If you want to read 20 Chapters ahead, be sure to check out my P-Tang12!!!
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(A/N: Don't forget to give those power stones to Skyrim everyone!)
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But more concerning were the Winterhold Hold guards. Clad in their heavy, pale blue gambesons and chainmail, a patrol of four guards stopped dead in their tracks, their hands resting aggressively on the pommels of their swords. They glared at Aerion with a level of intense, unadulterated suspicion that bordered on outright hostility, their eyes silently demanding to know why a wealthy Altmer had braved the frozen wastes to enter their ruined city.
This was the Pale's bitter, resentful neighbor, a city that had watched its history, its wealth, and its people physically crumble into the freezing Sea of Ghosts, leaving behind nothing but a deep, festering hatred for the magical institution that survived the disaster unscathed.
Before Aerion could even finish securing Revan's reins to the freezing, ice caked hitching post, the heavy crunch of armored boots echoing against the permafrost announced the arrival of the local law.
A patrol of four Winterhold guards surrounded them. They were clad in the pale blue gambesons and heavy chainmail of their hold, their faces completely obscured by the signature iron helmets that protected them from the biting wind. However, the sheer, unadulterated hostility radiating from their posture required no facial expressions to convey.
The lead guard, a hulking man wielding a heavy iron battleaxe, stepped aggressively into Aerion's personal space. He didn't offer a standard, polite greeting.
"Who are you, and what business do you have in Winterhold?" the guard demanded, his voice a harsh, gravelly bark that carried easily over the howling wind. His eyes, visible through the slits of his helmet, raked over Aerion's fine robes and striking golden skin with undisguised revulsion. "We don't get many of your kind dragging their boots through our snow. State your purpose, knife ear, before we decide you're a Thalmor spy and throw you in the freezing dark of the Chill."
The other three guards tightened their grips on their weapons, shifting their stances to box Jenassa in as well, though the brunt of their racist ire was entirely focused on the Altmer.
Aerion did not flinch. He did not reach for his enchanted sword, nor did he allow the slightest hint of annoyance to cross his aristocratic features. He simply stood tall, brushing a stray snowflake from the sleeve of his dark robes, and allowed his immensely powerful, magically enhanced charisma to wash over the hostile patrol.
"Good afternoon, officers," Aerion began, his melodic voice completely calm, soothing, and entirely devoid of the arrogance they so clearly expected from a High Elf.
He engaged his Persuasion skill, weaving an invisible, psychological safety net over the aggressive Nords. "My name is Aerion, and this is my traveling companion, Jenassa. We are not spies, nor do we harbor any affiliation whatsoever with the Aldmeri Dominion or the Thalmor. We are merely weary travelers who have come to your resilient city to visit the College of Winterhold."
Hearing the word 'College,' the lead guard let out a loud, derisive scoff, spitting a wad of phlegm into the snow at Aerion's feet.
"The College," the guard sneered, turning his head to share a dark, mocking look with his comrades. "Bah. I should have known from those fancy, impractical robes that you were a damn mage. Birds of a feather flock together, don't they? Come to play with the same cursed disaster that tore our city apart."
The guard turned back, jabbing a thick, leather clad finger directly at Aerion's chest. "Listen to me very carefully, Elf. You might think you're untouchable up there in that floating fortress, but down here on the streets, you abide by our laws. No magic. None. Not in the streets, not in the alleys, and absolutely not inside any of the buildings. You so much as conjure a spark to light a candle outside the College walls, and we will clap you in cold iron and throw you in the dungeon. Do we understand each other?"
Aerion maintained his warm, diplomatic smile, nodding his head in complete, agreeable understanding. The sheer, overwhelming pressure of his persuasive aura successfully dismantled the guard's desire to escalate the situation into physical violence.
"I understand your concerns perfectly, officer," Aerion replied smoothly, his tone respectful and compliant. "You have my word. My friend and I will not cause any trouble within the city limits. We will strictly refrain from utilizing any form of magic... provided, of course, that we are not violently threatened or forced to defend our own lives against unprovoked aggression."
