If you want to read 20 Chapters ahead, be sure to check out my P-Tang12!!!
...
(A/N: Also everyone I have a new novel a Dragon Age Inquisition novel named "From Couch To The Inquisitor", be sure to check it out and give some power stone)
...
The combat on the second floor was a brutal, grueling slog. The veteran bandits fought fiercely, using the narrow stone corridors to limit Aerion's massive swings and attempting to drag Lydia and Eisa down by sheer numbers. But Aerion was an engine of pure violence. He cleaved left and right, his massive stamina reserves allowing him to swing the heavy ebony steel with the speed of a one handed sword. He severed limbs, shattered iron weapons, and crushed armor until the corridor was nothing but a bloody butcher's yard.
Finally, they reached a set of massive, heavy iron double doors at the end of the hall. The final chamber.
Aerion didn't knock. He raised his heavy steel boot and kicked the doors open with enough force to tear the iron hinges directly out of the stone frame.
The doors crashed to the floor, revealing the spacious, torch lit command chamber of Cracked Tusk Keep.
Standing in the center of the room, flanked by four massive, heavily armored elite guards, was Bandit Chief Ghunzul. He was a colossal Orc, his green skin crisscrossed with pale, jagged scars, wielding a massive, two handed steel battleaxe that dripped with old blood.
Ghunzul didn't flinch at the sight of the blood soaked intruders. He let out a deep, guttural laugh, resting the heavy battleaxe on his broad shoulder.
"So, you're the ones making all that noise," Ghunzul boomed, his voice echoing off the stone walls. He looked at the bodies visible in the hallway, his face twisting into an arrogant, utterly confident sneer. "You survived my rabble downstairs. Congratulations. But you're too late to run now."
Ghunzul spat on the floor, gesturing to the four elite killers standing beside him.
"You're facing the real muscle now, fools," Ghunzul mocked, eyeing the immaculate, terrifying armor Aerion wore. "I saw the magic outside. But you didn't use it in the halls. Too afraid of burning yourself in the tight spaces? Now you have to fight us blade to blade. That fancy and heavy armor of yours isn't going to protect you from a true Orcish swing. But it will make for a very fine spoil once I pry it off your corpse."
Aerion stared at the Orc, his golden eyes cold and completely unamused behind the mask. He didn't offer a monologue. He didn't waste a single breath on banter. He merely shook his head slowly, recognizing a dead man.
Aerion tightened his grip on the Ebony Greatsword and charged.
"KILL THEM!" Ghunzul roared, swinging his battleaxe down.
The command chamber erupted into absolute, chaotic violence. Lydia, Jenassa, and Eisa flooded into the room behind Aerion, instantly engaging the four elite guards. The clash of steel was deafening in the enclosed space. Lydia caught a heavy mace on her shield, grunting under the impact, while Jenassa slipped under a greatsword swing to drag her daggers across an exposed flank.
But the center of the room belonged to Aerion and Ghunzul.
Two of the elite guards attempted to flank Aerion to support their chief, but they grossly underestimated his speed. As one guard lunged with a sword, Aerion sidestepped with fluid grace, bringing the pommel of his greatsword up in a vicious uppercut that crushed the man's windpipe. He spun on his heel, using the momentum to drive the heavy ebony blade entirely through the chest of the second guard, kicking the body off his steel to free the weapon.
"You're mine, bastard!" Ghunzul screamed, charging forward with a massive, horizontal sweep of his battleaxe.
Aerion met the Orc's brute strength with flawless technique. He parried the heavy steel axe with the flat of his blade, the sheer kinetic force of the impact sending sparks flying across the dark room. Ghunzul roared, raining down a flurry of massive, heavy strikes, utilizing his immense physical power to try and batter the High Elf into the stone.
But Aerion's upgraded stamina and health pools made him an immovable object. He weathered the storm of blows, his enchanted armor absorbing the glancing hits, his arms never tiring.
Ghunzul overextended on a massive, two handed overhead chop, pouring every ounce of his fury into the strike.
Aerion sidestepped perfectly. The Orc's battleaxe slammed into the stone floor, burying itself deep into the rock, leaving Ghunzul entirely exposed for a fraction of a second.
Aerion didn't hesitate. He swung the Ebony Greatsword upward in a brutal, two handed thrust. The heavy, razor sharp ebony blade drove directly under the Orc's heavy steel jaw, piercing upward through the bone and exiting out the top of Ghunzul's skull.
