opponent would have gutted her. He taught her how to control her breathing, how to parry with the strong part of her blade, and how to fight with deliberate, calculated form rather than desperate, brawling rage.
He pushed her hard, testing her endurance, but he never humiliated her. He made it entirely clear that her previous survival experience was highly valuable, but it was incomplete. He was refining iron into steel.
By the time the sun had moved low on the horizon, painting the sky in deep shades of purple and orange, everyone was completely exhausted.
They packed their gear and trudged back to the Windpeak Inn.
As they walked, Aerion was quietly, unexpectedly pleased to observe a new dynamic forming within the group. Brelyna and Eisa were walking shoulder to shoulder, engaged in a low, comfortable conversation. The reserved, highly academic Dark Elf and the hardened, cynical Nord bandit had seemingly formed a natural, surprising friendship during the long ride and the grueling training session.
Their personalities strangely complemented each other. For Eisa, having Brelyna ask her genuine questions about surviving in the wild without judgment seemed to provide the young Nord with her first real sense that she had found a group willing to accept her, without demanding that she constantly prove her worth through violence.
Aerion noticed the development, but he wisely chose not to draw any attention to it, allowing the camaraderie to solidify organically.
When they reached the inn, the group eagerly piled inside to seek the warmth of the fire and the promise of hot stew.
Aerion, however, remained outside in the biting cold.
He moved away from the bustling entrance, navigating to a quiet, shadowed corner behind the tavern where the noise of the patrons could not interfere with his concentration.
He closed his eyes, tapping into the vast, invisible web of his Animal Affinity.
The leaders of his animal network began to gather, bringing their observations. A snow fox come after staying near the woodpile. Several fat seagulls squawked from the roof, and the mice squeaked from the foundation stones.
To anyone else, it was just the ambient noise of nature. To Aerion, it was a highly detailed intelligence briefing. He interpreted the simple observations, patterns, and visual memories, actively assembling the puzzle pieces in his mind.
The information painted a clear, stark picture of the coastal city.
Dawnstar was in vastly better shape than Winterhold. The network confirmed that maritime trade was still highly active despite the freezing waters. The dual mines were producing ore around the clock, and the fishermen were bringing in consistent hauls. Merchants from Solitude and Windhelm still braved the roads. The local economy, while undeniably strained by the ongoing civil war, was fully functioning.
Compared to the starving, hollowed out ghost town of Winterhold, Dawnstar appeared significantly more prosperous and stable.
But that did not mean the people were happy.
The biggest, most systemic problem facing the city was the war itself.
Dawnstar sat dangerously close to the geographic front line of the conflict, and its bustling port made it increasingly vital to the Stormcloak war effort. Because Winterhold was already struggling so badly, the vast majority of the logistical pressure fell squarely onto Dawnstar's shoulders. The animals reported the heavy, rhythmic marching of soldiers, the constant movement of supply wagons being loaded with local ore, and the frequent, aggressive Stormcloak patrols moving through the snowy streets.
The people of Dawnstar were beginning to deeply resent the burden.
The mice relayed conversations from the cellars and the docks. The citizens were terrified of what would happen if the actual fighting reached the city limits. They were concerned about their trade routes being forcibly seized by the military, disrupting their livelihoods. They feared losing their ships to Imperial blockades, and losing their miners and fishers to the bloody meat grinder of the rebellion.
Aerion stood in the shadows, quietly comparing the two northern holds in his strategic mind.
The difference in their complaints was big. Winterhold's people were struggling simply to survive the winter. Dawnstar's people were struggling to avoid becoming the next battlefield.
Winterhold was economically weak and politically frustrated.
Dawnstar was economically stronger, but strategically vulnerable.
Both holds had unique, glaring problems. But more importantly, both holds could become incredibly useful, highly exploitable pressure points in the war.
Aerion opened his eyes, the cold wind whipping at his heavy fur cloak.
