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(A/N: Don't forget to give those power stones to Skyrim everyone!)
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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.
The red banners flanking the entrance of the modest wooden house were a stark, vibrant contrast to the relentless white snow of Dawnstar. The jagged, angular sigil stitched into the fabric was unmistakable to anyone who had spent time studying the darker chapters of Tamrielic history.
Aerion pushed the heavy wooden door open, stepping out of the freezing coastal wind and into the dim, incense-heavy warmth of the building.
The moment the six of them stepped inside, the atmosphere shifted dramatically. This was not a simple home; it was a shrine masked as a gallery. Glass display cases lined the walls, containing weathered books, jagged daggers, and tattered crimson robes. Hanging from the ceiling were more of the heavy red banners, dominating the small space with an oppressive, historical weight.
J'zargo, Onmund, and Brelyna immediately froze near the threshold.
The three College apprentices had spent countless hours in the Arcaneum, pouring over Urag gro-Shub's carefully curated texts. They recognized the symbols instantly.
"By the Eight..." Onmund whispered, his eyes wide as he stared at a set of crimson robes displayed on a wooden mannequin. "These are the colors of the Mythic Dawn."
Brelyna wrapped her arms tightly around herself, suddenly looking very cold despite the hearth fire. "The cult of Mehrunes Dagon. The ones who assassinated Uriel Septim and opened the Oblivion Gates. Why in the world would anyone collect this?"
Lydia and Jenassa, whose educations had been vastly more martial than academic, did not immediately recognize the specific sigils. But the moment Brelyna uttered the words Mehrunes Dagon and Oblivion Gates, their postures changed entirely.
Lydia's hand instinctively dropped to the hilt of her new ebony sword, her eyes sweeping the room for threats, while Jenassa's crimson gaze narrowed, assessing the shadows of the room with cold, lethal precision. They understood exactly why a museum dedicated to such an infamous, world ending organization was inherently dangerous.
"Welcome! Please, come in out of the cold!"
A male Imperial stepped out from a back room, a warm, highly enthusiastic smile on his face. He was dressed in the very same crimson Mythic Dawn robes that adorned the mannequin, though he wore them with the casual comfort of a scholar rather than the aggressive tension of a zealot.
"I am Silus Vesuius," the Imperial introduced himself, spreading his hands in a welcoming gesture. He did not come across as obviously sinister. He simply looked like a man deeply, passionately invested in his niche profession. "I am the proprietor of this museum, and a direct descendant of the original members of the Mythic Dawn. I am thrilled to see people still taking an interest in this vital, albeit dark, piece of our history!"
Aerion stepped forward, the heavy Nordic Carved plates of his armor clanking softly. He extended a steel clad hand, offering a polite, aristocratic smile.
"I am Expert Mage Aerion, of the College of Winterhold, and Thane of Whiterun," Aerion introduced himself, shaking the Imperial's hand. He gestured to the group behind him. "These are my retainers, and my students. We heard whispers of your unique new museum while we were in Whiterun, and felt compelled to visit."
Silus's eyes widened in profound, genuine shock. He looked from the towering High Elf to Lydia's shield, the recognition instantly clicking in his mind.
"Thane Aerion? The companion of the Dragonborn?!" Silus gasped, his enthusiasm multiplying tenfold. He bowed his head respectfully. "It is an absolute honor! To have a scholar of your renown, and someone so deeply connected to the heroes of our age, take an interest in my family's collection... please, allow me to give you a proper tour!"
Silus eagerly led the group through the small museum, transitioning from a welcoming host into a passionate historian.
He moved from case to case, explaining the history behind the various artifacts. He showcased the Mythic Dawn commentaries written by Mankar Camoran, carefully detailing the philosophical recruitment tactics the cult had used to infiltrate Cyrodiil's nobility. He pointed out the ceremonial daggers, explaining the metallurgical differences between cult weaponry and standard Imperial steel.
The apprentices were fascinated, their initial fear warring with their deep seated academic curiosity.
"The structural binding on these texts is fascinating," J'zargo noted, peering closely at one of the commentaries. "J'zargo read that Camoran's writing contained hidden magical ciphers. Is that true?"