The Bandit Chief went completely, instantly rigid, his eyes rolling back into his head.
Aerion ripped the blade free with a violent jerk, and Ghunzul's massive body crashed heavily to the stone floor, dead.
Seeing their invincible chief executed in single combat broke whatever morale the remaining elite guards possessed. They hesitated, their guard dropping. Lydia capitalized instantly, driving her sword through the chest of the mace wielder, while Eisa cleanly decapitated the final guard with the Pale Blade.
The command chamber fell silent, the air heavy with the metallic scent of fresh blood.
"Clear," Lydia breathed heavily, lowering her shield.
Aerion calmly wiped the blood from his Ebony Greatsword using the tunic of a fallen guard, sheathing the heavy weapon across his back. He stepped over Ghunzul's massive corpse, kneeling down to ruthlessly search the Orc's blood soaked pockets.
His gauntlet closed around a heavy, intricately carved iron key.
"I have the vault key," Aerion announced, standing up. He turned to his retainers. "Go outside. Call the mages in from the wall. I want this entire keep stripped of anything valuable, top to bottom. While you secure the loot, I am going to retrieve the material I came for."
"Yes, Patron," Jenassa nodded, turning and jogging out of the command chamber, followed by Lydia and Eisa.
Left alone in the quiet, bloody room, Aerion walked to the far wall where a heavy, reinforced iron door sat flush against the stone. He slid Ghunzul's key into the lock. The heavy tumblers clicked perfectly, and the door swung open, revealing the keep's hidden vault.
The vault was a small, windowless stone room, dimly lit by a single brazier. In the center of the room, resting upon a stone pedestal lined with red velvet, sat the final prize.
It was a pair of long, wicked, incredibly sharp ebony blades, etched with glowing, dark Daedric runes. They pulsed with a terrifying, malicious energy.
The blades of Mehrunes' Razor.
Aerion stepped up to the pedestal, reaching out and grasping the cold metal. He felt the instant, dark thrum of the Daedric Prince's power against his gauntlet. He did not linger to admire it. He instantly sent it to his dimensional inventory.
[Item Added to Inventory: Mehrunes' Razor Blades]
[Current Weight Increased: +0.03 KG]
He had all three pieces. The hilt, the pommel, and the blades. The ultimate weapon of assassination was ready to be reforged.
With his primary objective secured, Aerion turned his attention to the rest of the vault. Resting on the floor were several heavy, iron bound chests. He kicked the lids open.
Inside the largest chest was a massive, staggering pile of loose gold coins, stolen from caravans passing through Falkreath over the course of years.
Aerion swept his hand over the gold, channeling it directly into his inventory.
[Item Added to Inventory: 3,000 Septims]
In the smaller chest, resting on a bed of silk, were two beautifully crafted pieces of jewelry. One was an iron circlet adorned with a flawless, glittering ruby, the other was identical but set with a deep green emerald.
[Item Added to Inventory: Iron Circlet of Ruby]
[Item Added to Inventory: Iron Circlet of Emerald]
[Current Weight Increased: +0.25 KG]
Satisfied that the vault was utterly empty, Aerion turned and walked back out into the command chamber.
By the time he returned to the main hall, his entire group, including the four exhausted mages, had gathered. The apprentices were looking around at the absolute carnage Aerion and his retainers had unleashed, their eyes wide with a mixture of horror and profound respect.
"The perimeter is entirely secure, Master," Onmund reported, leaning on his staff. "No patrols returned while we were outside. And the interior has been swept for valuables."
"Good," Aerion said, stepping into the center of the group. He looked at the blood slicked stone and the piles of dead bandits scattered across the keep.
"We are resting here tonight," Aerion commanded, his tone practical and completely devoid of sentimentality. "But we are not sleeping in a slaughterhouse. We must clean up this mess. If we leave these bodies to rot inside the stone, the smell will be unbearable by morning, and we risk disease. Strip the bodies of any remaining valuables, and drag the corpses out into the exterior courtyard."
Despite their immense exhaustion, the group understood the absolute necessity of the gruesome task. They couldn't sleep in a room filled with rotting meat.
For the next hour, the team engaged in the grim, silent labor of war cleanup. They grabbed the dead bandits by the boots and the collars, dragging the heavy bodies down the stone stairs and out into the freezing night air of the courtyard. They piled the corpses into a massive, tangled mound in the center of the cracked cobblestones, tossing the splintered wooden shields and broken furniture onto the pile to serve as kindling.