His mission for General Tullius was rapidly becoming vastly larger than simply collecting mundane movement and numbers informations. He was beginning to truly understand the deep, systemic political and economic weaknesses of the northern holds.
As Skyrim relentlessly continue its war, the High Elf was perfectly positioning himself to dictate the terms of the peace. But he would not act yet. For now, he would continue gathering information, training his companions, and learning exactly how the heart of Dawnstar functioned, before deciding how to properly bleed it.
Aerion stood perfectly still in the shadowed alcove behind the Windpeak Inn, his golden eyes closed, his mjdn thinking as the wind woven seamlessly into the ambient life of the settlement.
The leaders of his animal network had delivered their final reports for the afternoon. Aerion processed the raw, instinctual information, the heavy footfalls of patrols, the scent of fresh grain in the storehouses, the glint of steel in the blacksmith's forge.
With a gentle words given, he dismissed the larger creatures back into continuing whatever they did. However, he told the mice to stay behind as he have special assignment for him.
"Penetrate the Jarl's longhouse," Aerion silently commanded the tiny, unseen infiltrators. "Go beneath the floorboards. Climb behind the heavy tapestries. Find the war room. I need you to listen to the boots, the maps being unrolled, the urgency of the messengers. Find out where the soldiers are marching."
His primary remaining question was exactly how Dawnstar was contributing to the Stormcloak war effort. He needed hard numbers, troop deployments, and logistical routes. The mice, completely ignored by the Jarl's housecarls, were the perfect spies to gather that granular military intelligence.
With his network perfectly deployed, Aerion stepped out of the shadows, wrapping his heavy fur cloak tighter against the cold, and walked back into the Windpeak Inn.
The tavern was thick with the comforting warmth of the massive central hearth and the rich smell of roasting meats. His group had claimed a large, sturdy wooden table in the corner. Lydia and Jenassa sat with their backs to the wall, their eyes naturally scanning the room.
J'zargo, Onmund, and Brelyna were nursing hot cups of spiced cider, their faces flushed from the grueling outdoor training but their spirits visibly high. Eisa sat at the edge of the table, running a whetstone over a spare dagger, looking cleaner and vastly more relaxed than she had in the bloodstained ruins of Frostmere Crypt.
Aerion approached the innkeeper, Thoring, and dropped a heavy leather pouch containing exactly one hundred septims onto the bar.
"Food and drink for my entire table," Aerion instructed smoothly. "Bring your best cuts of venison, fresh bread, and whatever hot stew you have boiling."
Thoring's eyes widened at the generous sum, nodding eagerly as he hurried toward the kitchens.
Aerion joined his group, pulling up a heavy wooden chair. The meal that followed was a remarkably relaxed affair, a necessary decompression after days of hard travel, ancient ruins, and intense magical theory. The apprentices were beginning to shed the rigid, academic awkwardness of the College, leaning in to listen to Jenassa recount a particularly chaotic bounty hunt in Morrowind.
Eisa, initially wary of the powerful mages and the heavily armored High Elf, was gradually settling into the dynamic. She realized with a quiet sense of relief that there was no brutal hierarchy here, no posturing for scraps of food or respect. She was an employee, yes, but she was treated as an equal at the table.
The group remained in Dawnstar for another two full days.
Aerion kept their routine structured. Mornings were dedicated to physical conditioning and magical theory on the frozen shoreline, while afternoons were spent resting and maintaining their gear.
But while the apprentices slept, Aerion worked.
He spent hours in his private room with the window cracked open to the freezing air, maintaining constant contact with his animal network. Mice scurried up the wooden beams, and ravens perched on the sill, delivering their translated intelligence.
Over the course of forty eight hours, the scattered, instinctual reports coalesced into a crystal clear, highly detailed military picture of the northern front.
Dawnstar did possess a significant Stormcloak presence, but its northern contingent was not an overwhelming invasion force. Through the translated impressions of campfires, marching boots, and supply wagons, Aerion calculated that roughly 8,000 Stormcloak troops were garrisoned along the mountainous border between Dawnstar and Winterhold.