"Indeed it is!" Silus beamed, thrilled by the intelligent question. "The Dawn was highly secretive. Only those who could decipher the magical resonance of the text were permitted to find their hidden sanctuaries."
Lydia and Jenassa remained silent, hanging near the back of the group. Lydia glared at the crimson robes, her Nord sensibilities deeply offended by the casual display of Daedric history, while Jenassa simply watched the doors and windows.
Silus walked a very fine, careful line. He explained the catastrophic destruction caused by the Oblivion Crisis without ever portraying himself as openly worshipful of Mehrunes Dagon. His public presentation was flawless, he was merely a historian, preserving an important, dangerous part of history so that it would not be forgotten.
Aerion, however, watched the man with the cold, calculating precision of an apex predator.
He didn't listen to the words, he watched the body language. When Silus spoke of the cult's destruction by the Empire, there was a subtle, fleeting tightening of his jaw. When he touched the glass case containing the Mythic Dawn robes, his fingers lingered with an undeniable, quiet reverence. Silus was not just a historian. The fanaticism was buried deep, but it was there.
As the tour concluded near the front entrance, Silus turned to the group with a gracious smile.
"I hope you found the collection illuminating," Silus said. Then, he looked directly at the High Elf. "Expert Aerion... if you have a brief moment, might I speak with you privately? There is a matter of historical significance I would value your opinion on."
"Of course," Aerion agreed smoothly.
Silus led him away from the apprentices, moving to a quiet, shadowed corner of the museum near a massive tapestry of an Oblivion Gate. The Imperial lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper.
"You are a man who travels the world, Aerion. A man who gets things done," Silus began, his eyes darting nervously toward the front door. "I mentioned earlier that my collection is... incomplete. I am currently attempting to recover the remaining, shattered pieces of a truly legendary artifact. The centerpiece of my family's history."
Aerion knew instantly what Silus meant, but he kept his expression carefully blank.
"And what artifact is that?" Aerion asked.
"Mehrunes' Razor," Silus whispered reverently.
Aerion immediately dropped his polite smile, replacing it with a flawless, highly convincing mask of sheer incredulity. He took a deliberate half step backward, looking at the Imperial as if he had just sprouted a second head.
"Are you out of your mind?" Aerion asked, his voice low but sharp with feigned disbelief. "Mehrunes' Razor? The personal weapon of the Daedric Prince of Destruction? The very entity responsible for the Oblivion Crisis you just lectured us on? Rebuilding an artifact of that magnitude is nothing short of absolute insanity, Silus."
Silus held his hands up defensively, his face paling slightly. "Please, keep your voice down! You misunderstand my intentions, I swear it!"
The Imperial leaned in closer. "I do not wish to wield it! I only want to restore the artifact as the ultimate historical centerpiece for this museum. The completed weapon would be kept safely locked away on display, purely for academic and historical preservation. It will never shed blood."
Aerion almost laughed aloud at the sheer, blinding naivety of the explanation.
*A Daedric artifact of absolute lethality, kept in a wooden display case for tourists,* Aerion thought, highly amused.
He already knew exactly where this quest ultimately led. He knew that once the Razor was reconstructed at the Shrine of Mehrunes Dagon, the Daedric Prince would demand Silus's death as the final blood sacrifice to claim the blade. He also knew that collecting Daedric artifacts had immense cosmic consequences. A Daedric Prince, Meridia, was already actively watching him through the Dawnbreaker he now hold. Drawing the attention of the Prince of Destruction was a terrifying prospect for most mortals.
But Aerion was not a normal mortal. He was the bearer of the Eye of Magnus. He was less inclined to reject the opportunity to claim a weapon capable of instant death.
Still, he needed to establish control over the narrative.
"I will consider recovering the fragments," Aerion finally said, his tone uncompromising. "But under one absolute condition, Silus. If I agree to rebuild this weapon, I will personally decide whether the reconstructed artifact is safe enough to remain in this museum."
Silus blinked, hesitant.
"If I determine that the Razor is too volatile, or too dangerous to leave in mortal hands," Aerion pressed, his golden eyes locking onto the Imperial, "I will confiscate it. And you will have absolutely no right to demand I hand it over to you. Are we clear?"
