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Aerion patted the beast, stepping back toward his group. "I did some tinkering with the magical frequencies I used to tame the mammoths upon the tundra. Mammoths are herd animals, driven by defense. Trolls are apex predators, driven by hunger and territory. The magic required to subjugate them is vastly different, and admittedly, much harder to anchor. Very few mages have ever attempted to train a troll because their minds are chaotic, feral voids. But... I found the correct resonant frequency. It worked perfectly. They view me as the alpha of their pack. They will protect you as fiercely as they protect themselves."
Hearing the confident, clinical breakdown of his magic, Lydia slowly let out a long breath, sliding her sword back into its scabbard with a heavy clack. Jenassa smoothly un notched her arrow, though her crimson eyes remained watchful.
The four mages, however, were not reacting with fear. They were reacting with deep academic awe and a terrifying realization of the tactical implications.
"By the Eight..." Eirik whispered, leaning heavily on his staff as he stared at the beasts. "Do you realize what this means, Master? The military applications are... they're staggering."
J'zargo's tail flicked rapidly, his feline eyes wide with realization. "The Nord speaks the truth, Master. J'zargo has read of beast tamers, but to effortlessly subjugate a predator like this with a thought... If you can command armored mammoths and packs of armored Trolls simultaneously, you would not even need the Imperial Legion."
Onmund nodded in solemn agreement. "You would be a one man army. A force of nature that every Jarl and King in Tamriel would have to reckon with. You could wage your own wars without ever fielding a single human soldier."
Aerion listened to their theoretical musings, a faint, calculating amusement flickering in his golden eyes. They were beginning to see the true, macro level scale of his power, realizing that the almost thousand men he commanded in Winterhold were merely a political formality. But he did not indulge their fantasies aloud.
He simply shook his head, ending the conversation. "We are not here to wage a war today. We are here to excavate."
Aerion turned his back on the group, gesturing for the three trolls to follow, and led his retinue up the massive, crumbling stone staircase toward the primary entrance of the labyrinth.
As they crested the stairs, entering the massive, domed antechamber that preceded the ceremonial doors, the ambient magical field of the ruins suddenly reacted to their presence.
The air shimmered, dropping ten degrees in a single second. A swirling, ethereal mist condensed in the center of the antechamber, forming the translucent, glowing blue figures of six mages.
It was a magical projection, an echo of the past burned into the very stones of Labyrinthian by extreme emotional and arcane trauma.
The retainers gasped, stepping back, but Aerion remained completely unfazed. He recognized the spectral face of a much younger, more arrogant Savos Aren, standing alongside Hafnar Ice-Fist, Atmah, and the other doomed apprentices.
"Come on, we're almost there!" the spectral projection of Savos urged his companions, his voice echoing with a hollow, tinny resonance. "We'll be the ones to finally crack Bromjunaar! The faculty will have to make us Masters!"
"Savos, I don't like this," the ghost of Atmah replied, shivering. "The wards here... they feel wrong."
The apprentices watched the projection, completely enthralled by the sudden window into the Arch-Mage's darkest secret.
Aerion ignored the ghosts entirely. He walked straight through the shimmering projection of Hafnar Ice-Fist, feeling a slight, static tingle against his armor, and approached the massive, circular ceremonial gate that sealed the inner ruins.
He reached into the dimensional void tethered to his soul.
[Item Removed from Inventory: Torc of Labyrinthian]
[Current Weight Decreased: 1.00 KG]
The heavy, jagged Nordic torc materialized in his gauntlet. Aerion stepped up to the massive stone door, finding the deep, circular indentation carved into the center of the rock. He pressed the torc into the recess.
It fit perfectly. A deep, grinding mechanical click echoed from within the walls, followed by the heavy, groaning sound of ancient counterweights shifting for the first time in a century.
"Master," Brelyna whispered, tearing her eyes away from the fading ghosts. "The Arch-Mage... those were his friends. Do you not want to listen to what happened to them?"
Aerion gripped the heavy iron handles of the ceremonial door and began to pull. The door was incredibly heavy, requiring a surge of his enhanced stamina to slide the massive stone slab along its ancient tracks.