The subtle, iron clad condition woven into his polite agreement gave the lead guard pause. The Nord looked at the towering High Elf, realizing that beneath the polite smile and the diplomatic words lay a terrifying, quiet lethality.
The guard let out a heavy, frustrated snort, realizing he couldn't legally arrest them for simply standing in the street. "Just keep your hands empty, mage. We'll be watching you."
With a final, warning glare, the patrol turned and marched heavily down the snow packed street, their blue cloaks whipping wildly in the blizzard.
As they departed, a familiar, cascading series of golden text flooded Aerion's mental interface. Defusing a highly volatile, racially charged confrontation with pure diplomacy had yielded massive experience.
[Persuasion Leveled Up to 83!]
[Persuasion Leveled Up to 84!]
[Persuasion Leveled Up to 85!]
[LEVEL UP! You are now Level 66!]
Aerion mentally allocated the single attribute point he had just earned directly into his physical constitution, fortifying his Altmer vessel against the brutal, freezing climate of the northern hold.
[Health increased by 10! Current Health: 330/330]
Jenassa let out a slow, frosty breath, relaxing her grip on her sword hilt. She looked up at her employer with a mixture of profound respect and genuine disbelief.
"You handled that incredibly well, Patron," Jenassa murmured, her gravelly voice cutting through the wind. "The Nords living under the Stormcloak banners are notoriously racist, especially here in the Pale and Winterhold. If that guard had spoken to me in that tone, I would have separated his head from his shoulders. It is highly fortunate that you possess such an iron grip on your temper."
Aerion offered a small, dismissive smile, turning toward the heavy wooden doors of the inn. "I do not care about the ignorant barking of fearful men, Jenassa. I have faced entities and circumstances vastly more terrifying than a few shivering guards with a political grievance. Come. Let us get out of this wind."
They climbed the short, icy stone steps of the Frozen Hearth and pushed through the heavy wooden doors, stepping into the dim, smoky interior.
The inn was vastly different from the Bannered Mare or even the Nightgate. It was quiet, but it wasn't the peaceful quiet of a resting tavern, it was a heavy, suffocating silence born of generational depression.
The patrons inside, almost exclusively Nords bundled in thick, patched fursz were huddled around the central fire pit, clutching tankards of cheap ale and staring blankly into the flames. They were drowning their sorrows, trying to forget the crushing reality of their ruined city and the loved ones the sea had swallowed.
The moment Aerion and Jenassa stepped inside, the oppressive atmosphere instantly turned hostile.
Heads swiveled. The quiet murmurs died out. Glaring, bloodshot eyes locked onto the towering High Elf and his Dark Elf companion. The racism here wasn't vocalized like it had been on the streets, it was a silent, suffocating wave of pure resentment. Whispers hissed through the smoky air like angry vipers, the patrons openly staring with unabashed hatred.
Aerion ignored the toxic atmosphere, striding confidently across the wooden floorboards toward the main counter. Lupin trotted closely at his heels, the cinnamon fox sensing the hostility in the room and keeping his bushy tail tucked low.
Standing behind the bar, polishing a ceramic mug with a surprisingly clean rag, was Dagur. The owner of the Frozen Hearth was a stout Nord with a kind face, a stark contrast to the bitter patrons filling his establishment.
As Aerion approached, Dagur looked up, his eyes widening slightly in genuine surprise. However, unlike the guards or the patrons, his expression lacked any malice.
"Well now, welcome to the Frozen Hearth," Dagur greeted them warmly, setting the mug down. "It is certainly a surprise to see another Altmer walking through those doors. We don't get many of your kind up this far north. Other than Nelacar, of course, you are the only High Elf I have seen in months."
Aerion's golden eyes flashed with instant recognition. Nelacar. His meta knowledge immediately supplied the lore. Nelacar was a former member of the College, a brilliant but disgraced mage who had been expelled for his highly dangerous, unethical experiments regarding soul gems.
More importantly, Nelacar was the absolute linchpin for acquiring the Black Star, the corrupted, infinitely reusable Daedric artifact belonging to Azura. It was one of the most powerful enchanting tools in the entire world.