Silus weighed the ultimatum. Having the fragments gathered by a powerful mage was better than never finding them at all. He nodded eagerly.
"Agreed," Silus smiled, relieved to have someone so capable on his side. "The history of the fragments is quite complex. After the Oblivion Crisis, several militant groups formed to wipe out the remaining Mythic Dawn cells. One of those groups discovered the Razor. But rather than destroy it, they divided the artifact into three separate pieces."
Silus pulled a folded piece of parchment from his robes.
"They entrusted each piece to a different custodian, swearing the pieces would never be reunited," Silus explained. "That was nearly one hundred and fifty years ago. But the descendants of those original custodians still possess the fragments today. And they are all currently located in Skyrim."
He handed the parchment to Aerion. "Jorgen in Morthal holds the hilt. Drascua, a Hagraven in Dead Crone Rock, guards the pommel. And Ghunzul, an Orc bandit chief in Cracked Tusk Keep, possesses the blade shards."
Aerion accepted the parchment, slipping it into his satchel. The geographical spread of the targets made it a substantial, long term side mission. Each fragment would require a completely different tactical approach.
"I will retrieve the fragments," Aerion agreed. "Once I have collected all three, I will return to Dawnstar so we can determine the final fate of the completed artifact."
"Thank you, Aerion. Truly," Silus breathed a sigh of relief.
"However," Aerion added, his voice hardening slightly. "This service will not be free. I expect substantial compensation for my time, my effort, and the extreme risk involved in hunting these specific targets."
"Of course, of course!" Silus agreed happily. "You will be paid handsomely, I promise you."
With the private contract secured, Aerion turned and rejoined the rest of his group near the entrance, leading them out of the museum and back into the freezing coastal air.
"What did the cultist want, my Thane?" Lydia asked immediately, her hand resting on her sword hilt as they walked away from the house.
"Silus has hired me to acquire several ancient artifacts for his collection," Aerion explained vaguely, deliberately keeping the full truth about Mehrunes' Razor private. The apprentices did not need to know they were hunting a Daedric weapon just yet. "We will discuss the tactical details later."
He stopped at the intersection leading back to the inn.
"Return to the Windpeak Inn and rest," Aerion instructed the group. "I intend to explore Dawnstar by myself for a short while to gather my bearings."
"May we accompany you, Expert Aerion?" Brelyna asked eagerly. "We would love to see the port."
"Not at this moment, Brelyna," Aerion refused gently but firmly. "I have some private business to handle. Go back to the inn with Lydia and Jenassa. Later this afternoon, however, I promise I will give the three of you your first practical magic lesson."
The disappointment instantly vanished from the apprentices' faces, replaced by bright, eager anticipation.
"Truly?" J'zargo grinned, his tail swishing. "J'zargo will be ready!"
All three apprentices agreed happily and followed Lydia and Jenassa back toward the warmth of the tavern.
Once he was alone in the snowy streets, Aerion began the second, crucial phase of his investigation.
He walked slowly through Dawnstar, allowing his Animal Affinity skill to radiate outward, carefully threading his consciousness into the local wildlife. Dawnstar felt noticeably different from Winterhold. It was significantly more populated, active, and deeply connected to maritime trade.
Because of the increased human activity, Aerion needed more time to weave a reliable, undetected network. He reached out to the mice scurrying beneath the wooden docks, the snow rabbits burrowing near the Quicksilver mine, the ravens perched on the high roofs of the Jarl's longhouse, and the seagulls fighting over scraps near the freezing coastal waters.
He took absolute advantage of the natural geography. The narrow waterways and the bustling coastline created an intricate web of movement for boats and goods, meaning there was significantly more information circulating through the freezing air.
He spent nearly an hour carefully expanding the network, ensuring the sheer volume of ambient noise didn't overwhelm his senses.
Once the web was firmly established, he issued his directives to the leaders of the webs.
"Observe the settlement. Report on local politics, the Jarl's decrees, the food supply in the warehouses, and the movement of the guards. Listen to the merchants, and track the rumors of the travelers."
