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(A/N: Don't forget to give those power stones to Skyrim everyone!)
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"I wish to offer you a special advisory position, Aerion," Savos proposed. "A role not dissimilar to the one Ancano currently occupies, but one grounded in actual loyalty to Skyrim. You would effectively serve as a trusted consultant to me, alongside Mirabelle and the senior professors. Your outside perspective, your political connections in Whiterun, and your combat experience would be extremely valuable to us."
Aerion considered the offer. It was a massive leap in the kind of power he will hold in the college.
"I accept the position, Arch-Mage," Aerion agreed. "However, I must make my conditions clear."
Savos nodded. "Name them."
"My duties outside the College are vast. I cannot remain in Winterhold permanently," Aerion stipulated firmly. "Furthermore, I do not require a wage from the College coffers. I am independently wealthy."
"Then what do you ask in return?" Savos inquired, curious.
"Simply a permanent room to stay in when I return to the city, and continued, unrestricted access to the Arcaneum," Aerion requested.
From across the hall, Urag gro-Shub, the massive Orc librarian, overheard the demand. Urag let out a loud, incredibly dry snort of amusement, shaking his head at the fact that Aerion had somehow managed to turn unlimited access to his precious books into his primary salary.
Savos chuckled, glancing at the Orc. "Agreed. You shall have your quarters, and your books."
The promotion and the new appointment drastically increased Aerion's influence within the College. He was no longer simply a talented, eccentric student who came and went as he pleased. He now held an official, respected place within the highest echelons of the institution's hierarchy.
But the day was far from over.
Once the reception finally concluded and the hall emptied, Aerion did not return to his new quarters. He left the College entirely, wrapping a heavy fur cloak over his new robes to ward off the biting evening wind, and headed back into the ruined streets of Winterhold.
His intelligence mission required context.
He walked purposefully toward the Frozen Hearth, the local equivalent of the Bannered Mare, pushing open the heavy wooden doors.
The inn was warm, smoky, and filled with the low, unhappy grumbling of tired locals. Aerion spotted Lydia and Jenassa sitting at a corner table near the fire, nursing hot mugs of mead.
He walked over and pulled up a chair, realizing that his investigation was only just beginning.
His position within the College had grown, his relationship with the students was secure, and his conflict with Ancano had quietly, dangerously escalated.
But for now, he needed the human element. He needed to know what the mice couldn't tell him.
"Drink up," Aerion said quietly, leaning over the table. "Tell me everything you heard the people of Winterhold saying today when they thought nobody important was listening."
The ambient heat of the Frozen Hearth inn was a stark, welcoming contrast to the relentless blizzard raging outside. Aerion sat at a corner table near the roaring fire, a cup of spiced wine resting untouched before him.
"It is as bleak as it appears, Patron," Jenassa reported, her crimson eyes sweeping the dimly lit room to ensure they were not overheard. "The merchants have practically abandoned the route. The civil war has made the roads through the Pale treacherous, and Winterhold simply does not generate enough profit to justify the risk. Food is becoming scarce. The hunters are pulling up empty traps, and the ice fishers are struggling against the worsening storms."
Lydia leaned forward, her brow furrowed in frustration. "What makes it truly insufferable is the Jarl. Korir is bleeding his own city dry. Every other day, he encourages the strongest, most able bodied men and women to travel east and throw their lives away for Ulfric Stormcloak."
Aerion listened silently, his golden eyes observing the weary faces of the patrons huddled around the other tables. The information perfectly corroborated the intelligence his animal network had gathered.
"Even the fiercely loyal are beginning to feel the strain," Lydia continued, tracing the grain of the wood with her finger. "Families are losing their primary workers. The few businesses that remain have no customers. The settlement is slowly losing the very people it requires simply to keep itself functioning."
Aerion took a slow sip of his wine, processing the geopolitical reality. "Jarl Korir is remarkably fortunate that his city has managed to survive this long in such a dilapidated condition while still paying a tithe of blood to the rebellion. It suggests his priorities lie entirely in proving his loyalty to Ulfric, securing his own political position in the new regime, rather than managing the immediate survival of his people."