Aerion worked alongside them, his massive physical strength allowing him to carry three bodies at a time, significantly speeding up the grueling process.
Once the interior of the keep was entirely cleared of the dead, Aerion stood before the massive pyre in the courtyard.
"Stand back," Aerion instructed.
He raised his hand, channeling a focused, intense stream of Flames directly into the dry wood and oil soaked tunics at the base of the pile.
The pyre ignited instantly. The fire roared upward, consuming the bodies in a towering, blazing inferno that cast long, dancing shadows against the ruined walls of the keep. A massive, thick plume of black smoke billowed into the night sky, and the horrifying, sickening stench of burning hair and roasting flesh flooded the courtyard.
They stood in silence for a long time, watching the flames consume the evidence of their violence, the heat warming their exhausted bodies against the mountain chill.
When the fires finally began to die down, leaving nothing but a glowing, smoldering mound of blackened bones and ash, the foul stench remained heavy in the air.
Aerion stepped forward. He raised both hands, shifting his magical focus entirely. He drew upon the freezing depths of his Destruction magic and unleashed a massive, sweeping wave of Frostbite.
The absolute zero cold washed over the smoldering pyre. The glowing embers instantly hissed and died, flashing into solid, frozen ash. The rapid, extreme drop in temperature killed the smoke and completely neutralized the sickening smell of burnt flesh, locking the remains in a tomb of pristine white frost.
"It is done," Aerion announced, the cold air finally smelling of clean pine once more. "Let us go inside and rest."
They returned to the cleared, significantly cleaner interior of the keep. The group found the bandit's sleeping quarters, rolled out their thick fur blankets, and fell into a deep, exhausted sleep, entirely secure behind the heavy iron doors.
The next morning broke clear and freezing over the Falkreath pine forest.
The group emerged from the keep shortly after dawn, their muscles stiff but their magicka and stamina fully restored. They retrieved their rested warhorses from the tree line, mounting up in the quiet morning light.
"We ride for home," Aerion commanded, pulling the map from his interface one final time to verify the fastest route.
They left Cracked Tusk Keep behind, riding hard to the northeast. They followed the winding dirt roads through the dense forests, passing the quiet town of Falkreath from a distance, and eventually breaking out of the tree line onto the open, golden plains of Whiterun Hold.
The ride was entirely uneventful, a peaceful transition back to their own territory.
They arrived at the sprawling, fortified expanse of Tundra Homestead exactly at noon. The sun was high, shining brightly over the armored mammoths grazing peacefully in their pens and the mercenaries drilling in the courtyard.
As Aerion and his retinue rode through the heavy wooden gates, Sinmir immediately jogged over from the training yard, a wide, relieved grin on his face.
"Welcome back, Boss!" Sinmir called out, catching Revan's reins as Aerion dismounted. "Good hunting in your trip?"
"It's very good," Aerion replied smoothly, tossing a heavy pouch of scavenged septims to the mercenary captain to add to the company's coffers. "Was the estate secure in my absence?"
"Quiet as a grave," Sinmir reported, handing the horses off to a stable hand. "The patrols walked the perimeter, but no Stormcloak stragglers came near the walls. However, we did have a visitor from the Imperial camp."
Aerion paused, turning his full attention to Sinmir. "A visitor? Who?"
"An Imperial officer. Said his name was Praefect Valerius," Sinmir explained, standing at attention. "He rode out here yesterday evening. He told me to inform you that the reinforcements from Solitude have arrived. Your entire unit has been fully reinforced to one thousand men, and the new command structure is entirely in place and awaiting your orders."
Aerion's golden eyes gleamed behind his mask. The pieces were finally set. The army was ready.
"Thank you, Sinmir," Aerion nodded, his mind immediately snapping back to the macro strategy of the civil war.
He turned to his retainers and the four apprentices, who were unsaddling their horses and stretching their sore backs.
"You have all performed flawlessly over the past three days," Aerion addressed his group, his voice echoing with genuine pride and commanding authority. "You are blooded, you are hardened, and you are vastly stronger than when we left. Take your gear inside. Rest, eat, and tend to your wounds. Your duty for the day is done."
"Where are you going, Patron?" Jenassa asked, noting that Aerion had not removed his heavy cloak or his mask.
Aerion turned back to Revan, swinging smoothly back into the heavy leather saddle. He looked out over the golden plains toward the towering stone walls of Whiterun, where the massive Imperial war machine waited for his command.