The true threat lay further west.
Another massive force of approximately 15,000 troops was dug in along the Morthal frontier. This army was not acting alone, they were the vanguard of Ulfric's larger strategic deployment. Sitting ominously behind them, utilizing the deep, protected valleys of Eastmarch and the Pale, was a primary reserve force of roughly 25,000 seasoned soldiers.
Aerion sat at the small wooden desk in his room, drawing an invisible map of Skyrim on the grain of the wood with his finger. The purpose of these deployments became glaringly obvious.
Ulfric was not simply spreading his troops randomly to hold territory. The northern armies were perfectly positioned in a defensive offensive pivot. If the Imperial Legion, currently massing in Solitude, attempted to push east or reinforce Whiterun, these northern armies could instantly surge south to flank them.
Furthermore, if Jarl Balgruuf of Whiterun eventually chose to side with the rebellion, these 40,000 combined troops could rapidly push west, threatening Morthal and completely cutting off Imperial supply lines.
The logistics were equally revealing.
Aerion learned that the two northern camps were exceptionally well supplied. Dawnstar's bustling maritime trade and deep quicksilver mines directly funded and fed the camp along the Whiterun border. The larger Morthal frontier force drew seamlessly from Ulfric's main supply veins flowing out of Windhelm.
Food, forged weapons, thick tents, and ammunition were moving in a steady, unbroken rhythm. Neither force was suffering the crippling, starving shortages that currently plagued Winterhold.
It confirmed a fundamental, geopolitical truth.
Dawnstar was economically healthy, vastly superior to Winterhold. But its very strategic importance had turned that prosperity into a crushing burden for its citizens. The city was a logistical artery.
Troops moved through the streets constantly. Rations were redirected. The locals weren't starving, but they lived under the suffocating, heavy shadow of the war, knowing that if the Empire decided to cut the supply line, the next major battle would take place directly on their docks.
Aerion leaned back in his chair, weaving the larger strategic tapestry together.
'Dawnstar and Winterhold are not just holds. They are shields,' Aerion realized quietly.
If General Tullius could somehow break Dawnstar's economic engine or its political stability, the entire northern front would collapse. Winterhold, already starving and politically fractured, would instantly shatter without Dawnstar anchoring the region.
If the north fell, Imperial forces could sweep across the Pale and completely flank the rebellion. Ulfric would be forced to pull his armies back to defend Eastmarch and the Rift. Windhelm and Riften were formidable, possessing massive manpower and impenetrable walls, but even they could not sustain a big front war entirely alone. Dawnstar was absorbing the Imperial pressure that would otherwise fall directly on Ulfric's capital.
Aerion mentally filed the intelligence away. It was a masterpiece of espionage, gathered entirely without interrogating a single guard or stealing a single document.
By the dawn of the third day, Aerion decided that remaining in the coastal city would yield diminishing returns. He had the troop numbers, he understood the logistics, and he had mapped the political sentiment.
It was time to move on to the heart of the beast.
Their next destination was Windhelm.
Aerion descended the stairs to the main tavern, finding his group already awake and breaking their fast. He informed them they were leaving within the hour. The apprentices, though tired, nodded dutifully. Aerion returned the heavy iron room keys to Thoring, and the group gathered their packs, marching out into the crisp, freezing morning air toward the stables.
Logistics remained practical. Aerion saw absolutely no tactical or financial reason to spend another thousand septims on a new mount when their current arrangement was functioning perfectly.
"Eisa, you are with Brelyna again," Aerion instructed, mounting Revan.
"Works for me," Eisa nodded, swinging up behind the Dark Elf.
The group rode out of Dawnstar, following the winding, snow packed main road southeast, gradually turning toward the jagged, treacherous mountain passes that separated the Pale from Eastmarch.
The journey felt noticeably faster and vastly more comfortable than their previous rides. A quiet, efficient cohesion had settled over the group. The apprentices now understood Aerion's high expectations and rode with disciplined posture. Lydia and Jenassa had seamlessly integrated the younger mages into their protective perimeter.