"Perhaps he is playing a longer game, my Thane," Lydia offered reasonably, trying to find the honor in a Nord ruler's actions. "If Ulfric wins the war and is crowned High King, Korir may believe that his unyielding loyalty now will earn him the political favor and the Imperial coin needed to properly rebuild Winterhold later."
Jenassa let out a soft, dismissive scoff.
"A foolish strategy, if true," the Dunmer assassin countered coldly. "If rebuilding Winterhold is his ultimate goal, systematically weakening the very laborers, builders, and farmers required to actually achieve that rebuilding makes absolutely no sense. A king's favor is useless if your city is a graveyard. His actions reek of personal ambition, not careful planning."
"I am inclined to agree with Jenassa's assessment," Aerion nodded smoothly. "Though we cannot ascertain his true motives without sitting in his longhouse, the result is the same. The hold is dying."
Aerion fell silent, letting the ambient noise of the tavern wash over their table. He tuned his exceptional hearing to the scattered conversations around the room. An old man near the bar was complaining bitterly about the exorbitant price of dried salt pile. A woman by the door wept quietly to a friend about a son who had marched south to the war and hadn't written in months. Two fishermen lamented the empty nets and the deteriorating docks.
The repetition was profound. The despair was systemic. His animal network had been flawless.
"We have gathered all the useful intelligence we require here," Aerion concluded, setting his cup down with quiet finality. "My network of observation is firmly established in the settlement. There is little reason to linger in the cold. We depart for Dawnstar tomorrow morning."
Lydia and Jenassa nodded in unison, both clearly relieved to be leaving the depressing atmosphere of the ruined city behind.
"Before we depart," Aerion added, standing up from the table, "I must return to the College to retrieve the belongings I left in my quarters, and I must formally inform the Arch-Mage of our departure."
He left his retainers to finish their drinks and stepped back out into the biting wind, making the short trek across the stone bridge to the College.
Navigating the quiet halls of the Hall of Attainment, Aerion entered his small circular room. He packed his few remaining travel supplies and retrieved the crackling Staff of Jyrik Gauldurson from the corner. With a simple thought, he engaged his transmigrator System. The staff vanished into his dimensional inventory, the interface noting a negligible increase of approximately 1 KG in his carried weight.
With his logistics settled, Aerion make sure his armor are all good before made his way to the central tower, climbing the winding stairs to the Arch-Mage's quarters.
When he pushed the heavy wooden doors open, he stepped into a room crackling with intense, hostile energy.
Savos Aren stood near his desk, his face a mask of thunderous irritation. Mirabelle Ervine, Tolfdir, and two other Master Professors were clustered nearby, their expressions a mix of profound confusion and deep skepticism.
And standing in the center of the room, vibrating with absolute, unhinged fury, was Ancano.
The Thalmor agent looked terrible. His usually immaculate hair was disheveled, his skin was deathly pale, and his dark eyes were wide with a frantic, desperate panic.
"He did this!" Ancano shrieked the moment Aerion walked through the doors, pointing a trembling, accusatory finger directly at the High Elf. "He is the one! He deliberately destroyed my connection to the Aetherius! He severed my magicka!"
The Master Professors exchanged incredulous looks. From their perspective, the accusation bordered on the absurd. Aerion was standing there, the picture of aristocratic composure, without a single mark on him, his robes pristine.
There was absolutely zero evidence of a magical duel or a physical altercation. The concept that a newly appointed Expert Mage could permanently and invisibly disable a highly trained Thalmor operative was academically incomprehensible.
"Ancano, please, listen to reason," Mirabelle sighed, rubbing her temples. "Aerion was attending his promotion ceremony. He is entirely unblemished. You are claiming the impossible."
"I do not care what you believe is possible!" Ancano roared, his voice cracking. He turned his furious, desperate gaze upon Savos Aren. "I demand that you strip him of his newly acquired title immediately! I demand you revoke his status as a consultant, and I demand he be expelled from this College before he ruins us all!"
For a long, heavy moment, the room was silent.
And then, the Arch-Mage of College of Winterhold finally lost his patience.
Savos Aren did not shout, but the sheer, overwhelming pressure of his magical authority flooded the room, making the air feel instantly heavier. He stepped out from behind his desk, closing the distance between himself and the Thalmor agent.
"You will make no demands in my quarters, Ancano," Savos spoke, his voice a low, dangerous rumble that commanded absolute obedience. "You do not control this College."