"The events of the past do not concern me, Brelyna," Aerion replied coldly, his muscles straining against the stone until the door gave way with a deafening screech. "I know that out of all the names spoken in this antechamber, only Savos Aren walks the earth today. I do not need to listen to ghosts to deduce how this tragedy ends."
The heavy door slid open, revealing a yawning, pitch black tunnel descending deep into the earth.
Immediately, a foul, suffocating stench rolled out of the darkness. It was the smell of dry rot, ancient dust, and the sharp, coppery tang of stagnant, malevolent magic. It was the smell of a tomb that refused to let the dead sleep.
Aerion stepped back, his golden eyes narrowing as they adjusted to the gloom.
"Prepare yourselves," Aerion commanded, turning to his group and the three heavy trolls waiting behind them. "Light your spells and draw your steel. We do not know exactly what Savos woke up down here, but whatever it is, it has been waiting in the dark for a very long time. Stay tight. Trolls to the front."
Aerion stepped through the threshold, descending into the belly of Labyrinthian.
They navigated the dark, descending corridors, the only light provided by the glowing orbs of Magelight hovering above the mages' staffs. The architecture was cyclopean, built for a civilization that worshiped dragons, massive, vaulted ceilings and heavy stone pillars carved with worn, unreadable runes.
More ghostly projections of Savos's group flickered into existence as they walked, their spectral conversations growing increasingly frantic and terrified as the reality of the ruins began to set in on the doomed apprentices. Aerion ignored every single one, his eyes scanning the shadows, his ears straining for the sound of movement.
They finally reached the end of the corridor, blocked by a heavy iron portcullis. Beside the gate, an ancient, rust covered lever protruded from the wall.
Aerion gestured to the Nord. "Onmund. The lever. Everyone else, weapons ready."
Onmund stepped forward, gripping the cold iron. He pulled hard. The rust snapped, and the heavy portcullis shrieked as it was violently pulled upward into the ceiling.
Aerion stepped through the gate, leading the group into a massive, cavernous hall.
The chamber was breathtaking in its macabre scale. Massive, crumbling stone pillars supported a vaulted ceiling lost in the darkness above. The floor was not paved stone, but deep, loose dirt, arranged into dozens of small, scattered mounds. And everywhere they looked, littering the dirt and piled against the walls, were bones. Thousands of ancient, yellowed bones.
The moment the last mage, Eirik, stepped through the archway, the trap was sprung.
A deafening, metallic slam echoed behind them. The heavy iron portcullis violently dropped back into place, sealing them inside the bone yard.
"Ambush!" Lydia roared, instantly locking her shield into place.
The dirt mounds surrounding them began to heave and explode. Dozens of skeletal warriors, their bones held together by glowing, malevolent purple magic, clawed their way out of the earth. They wielded rusted ancient Nordic swords and heavy iron battleaxes. From the upper alcoves of the chamber, skeletal mages draped in rotting robes materialized, their bony hands crackling with frost and lightning.
"Kill them!" Aerion commanded.
He didn't need to give the trolls a complex order. The three massive beasts roared, a deafening sound that shook the dust from the ceiling, and charged directly into the skeletal horde. The trolls were a devastating, brutal frontline. They didn't use weapons, they used sheer mass and muscle. The alpha troll swung its massive, heavy arms, smashing three skeletal warriors into absolute splinters in a single blow, while the other two beasts waded into the thickest clusters, stomping ancient skulls into powder beneath their feet.
Lydia and Eisa anchored the flanks behind the beasts, their blades flashing as they systematically dismantled any skeleton that managed to slip past the trolls. Jenassa moved like a phantom, her bow singing a deadly rhythm, pinning skeletal mages to the stone pillars with precise shots through their eye sockets.
But the horde was merely the vanguard.
A massive earthquake shook the center of the chamber. The largest mound of dirt and bones violently erupted.
A colossal, terrifying shape dragged itself from the earth. It was a dragon, but entirely devoid of flesh or scales. It was a massive, reanimated skeletal construct, its colossal ribcage glowing with necrotic energy, its massive jaws snapping with the force of a guillotine.
The Skeletal Dragon let out a hollow, vibrating roar that chilled the blood, turning its massive skull toward the intruders.