Near the rear of the column, Eisa and Brelyna fell into an easy, natural conversation.
"So, you grew up in Morrowind?" Eisa asked, adjusting her grip on the saddle as the horse navigated a snowy rut. "I've only heard stories. Ash storms, giant bugs, and a lot of angry Elves."
Brelyna let out a soft, genuine laugh. "That is... a rather blunt summary, but not entirely inaccurate. I am from House Telvanni. Magic is not just a tool where I come from, it is the foundation of our society, our politics, and our survival. Leaving it behind to study in Skyrim was considered highly unconventional by my family."
"Unconventional," Eisa repeated, a smirk evident in her voice. "That's a polite way of saying they hated the idea. I get it. I didn't exactly have a noble house to disappoint, but walking away from the only life you know takes spine. You held your own in that crypt, Brelyna. You're tougher than you look."
Brelyna smiled, a faint blush warming her dark cheeks. "Thank you, Eisa. And you... you fight with a ferocity I have never seen. I am glad you are with us."
The journey remained peaceful for several hours, the snowy pine forests slowly giving way to the rocky, geothermal tundra of Eastmarch.
But as they descended into a narrow, steeply banked valley, the peaceful rhythm of the ride was abruptly shattered.
The road ahead was completely blocked.
A large, heavy wooden wagon had been deliberately dragged across the cobblestones, wedged tightly between the rocky embankments to prevent any horses from passing. Standing casually in front of the barricade, weapons drawn, was a group of rugged, heavily scarred bandits wearing a mix of fur, iron, and stolen Stormcloak chainmail.
Aerion immediately pulled back on Revan's reins, the massive warhorse coming to a halt. He raised a steel clad hand, signaling the rest of the column to stop.
"Move the wagon," Aerion called out, his voice echoing calmly across the snowy pass. "Clear the road, and I will allow you to walk away with your lives."
The bandit leader, a massive, bearded Nord resting a steel warhammer on his shoulder, threw his head back and laughed. It was a harsh, barking sound that echoed off the rocks.
"Allow us to walk away?" the leader mocked, spitting a glob of phlegm into the snow. "Listen to the arrogance on this one! You think that expensive steel makes you invincible, stranger? Armor doesn't mean a damn thing when you're surrounded. We've got the numbers, and we're taking your horses, your coin, and whatever is in those packs. Strip down, or we strip it off your corpses."
Aerion remained outwardly perfectly still, the bronze mask of Krosis hiding his expression.
He didn't bother arguing. Instead, he engaged the Eye of Magnus, shifting his perception beyond the physical spectrum.
The world around him washed into shades of gray, while the ambient magicka of living beings flared to life like glowing embers in the dark. He knew that every living mortal carried a baseline signature of magicka within their souls, even if they had never cast a spell in their lives.
Through the Eye, Aerion instantly mapped the battlefield.
He detected exactly fifteen hostile signatures. Seven were standing in front of the wagon, fanning out aggressively to block the road. Five more were creeping through the brush on the right flank, attempting to close a circle around the rear of the horses.
But it was the last three signatures that mattered most. They were elevated, glowing faintly in the thick branches of the snow-covered pines overlooking the pass to their left. Hidden archers, with their bows already drawn.
Aerion leaned back slightly in his saddle, speaking in a low, sharp whisper that only his group could hear.
"Fifteen total. Five flanking right. Three archers hidden in the canopy to our left," Aerion rapidly relayed the intelligence. "Apprentices, dismount carefully. Prepare your strongest, most reliable Destruction spells. Wait for my command. Do not hit our vanguard. I will eliminate the archers."
The bandits on the road took another step forward, emboldened by the group's silence.
"Last chance, stranger!" the leader shouted, gripping his warhammer with both hands.
Aerion's golden eyes locked onto the specific cluster of pines to his left.
"Now," Aerion commanded.