Ancano flinched, instinctively taking a half step backward.
"You have caused nothing but disruption and paranoia since the day you arrived," Savos continued, staring the Thalmor down with cold, unyielding authority. "I have tolerated your presence out of diplomatic courtesy, but my patience is exhausted. If you cannot conduct yourself as a proper, dignified representative of the Aldmeri Dominion, I will have you escorted back to the Thalmor Embassy in the mountains by force. Am I understood?"
Ancano's mouth opened and closed silently. He was furious, his pride utterly shattered, but without his magicka, he was entirely powerless to enforce his arrogance. He glared at Aerion with pure, unadulterated hatred before turning on his heel and storming out of the quarters, the heavy doors slamming shut behind him.
Savos let out a slow breath, the magical pressure in the room dissipating. He turned to Aerion, his expression softening slightly.
"Forgive the disruption, Aerion," Savos said, shaking his head. "The faculty trusts you. We have seen your conduct, your dedication to your studies, and your willingness to protect the scholars of this institution in Saarthal. However strange his accusations may sound, it is incredibly difficult to believe you could have committed such an atrocity without anyone noticing."
"I am as perplexed by his condition as you are, Arch-Mage," Aerion lied flawlessly, his voice a paradigm of calm reason. "I came only to inform you that I will be leaving the College again tomorrow morning. My assignments in the outer holds require my attention."
The Masters nodded, accepting the swift departure without concern; it was exactly the sort of movement expected of their new consultant.
"Before you leave, Aerion," Savos noted, a faint, amused smile returning to his face, "you should know that the three apprentices, J'zargo, Onmund, and Brelyna, have already fulfilled your rather stringent requirements. They presented me with the necessary paperwork an hour ago."
Aerion raised an eyebrow, genuinely surprised. "They acquired all three handwritten signatures that quickly?"
"They were remarkably persistent," Mirabelle chuckled quietly.
"We actually consider the request highly worthwhile," Savos explained, taking a seat behind his desk. "Allowing them to accompany you serves as an excellent practical field study. It provides the College with a rare opportunity to observe how three promising young mages develop when exposed to real-world, unpredictable magical situations, under the direct supervision of an Expert. We have approved the excursion."
"Then I shall take responsibility for them," Aerion accepted smoothly, bowing his head.
The following morning, the sky over Winterhold was a bruised, iron gray.
Aerion walked out of the College gates, his heavy fur cloak wrapped tightly over his Nordic Carved armor. Waiting in the snow, shivering but practically vibrating with excitement, were J'zargo, Onmund, and Brelyna. They wore thick travel cloaks over their College robes and carried heavy packs loaded with spell tomes, alchemy ingredients, and bedrolls.
Aerion stopped, looking the three apprentices up and down. He let out a long, visible sigh, a cloud of white breath pluming in the freezing air.
"You are packed for a month on the road," Aerion observed dryly. "But I must point out a rather glaring logistical failure. Where are your horses?"
The three apprentices froze.
Brelyna's eyes widened in horror. Onmund cursed softly under his breath, burying his face in his gloved hands. J'zargo's tail tucked securely between his legs in sheer, unadulterated sheepishness. In their frantic excitement to secure the signatures and pack their magical supplies, they had completely forgotten the most fundamental requirement of traversing Skyrim.
"We... we do not have horses, Expert Aerion," Brelyna admitted, her voice small. "And none of us possess the coin to purchase them."
"If I am taking responsibility for your survival and your education," Aerion stated, shaking his head in mild amusement, "I will ensure you can actually travel without freezing to death on the permafrost."
He led the thoroughly embarrassed trio to the small, dilapidated stable outside the city limits. Aerion withdrew a heavy pouch of coin from his inventory, paying the shocked stablemaster 3,000 septims in cold, clinking gold for three sturdy, thick coated Skyrim horses.
The apprentices thanked him profusely, bowing their heads in deep gratitude, admitting they feared he would simply leave them behind for their oversight. Aerion waved off the praise, mounting his massive black warhorse, Revan, and leading them down to the Frozen Hearth.
Lydia and Jenassa were waiting by the inn's hitching posts, their own horses saddled and ready.