"Focus the infantry! The beast is mine!" Aerion roared.
He didn't wait for the Skeletal Dragon to unleash a breath attack. He tapped directly into the Eye of Magnus, his magicka reserves flaring with absolute, terrifying intensity.
Aerion raised both hands, unleashing a dual casted, overcharged Elemental Blast.
Two massive, crackling spheres of highly unstable plasma, a blinding amalgamation of superheated fire and raw lightning, tore across the chamber. They struck the Skeletal Dragon directly in the center of its glowing ribcage.
The explosion was apocalyptic. The sheer thermal shock and kinetic force shattered the dragon's ribs, sending massive shards of ancient bone flying like shrapnel across the room. The beast shrieked, staggering backward under the bombardment.
Aerion didn't let up. He marched forward, his hands a blur of catastrophic destruction magic. He hurled Incinerate blasts that melted the beast's wings, followed by staggering, high voltage Thunderbolts that violently disrupted the necrotic magic holding its joints together.
The Skeletal Dragon snapped its jaws, attempting to lunge at the High Elf, but Aerion's assault was too oppressive. A final concentrated Fireball struck the dragon directly in the skull. The explosion shattered the ancient jawbone and violently severed the necrotic tether binding its soul to the physical plane.
The colossal pile of bones collapsed heavily into the dirt, returning to the stillness of death.
With the primary threat neutralized, the retainers, the mages, and the three trolls rapidly finished off the remaining skeletal warriors.
Silence fell over the cavernous hall, broken only by the heavy, ragged breathing of the trolls.
Aerion turned away from the shattered dragon and approached his beasts. The trolls had taken the absolute brunt of the skeletal melee. Their thick white fur was matted with their own blood, deep lacerations crisscrossing their arms and chests from the rusted ancient swords.
They grunted in pain, looking at Aerion with a primitive, trusting expectancy.
Aerion removed his gauntlets. He placed his bare hands gently against the alpha troll's bleeding chest. He channeled a deep, sustained wave of Grand Healing, the golden light washing over all three beasts simultaneously. The deep cuts instantly knit together, the bleeding stopped, and the pain vanished.
The trolls let out low, vibrating rumbles of profound gratitude, nudging their massive, heavy heads against Aerion's armored shoulders, their loyalty cemented in blood and magic.
"Form up," Aerion instructed, pulling his gauntlets back on. "We push deeper."
They moved to the far end of the bone pit, passing through a heavy wooden door that had been blasted off its hinges decades ago. They entered a narrow, descending stone corridor.
Another ghostly projection flickered into existence before them. It was Savos's group again, but their numbers had shrunk. Girduin and Elmus were gone. The remaining apprentices were panicked, shouting at each other, the reality of the death trap fully setting in.
Aerion walked right through them, leading his group down a long, winding stone staircase that seemed to plunge into the very center of the earth.
As they reached the bottom of the stairs, stepping into a heavily frosted, ancient corridor, the atmosphere fundamentally changed.
The air didn't just grow cold, it grew active and maliciously hungry.
A sudden, invisible wave of pure, dark energy washed over the group. The four mages cried out in shock, stumbling as they felt a massive, violent drain on their internal magicka reserves. The energy was literally sucked from their bodies, leaving them feeling hollow, dizzy, and incredibly vulnerable.
Even Aerion felt the pull, but the infinite reservoir of the Eye of Magnus instantly replenished his core, negating the drain entirely.
Then, a voice echoed through the freezing corridors.
It wasn't a ghostly projection. It was a deep, resonant, impossibly ancient voice that seemed to vibrate directly inside their skulls. It spoke in the harsh, guttural syllables of the Dragon Language.
"Wo dirvlaan bormahu..."
To the retainers and the apprentices, the words were meaningless, terrifying noise. But to Aerion, his System interface flared instantly.
[Passive Skill Activated: Dragon Master (MAX Level)]
[Draconic Language Translation Engaged.]
"Who brings the father's...?" the voice translated in Aerion's mind.
It was Morokei. The Dragon Priest was awake, and he was hunting them.