"I have the artifact I require, Jenassa," Aerion stated, his voice ringing with absolute, terrifying conviction. "Now, I have an army to command. I am heading to the Imperial camp."
He spurred the massive black stallion forward, riding out of the gates alone, heading directly toward the gathering storm of the northern war.
The rhythmic thud of hooves on packed dirt signaled Aerion's arrival at the sprawling Imperial encampment outside Whiterun's walls. The afternoon sun cast long, golden shadows across the sea of crimson tents, illuminating a military machine that had completely recovered from the brutal siege and was now coiled tight, ready to strike.
Aerion pulled Revan to a halt near the primary stables just outside the main gates. He swung down from the heavy leather saddle, handing the reins to an awaiting stable hand with a brief nod of acknowledgment.
As Aerion turned and walked through the organized rows of the camp, the atmosphere shifted instantly. The legionnaires who had fought and bled on the barricades under his command snapped to attention the moment they saw his towering, armored figure. Fists slammed against steel breastplates in crisp, unbroken waves of salutes as he passed. Aerion did not ignore them, he offered sharp, respectful nods in return, acknowledging the men who formed the backbone of his new regiment.
He approached the massive, fortified command pavilion erected near the center of the camp. Flanking the entrance were two heavy infantrymen who saluted and pulled the heavy canvas flaps aside.
Aerion stepped into the warm, illuminated interior of the tent.
The air inside was thick with military focus. Standing around the large central map table were the familiar faces of his original command structure: newly promoted Praefect Valerius, and Tribunes Hrogar and Livia. However, standing opposite them were four unfamiliar officers, their Imperial armor polished and immaculate, clearly fresh from the reserves in Solitude.
The moment Aerion's heavy boots crossed the threshold, all conversation ceased.
Valerius, Hrogar, and Livia immediately snapped into flawless salutes. The four newcomers, their eyes widening slightly as they took in the sheer imposing physical presence of the High Elf Captain and the terrifying bronze mask hanging at his belt, hurriedly mirrored the gesture.
Aerion smiled faintly, unhooking his heavy dark cloak and draping it over a nearby chair.
"At ease," Aerion commanded, his resonant voice instantly setting a tone of calm authority. He walked toward the head of the map table, returning their salutes. He looked to his second in command. "I assume you received my dispatch from the estate, Valerius?"
"We did, Captain," Valerius confirmed, his posture rigid with pride. "The regiment is fully assembled and awaiting your inspection."
"Excellent," Aerion replied smoothly. He turned his golden eyes toward the four new officers, who were watching him with a mixture of intense curiosity and ingrained military discipline. "Praefect Valerius, introduce the new Praefect and Tribunes."
Valerius stepped forward, gesturing to the veteran Imperial officer standing at the front of the newcomers.
"Captain, this is Praefect Quintus, newly transferred from his position in Castle Dour," Valerius introduced. "And these are Tribunes Arcturus, Joric, and Sabina. They rode in last night with the five hundred reinforcements to bring our unit to its ordered capacity."
Praefect Quintus stepped forward. He was an older Imperial, his face weathered by years of service, bearing a jagged scar across his jawline. He slammed his fist to his chest in a deeply respectful salute.
"It is an absolute honor to serve under your banner, Captain Aerion," Quintus declared, his voice carrying the gravel of a seasoned veteran. "The rumors of your exploits during the defense of this city reached Solitude before we even received our marching orders. To fight beneath a commander capable of breaking a siege single handedly... we are eager to see you on the battlefield firsthand."
The three new Tribunes murmured their fierce agreement, their eyes bright with the prospect of fighting alongside a living legend.
Aerion let out a low, smooth chuckle, resting his gauntleted hands on the edge of the map table.
"You will have a front row seat to the spectacle very soon, Praefect Quintus," Aerion assured them, his tone radiating a dark, unshakeable confidence. "When we march on Fort Kastav, there will be no shortage of violence."
Aerion paused, his gaze softening just a fraction, projecting an aura of grounded, approachable leadership.
"I look forward to working with all of you," Aerion continued. "I am well aware of the political realities of this province. I am a High Elf commanding Nordic and Imperial blood. I understand that there may be a natural, ingrained cautiousness among some of the new men. I only ask that you do not let those preconceptions blind you to the reality of what this unit is. We are an instrument of absolute victory. Follow my orders, hold the line, and I will ensure you return home with glory and your lives intact."