When the two hardened warriors saw three young, wide eyed College mages awkwardly adjusting their stirrups behind the towering High Elf, their reactions were distinctly different.
Aerion smoothly explained the arrangement, noting the Arch-Mage's official approval of the field study.
Lydia frowned deeply, her protective instincts instantly flaring. She looked at the apprentices as if they were fragile porcelain vases balancing on the edge of a table. She began mentally recalculating their marching order, dreading the immense responsibility of keeping three soft scholars alive if bandits ambushed them on the road.
Jenassa, however, simply leaned against her horse, her crimson eyes sweeping over the trio with a cold, calculating, and highly measured gaze. She offered a slow, predatory smile. She fully intended to see if the young mages would break or harden when the blood started flowing.
"Mount up," Aerion commanded. "We have a long ride ahead of us."
They rode out of Winterhold, the heavy hooves of their horses cutting through the deep snow. The journey to Dawnstar was a masterclass in the brutal, untamed atmosphere of Skyrim. They followed the winding, treacherous main road south, navigating the jagged, ice choked mountain passes, before gradually turning west and cutting through the dense, snow laden pine forests of the Pale, heading north toward the coastal settlement.
The weather remained bitterly cold, but as they rode further west, the oppressive, dead silence of Winterhold slowly gave way to the howling winds of the northern coast.
During a brief halt to water the horses, Onmund rode up beside Aerion.
"Expert Aerion," the young Nord asked respectfully, his breath pluming in the air. "Why have you chosen Dawnstar as our destination? There is no local magical college there, and the jarl is famously traditional."
Aerion looked out over the snowy treeline, presenting a deliberately simple, academic facade.
"I have heard rumors that a unique museum recently opened its doors in the city," Aerion answered smoothly. "I intend to investigate it as part of my broader historical research regarding the artifacts of the previous Eras."
It was a perfectly true statement, delivered without a single hint of the futuristic knowledge he harbored of this world.
As they finally crested the last snowy ridge, the settlement of Dawnstar came into view, nestled securely along the freezing, dark waters of the Sea of Ghosts.
The contrast between Dawnstar and Winterhold was immediate and staggering.
While Winterhold felt like a dying, isolated ghost town barely clinging to the edge of a cliff, Dawnstar was noticeably vibrant, active, and undeniably prosperous. Even in the biting cold, the docks were bustling with sailors unloading heavy crates from sturdy longships. The dual iron and quicksilver mines on the edges of the city echoed with the rhythmic clack clack of pickaxes and the shouts of foremen. Local trade flowed smoothly through the snowy streets, and the smoke from dozens of warm hearths filled the sky.
Aerion rode silently, his golden eyes sweeping over the activity. He quietly cataloged the economic disparity. It reinforced his understanding of Jarl Korir's utter failure as a leader. Dawnstar faced the exact same brutal weather and the exact same civil war, yet it thrived through industry and trade. The comparison would prove highly useful when he eventually brought the northern holds under Imperial economic influence.
The group stabled their horses near the entrance of the city and walked down the snowy path to the Windpeak Inn.
The tavern was warm and crowded with miners and sailors. Aerion approached the innkeeper, seamlessly securing their logistics. He paid 120 septims to rent four rooms for three nights.
"Brelyna, you will share a room with Lydia," Aerion instructed, handing out the iron keys. "J'zargo, you are with Onmund. Jenassa and I shall take the remaining singles. Stow your packs, warm yourselves by the fire, and assemble back here in twenty minutes. Our research begins today."
The apprentices eagerly complied, thrilled to be on a real expedition.
After a short, comfortable rest to thaw their frozen extremities, Aerion gathered his eclectic team and led them back out into the snowy streets, navigating toward the far side of the settlement.
They approached a modest, well kept wooden house built near the rocky shoreline. Flanking the front door were vibrant, red banners displaying an intricate, jagged symbol that the apprentices did not immediately recognize.
"Is this the museum?" J'zargo asked, tilting his head as he studied the banners. "It looks like a simple house. J'zargo expected grander architecture for ancient history."
"The most profound secrets are rarely kept in glass cases, J'zargo," Aerion replied softly, playing the role of the curious scholar to perfection.