"Maintain your focus!" Aerion snapped at the mages, who were leaning against the stone walls, recovering from the magicka drain. "Do not let the voice break your concentration. It is a psychological weapon designed to bleed you."
They pushed forward, the corridor opening up to reveal a massive, heavy iron door completely encased in a foot of solid, ancient magical ice.
"Brelyna, J'zargo, Eirik," Aerion ordered. "Melt it."
The three mages stepped forward, pooling their recovering magicka. They unleashed a synchronized, continuous stream of Flames directly against the ice. The heat hissed violently in the cold air. It took nearly a full minute of concentrated fire to crack the magical permafrost.
With a deafening CRACK, the ice shattered, and the heavy iron doors burst outward.
But they were not opening the way; something was pushing from the other side.
A horde of Draugr poured through the doorway. They were ancient Nordic warriors, their mummified flesh wrapped in rusted iron and hardened leather. Their eyes glowed with a vicious, pale blue light.
"Engage!" Aerion commanded.
The close quarters combat in the narrow doorway was brutal and suffocating. The trolls roared, smashing their heavy fists into the front line of the undead, shattering brittle ribs and crushing ancient skulls.
Eisa Blackthorn flowed through the chaos like freezing water. The Pale Blade hummed with lethal frost magic as she parried a rusted battleaxe, side stepped, and severed a Draugr's head from its shoulders, the magical ice instantly sealing the rotting neck.
Lydia held the center line with her Ebony shield, acting as an immovable anvil while Jenassa's daggers found the unprotected joints in the ancient armor, dropping the undead with ruthless efficiency.
Aerion did not use massive destruction magic in the tight confines. He drew the Black Prism, the enchanted ebony sword flickering with fire, frost, and lightning. He moved with terrifying, precise lethality, cleaving through the Draugr ranks, his blade absorbing their necrotic energy and feeding his own health stats.
They cleared the doorway, stepping over the piles of twitching, mummified corpses, and entered the true, sprawling depths of the ancient capital.
Labyrinthian was not a simple dungeon. It was a massive, subterranean metropolis. They walked across crumbling stone bridges suspended over bottomless, freezing chasms. They navigated ancient, dried aqueducts where rusted iron pendulums swung violently from the ceiling, forcing Aerion to use his enhanced reflexes to freeze the mechanisms with pinpoint Ice Spikes so his retinue could cross safely.
As they moved deeper, the magical drains became more frequent and vastly more aggressive.
"Nivahriin muz fent alok..." the voice of Morokei echoed again, the sound bouncing off the cavernous walls.
"Cowardly men shall sit..." the System translated for Aerion.
Another ghostly projection flickered near a collapsed tunnel. Savos, Atmah, and Hafnar were arguing bitterly, their magic depleted, their hope entirely shattered.
The resistance they faced grew exponentially deadlier. They fought heavily armored Draugr Scourges that wielded ancient ebony weapons, and skeletal archers that rained jagged bone arrows from inaccessible balconies.
They navigated a treacherous, collapsing stone floor, where Aerion had to command the massive trolls to lay across a widening gap, using their thick, muscular bodies as a living, agonizing bridge for his retainers to cross before the floor entirely gave way.
In the deepest, darkest crypt of the complex, the toll of the gauntlet was finally exacted.
They were ambushed in a narrow, multi tiered burial chamber by a squad of three Draugr Deathlords. These were the elite guard of the Dragon Cult, wielding massive ancient Nord battleaxes and capable of utilizing the Thu'um.
A Deathlord roared, unleashing an Unrelenting Force shout that violently threw Lydia and Eisa backward into the stone walls.
The trolls charged into the gap to protect the fallen retainers. The alpha and the second troll engaged two of the Deathlords, utilizing their massive strength to batter the ancient warriors.
But the third troll, the smallest of the three, was cornered by the final Deathlord. The beast roared, swiping its heavy claws, but the Deathlord was too heavily armored and too skilled. The ancient Nord sidestepped the feral swing and brought its massive ancient Nord battleaxe down in a brutal, crushing overhead chop.
The heavy steel cleaved directly through the thick fur and muscle of the troll's shoulder, burying itself deep into its chest cavity.
The troll let out a bubbling, agonizing shriek, collapsing heavily to the stone floor, its thick blood pooling rapidly.