With his intelligence apparatus deployed, Aerion looked up at the sky. It was a little after noon.
He turned and walked back to the Windpeak Inn.
When he stepped inside, he found Lydia, Jenassa, and the three apprentices sitting around a large table, already halfway through a hearty lunch of roasted salmon, baked potatoes, and warm bread.
Aerion walked over, pulling up a chair. He reached for his coin pouch to cover his portion, but Jenassa casually waved him off with a slice of bread.
"Keep your coin, Patron. I covered the meal," Jenassa said simply, taking a bite of her fish.
"I appreciate the gesture, Jenassa," Aerion offered, pausing with his hand on his pouch. "But allow me to repay you."
"Do not insult my coin purse Patron," Jenassa chuckled dryly, her crimson eyes glinting with pragmatic amusement. "You spend a fortune maintaining our armor, buying our horses, and funding these expeditions. One meal of roasted fish is hardly worth arguing over. Eat."
Aerion accepted the gesture gracefully and joined them for lunch.
After the meal, Aerion turned to his retainers.
"Lydia, Jenassa," Aerion instructed quietly. "Remain here in the inn for the afternoon. Listen to the conversations of the patrons. I want you to pay attention to anything you hear regarding Dawnstar's Jarl, the Stormcloaks, the state of the local trade, the productivity of the mines, or any strange activity in the surrounding Pale. Keep your ears sharp."
"Understood, my Thane," Lydia nodded, already subtly shifting her posture to better hear the miners at the next table.
Aerion stood up and looked at the three eager students.
"J'zargo, Onmund, Brelyna," Aerion commanded. "Grab your cloaks. It is time."
He led the three apprentices out of the inn and through the snowy streets, walking beyond the immediate limits of Dawnstar. They trudged through the knee deep snow until they found a quiet, open stretch of frozen tundra near the shoreline, safely away from the settlement and prying eyes.
The wind howled off the Sea of Ghosts, whipping their robes around their legs.
Aerion turned to face them, his expression shifting into that of a strict, uncompromising instructor.
"Listen to me carefully," Aerion began, his voice cutting clearly through the wind. "We are no longer inside the safe, stone walls of a classroom. There are no wooden training dummies here. There are no padded floors, no controlled lectures, and there will be no Master Instructor standing directly over your shoulder to immediately cast a ward if you make a mistake."
The apprentices swallowed hard, the reality of the freezing, open environment settling in.
"The purpose of this exercise is to understand your own Magicka," Aerion continued. "To learn how to construct, maintain, and control a spell under the physical stress of the real world. Before we begin... what school of magic do you wish to practice today?"
He offered them a choice. "I suggest either Destruction or Restoration. Destruction will teach you controlled offensive spellcasting, range estimation, precision, and how to manage your Magicka pool under adrenaline. Restoration will teach you how to heal, how to sustain yourselves and your allies, and how to maintain delicate spell control while physically exhausted."
Aerion crossed his arms, waiting. He did not choose for them; he wanted them to debate.
"J'zargo votes for Destruction," the Khajiit announced immediately, rubbing his paws together. "Healing is useful, yes, but dead enemies do not deal damage. J'zargo wishes to master the flame!"
"I disagree," Brelyna argued, wrapping her cloak tighter. "If we are out here in the wild, healing is vastly more practical. If one of us breaks an ankle on the ice, a fireball won't help us walk back to the inn. Restoration keeps us alive."
"Brelyna has a point," Onmund frowned, looking at the harsh environment. "But... Aerion said this is about managing magicka under pressure. Destruction is volatile. If we can learn to control offensive spells out here, where the wind and the cold are fighting our focus, Restoration will feel much easier later. I vote Destruction."
Brelyna sighed, outnumbered. "Very well. Destruction it is."
"An aggressive, but practical choice," Aerion nodded. "Spread out. Give yourselves ten paces of clearance. Target those jagged rocks near the shoreline."
As the three apprentices moved into position, raising their hands and taking deep breaths to summon their magicka, Aerion quietly engaged his greatest secret.
He didn't cast a spell. He simply opened his mind to the *Eye of Magnus* skill.