Internally, however, the High Elf felt a quiet, chilling sense of absolute recognition. He knew exactly what this building was. It was the museum of Silus Vesuius. Beneath the respectable, eccentric exterior was a shrine dedicated entirely to the Mythic Dawn, the apocalyptic cult that had worshipped the Daedric Prince Mehrunes Dagon, assassinated the Emperor, and triggered the Oblivion Crisis that nearly destroyed the world.
He also knew exactly where this chain of events would inevitably lead, to the shattered fragments of Mehrunes' Razor, one of the most lethal, reality cutting artifacts in creation.
Aerion stood before the wooden door, the snow swirling around his heavy steel boots. He kept his expression perfectly neutral, revealing absolutely none of the terrifying knowledge locked in his transmigrator mind. The apprentices chattered excitedly behind him, eager to inspect whatever dusty relics lay inside. Aerion reached out, his gauntlet resting on the iron handle. This was no simple research trip. This was a direct march into the shadow of Oblivion.
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[Main Panel]
Name: Aerion
Race: High Elf (Altmer)
Health: 710/710
Stamina: 740/740
Magicka: 980/980 [External Capacity & Regeneration: ∞]
Level: 200
Skills: Animal Affinity (MAX LEVEL), Fast Skill Levelling (MAX LEVEL), Fast Magic Mastery (MAX LEVEL), Instant Shout (MAX LEVEL), Dragon Master (MAX LEVEL), Eye Of Magnus (MAX LEVEL), Destruction (Fire(+4)/Lightning(+2)/Frost(+2)) (Level 73/91/70), Restoration (Healing(+2)/Purify(+2)) (Level 50/75), Alteration (Level 35), Illusion (Level 50), Conjuration (Necromancy/Summoning(+1)) (Level 37/90), Persuasion(+2) (Level 19), Smithing (Level 57), Sneak(+1) (Level 33), One Handed(+1) (Level 72), Two Handed (Level 81), Lockpicking (Level 35), Archery (Level 72), Enchanting(+1) (Level 2), Light Armor(+2) (Level 0), Block (Level 70), & Pickpocket (Level 8)
Shouts: Fus Roh Dah (Force Balance Push), Tiid (Time), Krii (Kill), Feim Zii Gron (Fade Spirit Bind), Su (Air), Laas (Life), Yol Toor (Fire Inferno), Kaan (Kyne), & Zul Mey Gut (Voice Fool Far)
[Inventory Panel]
1x Small Sack, Poacher's Axe, Mammoth Tusk, the Golden Claw, Calm Spellbook, Arvel's Journal, Inkwell & Quill, Thief Book, Scroll Of Summoning (Wolf), Scroll Of Healing, Weak Potion of Paralysis, Golden Staff of Flames, Parchment Rolls Of Mammoths Farm And Loan, Ebony Claw, Orcish Dagger, The Mirror, Ring of Pure Mixtures, Grand Soul Gem (Filled), Reanimate Corpse Tome, Staff of Lightning, Deed to Tundra Homestead, Sapphire, Ruby, Dawnbreaker, Traveling Backpack (Supplies), Potion of Minor Magicka, Vampire Armor, Vampire Boots, Movarth's Golden Ash (Unique), Dwarven Sword, Elven Dagger, Potion of Healing, Gold Emerald Circlet, Scroll of Fire Storm, Iron Garnet Circlet, Iron Sapphire Circlet, Grand Soul Gem (Filled), Glass Boots, Dwarven Sword, Dwarven Shield, Wuuthrad's Fragments, Staff of Fireball, Mage Boots Of Weight, Master Robes Of Destruction, & Staff of Jyrik Gauldurson
2x Common Soul Gem (Empty), Black Soul Gem (Empty), Elven Sword, Amethysts, Potions of Plentiful Magicka, Scroll of Conjure Familiar, & Scroll of Magelight
3x Glowing Mushrooms, Potions of Minor Stamina, Flawless Sapphires, Gold Necklace, Iron Necklace, Petty Soul Gem (Filled), & Potions of Minor Magicka
4x Spider Eggs, Garnets, & Common Soul Gem (Filled)
5x Lesser Soul Gem (Filled)
7x Vampires Dust
8x Iron Arrows & Ancient Nord Arrows
9x Potions Of Minor Healing
12x Black Soul Gem (Filled)
Weight: 93.41 KG / 670 KG
Septims: 77,962