Aerion was locked in combat with two Draugr Scourges on the upper tier. He cleaved through them, instantly turning his hand toward the fallen troll to cast Grand Healing.
But it was too late. The massive burst damage of the axe had completely destroyed the beast's heart. The troll's red eyes rolled back, and it died before the golden magic could even touch its flesh.
The Deathlord ripped its axe free, turning its glowing blue eyes toward the recovering Lydia.
Aerion did not mourn the beast. He did not hesitate. His tactical pragmatism was absolute, cold, and ruthless.
He dropped his greatsword, raised his right hand, and channeled his maximized Conjuration mastery.
He didn't cast a healing spell. He cast Dead Thrall.
A massive, violent surge of dark, purple necrotic energy shot from Aerion's hand, striking the colossal corpse of the fallen troll.
The massive beast violently jerked. Its thick muscles spasmed as the high level necromancy forcefully ripped its soul back from the void and chained it to its physical form. The troll dragged itself back up from the bloody floor, its wounds still gaping, but its three eyes were no longer red. They glowed with a sickly, malevolent purple light.
"Go," Aerion commanded coldly.
The undead troll let out a horrifying, gargling roar. It charged the Deathlord, feeling absolutely no pain. It threw its massive, rotting bulk directly onto the ancient warrior's axe, absorbing the lethal blow without flinching, and used its heavy arms to violently grapple the Deathlord to the ground.
With the Deathlord pinned by the undead meat shield, Eisa recovered, sprinting forward and driving the Pale Blade through the back of the ancient warrior's neck, severing its spine.
The chamber fell silent as the remaining two Deathlords were crushed by the living trolls.
Aerion walked down to the lower tier. He looked at the undead troll, which was standing obediently, a massive ebony axe still wedged in its chest, dark blood weeping onto the stone.
"A useful tool is never discarded," Aerion murmured quietly. He turned back to his horrified, exhausted retainers. "Keep moving. We are close."
They pressed on, the air growing impossibly stale and heavy with the scent of ozone.
They pushed through a final set of massive, heavily embossed iron doors, entering the grand, cavernous chamber of Labyrinthian.
The room was vast, supported by massive stone arches. At the very back of the chamber, illuminated by a shaft of pale, freezing light filtering down from a crack in the ceiling high above, stood a towering, ancient, semi circular wall of smooth black stone, carved with massive, jagged draconic runes.
A Word Wall.
But the wall was not unguarded.
Standing before the ancient monument was a Spectral Draugr Deathlord. Its body was completely translucent, glowing with an ethereal, ghostly blue light, yet it wielded a very physical, massive ancient Nord greatsword. Prowling at its feet was a spectral hound, its jaws dripping with ghostly vapor.
The moment the group entered the chamber, the Deathlord raised its sword, letting out a hollow, echoing battle cry, while the spectral hound lunged forward with blinding speed.
"Clear the room!" Aerion commanded.
The final skirmish was lightning fast and brutally decisive. Aerion did not rely on his retainers for this engagement, he wanted to end it instantly.
He drew the Ebony Greatsword and charged directly at the Spectral Deathlord. The undead warrior swung its massive blade, but Aerion ducked beneath the arc, his magically enhanced speed too much for the ancient ghost. He drove the heavy ebony steel directly through the translucent breastplate of the Deathlord.
The ebony metal disrupted the magical tether holding the spirit together, and the Deathlord violently exploded into a shower of harmless, glowing blue mist.
Simultaneously, the spectral hound leaped toward Brelyna, its jaws snapping for her throat. Eisa intercepted the beast mid air, the Pale Blade flashing in a flawless, horizontal arc that cleanly decapitated the ghostly dog, scattering its form to the winds.
The chamber fell utterly, completely silent. The immediate threats were dead.
Aerion sheathed his greatsword, his breathing perfectly calm. He walked slowly past the dissipating mists of the spectral guardians, his eyes fixed on the massive, curved black stone of the Word Wall.
His retainers and the mages hung back, watching him with a mixture of exhaustion and profound respect. They knew what Word Walls were from the legends, monuments of power meant only for the Dragonborn.