He didn't draw his sword. He simply raised his left gauntlet toward the treeline and unleashed one of his newly engineered creations.
Elemental Blast.
The spell did not form as a simple stream of fire. It erupted from his palm as a blinding, compressed sphere of superheated plasma, wrapped in a violently rotating cage of blue lightning. The projectile crossed the distance in a fraction of a second, tearing through the pine needles.
The impact was absolutely devastating.
The spell detonated within the canopy with the concussive force of a siege engine. A massive shockwave of fire and lightning shredded the trees, vaporizing the branches and instantly obliterating the three hidden archers before they could even register the threat. Burning wood and charred debris rained down onto the snowy pass.
The deafening explosion caught the remaining bandits completely by surprise, their arrogant grins instantly vanishing.
At the exact moment the spell detonated, Aerion vaulted smoothly out of his saddle.
Lydia, Jenassa, and Eisa hit the ground a second later, drawing their weapons with lethal, synchronized precision. The apprentices scrambled behind the horses, raising their hands as their magicka flared to life.
The bandits were instantly trapped in a meat grinder, caught between devastating ranged magical artillery and four highly elite melee combatants.
Aerion led the charge, a terrifying blur of Nordic Carved steel. He closed the distance to the bandit leader in three massive strides. The Nord swung his heavy warhammer in a desperate, panicked arc.
Aerion didn't even try to block it, he simply sidestepped the clumsy swing, stepping into the man's guard. His Ebony Greatsword hissed through the air, carving a brutal, diagonal line through the bandit's leather breastplate and sternum.
To his right, Lydia was an immovable fortress of ebony. Two bandits charged her, swinging axes wildly. She caught the first blow on her shield, the impact barely shifting her stance, before stepping forward and driving the heavy rim of the shield directly into the second man's throat, crushing his windpipe.
Jenassa moved like water. She slipped beneath a wild sword thrust, her golden Dwarven bow swapped instantly for her twin daggers. She danced through the chaos, opening arteries and hamstringing opponents with terrifying, surgical precision.
Eisa fought alongside them, and the difference in her combat form was already starkly visible. She no longer swung with the wild, desperate brawling style of a cornered animal. She kept her Elven shield raised, measuring her distance, and waited for the perfect opening before driving the glowing, frost enchanted Pale Blade into an Imperial bandit's ribs. The frost magic slowed the man's reflexes instantly, allowing her to pull the blade free and move seamlessly to her next target.
From the rear, the apprentices executed their lesson flawlessly. They didn't panic, and they didn't throw wild area of effect spells. Onmund fired tight, concentrated Firebolts that staggered the bandits attempting to flank Jenassa. Brelyna maintained a localized Frostbite stream, freezing the ground beneath the feet of the charging flankers, while J'zargo picked them off with jagged, lethal bolts of Lightning. They supported the vanguard perfectly, weaving their magic around the melee combatants without a single instance of friendly fire.
The bandits fought desperately, screaming in panic as their numbers evaporated, but they were hopelessly, entirely outmatched.
Within two minutes, the pass was silent. Fifteen bandits lay dead in the bloodstained snow.
Aerion calmly flicked the blood from his Ebony Greatsword and slid it back into its scabbard. He looked over the bodies, his tactical mind instantly analyzing the broader geopolitical implication of the ambush.
"Fascinating," Aerion murmured, his voice distorted slightly by the bronze mask.
"What is, my Thane?" Lydia asked, wiping her sword on a fallen bandit's fur cloak.
"How remarkably little effort the Stormcloaks appear to invest in suppressing internal banditry," Aerion noted, gesturing to the wagon. "We are less than couple of hours ride from Windhelm. We are standing on a primary, arterial trade route near an incredibly important military border. Yet, these bandits were bold enough to drag a wagon across the road in broad daylight. It suggests that Ulfric's local authorities either entirely lack the manpower to police their own territory, or they have deliberately chosen to ignore the rot within their own borders to focus solely on the Empire."
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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