Instantly, his perception of the world shifted. The physical environment, the snow, the rocks, the gray sky, faded into the background. What Aerion saw now was the raw, vibrant, pulsing flow of magical energy.
He looked at the apprentices, and he could see their internal Magicka reserves glowing like localized stars within their chests. He could see the intricate, glowing pathways as the energy traveled from their cores, down their arms, and pooled in their palms.
Because of the Eye's cosmic, heightened perception, Aerion could see their magical inefficiencies with terrifying, absolute clarity. He saw exactly why they struggled in class.
"Onmund, hold," Aerion commanded just as the Nord prepared to cast a firebolt.
Aerion walked over to him. Through the Eye, he could see the magicka bottlenecking in Onmund's shoulder, constricting the flow.
"You are treating the spell like a drawn bowstring," Aerion corrected gently, tapping Onmund's tense right shoulder. "You are locking your muscles, expecting a physical recoil. Magic has no physical weight. By tensing your arm, you are subconsciously restricting the arcane pathways. Relax your shoulders. Let the magicka flow through the limb, not fight it."
Onmund blinked, took a breath, and consciously dropped his shoulders. He cast Firebolt. The flame erupted from his hand noticeably faster and brighter than usual, striking the rock with a satisfying crack.
"Better," Aerion praised. He turned to the Khajiit.
J'zargo was channeling a continuous stream of Sparks, pouring energy into the spell with wild abandon. Through the Eye, Aerion saw that J'zargo was literally bleeding magicka into the air, wasting nearly forty percent of his energy output because he lacked a structural containment field in his palm.
"J'zargo," Aerion called out over the crackle of electricity. "Stop channeling."
J'zargo dropped the spell, panting slightly, looking disappointed. "Was J'zargo not loud enough?"
"You are being too loud," Aerion explained, stepping beside him. "You are trying to control the spell by forcing as much magicka out as possible. That is wildly inefficient. You will drain your reserves in less than a minute in a real fight. You must feel the spell's internal structure before you release it. Do not push the lightning, guide it. Constrict the aperture of your palm. Focus the beam."
J'zargo frowned, concentrating deeply. He raised his hands again, this time curling his fingers slightly inward, forming a physical and mental funnel. When he cast Sparks again, the stream wasn't a wild, spraying arc, it was a tight, highly concentrated, violent beam of electricity that scored a deep, black burn mark across the ice.
"Yes!" J'zargo grinned, his ears perking up as he felt the difference in his own stamina.
Aerion finally turned to Brelyna. The dark elf was struggling to maintain a Flames spell. It kept sputtering and dying in the cold wind.
Through the Eye, Aerion saw the problem immediately. Her magicka flow was erratic, pulsing in harsh, uneven spikes because her breathing was entirely out of sync with her casting.
"Brelyna, look at me," Aerion instructed softly, standing in front of her. "You are holding your breath when the flame ignites. You are treating the spell as a singular exertion, like lifting a heavy stone. A sustained spell requires sustained oxygen. Your magicka is tied to your physical rhythm."
Brelyna exhaled heavily, looking embarrassed. "I... I get nervous that I'll lose focus if I don't concentrate everything on the fire."
"The fire is an extension of you, Brelyna. It breathes when you breathe," Aerion guided her calmly. "Inhale slowly. As you exhale, push the magicka out. Maintain a steady, even rhythm."
Brelyna nodded. She took a slow, deep breath of the freezing air. As she exhaled, she raised her hands. A beautiful, steady, roaring stream of Flames erupted from her palms, cutting perfectly through the harsh wind without sputtering once. She held it for a full ten seconds, her face lighting up with a massive, triumphant smile before she elegantly cut the flow, conserving her remaining energy perfectly.
"Flawless execution," Aerion praised her warmly.
For the next two hours, the lesson remained highly interactive. They cast, they failed, they adjusted, and they tried again. Aerion moved between them, using his omniscient perception to make minute, highly specific adjustments to their stances, their focus, and their power modulation based on the distance to their targets.
He praised their successes loudly and corrected their mistakes without a hint of condescension or humiliation. He was building their confidence piece by piece.
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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