He stepped up to the massive stone face. He scanned the jagged, ancient runes until he found the specific carving he was looking for. He raised his right gauntlet and pressed his palm flat against the freezing, grooved stone of the rune.
The instant his metal gauntlet made contact with the carving, his vision violently shifted.
The physical reality of the dark cavern faded, overridden by the blaring, ethereal blue light of his System interface.
[Word of Power Detected: Klo (Sand)]
[Would you like to learn the second word of the Slow Time Shout: Klo (Sand)?]
[YES / NO]
Aerion of course choose YES.
[You have learned the Word of Power: Sand (Klo)]
Aerion pulled his hand back from the stone. The blue interface faded, returning him to the cold, quiet gloom of the grand chamber.
He let out a slow, deeply satisfied breath, flexing his gauntleted fingers. He now possessed the second syllable of one of the most broken, reality altering shout in existence. He turned away from the silent wall, looking back down the cavernous hall toward the heavy iron doors on the far side of the chamber. The Word Wall was a massive prize, but it was merely a detour. The true treasure of Labyrinthian, Morokei the Dragon Priest, the Staff of Magnus, and the Arch-Mage's darkest secret, was waiting just beyond those doors. "Catch your breath," Aerion instructed his exhausted retinue, his golden eyes burning with anticipation in the dim light. "We are about to step into the abyss."
_____________________________
[Main Panel]
Name: Aerion
Race: High Elf (Altmer)
Health: 1120/1120
Stamina: 1160/1160
Magicka: 980/980 [External Capacity & Regeneration: ∞]
Level: 285
Skills: Animal Affinity (MAX LEVEL), Fast Skill Levelling (MAX LEVEL), Fast Magic Mastery (MAX LEVEL), Instant Shout (MAX LEVEL), Dragon Master (MAX LEVEL), Eye Of Magnus (MAX LEVEL), Summon Dragon (MAX LEVEL), Destruction (Fire(+8)/Lightning(+5)/Frost(+5)) (Level 0/85/0), Restoration (Healing(+5)/Purify(+2)) (Level 0/98), Alteration (Level 75), Illusion (Level 62), Conjuration (Necromancy/Summoning(+4)) (Level 37/0), Persuasion(+4) (Level 0), Smithing(+1) (Level 79), Sneak(+1) (Level 64), One Handed(+2) (Level 65), Two Handed(+2) (Level 0), Lockpicking (Level 55), Archery(+1) (Level 47), Enchanting(+1) (Level 23), Light Armor(+2) (Level 42), Block (Level 70), Pickpocket (Level 8), & Heavy Armor(+2) (Level 78)
Shouts: Fus Roh Dah (Force Balance Push), Tiid Klo (Time Sand), 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), & Faas (Fear)
[Inventory Panel]
1x Small Sack, Poacher's Axe, the Golden Claw, Arvel's Journal, Inkwell & Quill, Thief Book, Parchment Rolls Of Mammoths Farm And Loan, Ebony Claw, The Mirror, Ring of Pure Mixtures, Grand Soul Gem (Filled), Deed to Tundra Homestead, Dawnbreaker, Traveling Backpack (Supplies), Vampire Armor, Vampire Boots, Movarth's Golden Ash (Unique), Potion of Healing, Mage Boots Of Weight, Master Robes Of Destruction, Staff of Jyrik Gauldurson, Gauldur Black Bow, Dwarven Battleaxe, Mehrunes Razor Hilt, Mehrunes' Razor Pommel, Stone of Barenziah (1/24), Mehrunes' Razor Blades, Iron Circlet of Ruby, & Iron Circlet of Emerald
2x Common Soul Gem (Empty), Black Soul Gem (Empty), & Potions of Plentiful Magicka
3x Potions of Minor Stamina, Petty Soul Gem (Filled), Potions of Minor Magicka, Grand Soul Gem (Filled), & Greater Soul Gems
5x Mod Chests
8x Iron Arrows, Ancient Nord Arrows, & Common Soul Gem (Filled)
9x Potions Of Minor Healing
10x Lesser Soul Gems
12x Black Soul Gem (Filled)
Weight: 49.79 KG / 885 KG
Septims: 255,867