Quintus nodded deeply. "We are legionnaires, Captain. We follow the rank and the merit. You have proven both."
"Then let us begin," Aerion declared, his demeanor shifting instantly from welcoming commander to ruthless tactician. He looked down at the topographical map of the northern holds spread across the table.
"We are preparing for a synchronized, dual siege campaign," Aerion stated, locking eyes with Valerius. "The main Imperial host under Legate Rikke will march on Fort Dunstad in the Pale. Our regiment is tasked with breaking Fort Kastav in the eastern mountains of Winterhold. I require a full, comprehensive report on the status of this regiment. Do not simply tell me we are reinforced. I want logistics, supply lines, and readiness."
Praefect Valerius stepped up to the table, pulling a detailed parchment ledger from his belt.
"The regiment is fit, rested, and operating at maximum readiness, Captain," Valerius began, his voice crisp and professional. "The five hundred men that arrived from Solitude are fully integrated into our cohort structure. More importantly, the supply train they escorted brought absolute necessities for a mountain campaign."
Valerius ran his finger down the ledger. "We have secured enough heavily insulated winter cloaks, fur lined boots, and climbing pitons to outfit the entire thousand man unit. We are fully stocked with high grade lamp oil, medical supplies, and salt cured rations that will not freeze at high altitudes. The Whiterun quartermasters have also supplied us with ten thousand fresh, steel tipped arrows and replacement bowstrings."
Aerion nodded approvingly, absorbing the data. He turned his gaze to the five Tribunes standing around the table, Hrogar, Livia, Arcturus, Joric, and Sabina.
"I want individual group reports," Aerion commanded. "Report Tribunes."
Hrogar stepped forward first. "First griup, two hundred light armored legionnaires. Armor has been fully repaired from the siege, Captain. Blades are sharpened. Morale is exceptionally high."
Livia followed immediately. "Second group, two hundred medium armored legionnaires. Shields have been re banded with fresh iron. The men are rested and eager to march."
Tribune Arcturus, a broad shouldered Nord, spoke next. "Third group, two hundred archers and skirmishers, Captain. Bows are strung. We have distributed the specialized winter gear. The men are acclimating well to the new command structure."
Tribune Joric stepped up. "Fourth group, two hundred heavy armored legionnaires. Rations are secured, and the men have spent the morning running formation drills to ensure seamless integration with the veterans."
Finally, Tribune Sabina reported. "Fifth group, two hundred reserve and flanking infantry. Medical supplies are distributed among the squad leaders. We are packed and ready to break camp on your order."
Aerion listened to each report with clinical focus, his mind assembling the raw data into a cohesive picture of a highly lethal, fully prepared fighting force. When Sabina finished, Aerion nodded his head, a fierce satisfaction gleaming in his golden eyes.
"Impeccable work, all of you," Aerion praised them, the weight of his approval hanging heavily in the tent. "You have organized a thousand men into a flawless weapon in a matter of days."
He turned back to Praefect Valerius. "Has there been any specific, updated operational directive from Legate Rikke or General Tullius regarding the timing of the double siege?"
Valerius nodded, pulling a second, smaller sealed parchment from his belt.
"Yes, Captain. A courier delivered this directly from Dragonsreach an hour ago," Valerius reported. "The General's orders are clear. Our regiment is to execute a forced march and arrive at Fort Kastav first. We are ordered to initiate a massive, highly visible siege upon the fortress. We are to cause a huge disturbance as planned, drawing the attention of the Stormcloak command in Eastmarch and Winterhold, anchoring their attention to our position."
_____________________________
[Main Panel]
Name: Aerion
Race: High Elf (Altmer)
Health: 1030/1030
Stamina: 1070/1070
Magicka: 980/980 [External Capacity & Regeneration: ∞]
Level: 267
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(+7)/Lightning(+5)/Frost(+4)) (Level 0/0/0), Restoration (Healing(+4)/Purify(+2)) (Level 0/98), Alteration (Level 43), Illusion (Level 62), Conjuration (Necromancy/Summoning(+3)) (Level 37/0), Persuasion(+3) (Level 92), Smithing(+1) (Level 79), Sneak(+1) (Level 64), One Handed(+2) (Level 0), Two Handed(+1) (Level 29), Lockpicking (Level 55), Archery(+1) (Level 0), Enchanting(+1) (Level 23), Light Armor(+2) (Level 42), Block (Level 70), Pickpocket (Level 8), & Heavy Armor(+2) (Level 0)
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), & 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