Aerion kept his sudden surge of excitement perfectly concealed behind a polite smile.
"Is that so?" Aerion replied smoothly, his voice carrying a note of polite curiosity. "A fellow Altmer residing in this very inn? I would very much like to meet this Nelacar in the future, if the opportunity presents itself. But for now, my immediate concern is lodging. I would like to rent a room, if you have any available, for the next five days."
As he spoke, Aerion casually reached into the leather satchel resting on his hip. He bypassed the physical interior, accessing his dimensional void, and withdrew exactly fifty septims in a neat, heavy stack. He placed the gold onto the counter with a soft clink.
Dagur's eyes widened at the upfront payment. He quickly swept the coins off the counter, counting them with practiced speed before pocketing the gold.
"Aye, I have rooms available. Not many travelers brave the roads these days," Dagur nodded, reaching under the counter to retrieve a heavy iron key. He paused, looking between the towering High Elf and the heavily armed Dark Elf. "You paid fifty septims. That covers one room for five nights. Did you only want the one room, or did you need two? I can accommodate both of you."
Aerion shook his head, offering a warm smile. "Only the one room is necessary. I have rented it exclusively for my friend here." He gestured gracefully to Jenassa. "After we conclude our business here, I will be crossing the bridge to the College of Winterhold to formally apply and join their ranks. As such, I fully expect to be provided with a bed and lodging within the College quarters."
Dagur stopped moving, the heavy iron key dangling from his fingers. The friendly, welcoming demeanor he had displayed suddenly vanished, replaced by a look of profound, deeply concerned warning.
"You intend to join the College?" Dagur asked, his voice dropping to a low, serious murmur. He glanced nervously at the glaring Nords huddled around the fire pit. "I wish you the absolute best of luck, traveler. But you must understand the risk you are taking. You are a High Elf, you are a mage, and you are actively seeking to become a formal member of the very institution this city blames for its destruction."
Dagur leaned slightly closer over the wooden counter. "You need to know what kind of treatment you are going to receive out there in the hold. The moment the people realize you belong to the College, they will treat you like a plague bearer. They won't just glare, they will spit at your feet, refuse to sell you goods, and actively root for your demise."
Aerion maintained his polite, unshakeable smile. He appreciated the innkeeper's genuine concern, but the opinions of a ruined, bitter populace meant absolutely nothing to a man who commanded the power of a walking natural disaster.
"I appreciate your warning, Dagur," Aerion replied calmly. "But the resentment of the masses is not a problem that concerns me. Their anger cannot touch the sky."
Aerion then turned to Jenassa, his tone shifting into a low, commanding register.
"You will remain here at the Frozen Hearth, Jenassa," Aerion instructed. "You will maintain this room as a secure fallback position while I handle my business within the College."
Jenassa frowned, her combat instincts immediately rebelling against the order. "Patron, my contract is to protect you. If you cross that bridge, you are walking into an isolated fortress filled with volatile magic and unpredictable scholars. I should be at your side."
"You are a master of stealth and steel, Jenassa, but you possess no magical aptitude," Aerion countered gently but firmly. "You cannot pass the entrance examinations required to set foot on the grounds. If you attempt to follow me, you will be turned away at the gates. Furthermore, despite Dagur's grim warnings about the town, I assure you that I will be vastly safer surrounded by fellow mages and massive stone walls than I am standing in this tavern."
Jenassa let out a heavy, deeply frustrated sigh. She knew he was right. She couldn't bluff her way into a magical academy, and arguing with him in front of a hostile crowd was bad tactical form.
"Very well," Jenassa conceded, giving a reluctant nod of her head. "Since you have already made your decision, how can I argue? I will hold the perimeter here. But if you do not return within the five days, I will come looking for you."
Aerion chuckled softly, reaching out to pat her solid, leather clad shoulder affectionately. "A comforting thought. I shall see you soon."
He turned and looked down at the floor. "Come, Lupin."
The cinnamon fox instantly abandoned his spot near the hearth, trotting happily to Aerion's side. With a final nod to Dagur, Aerion turned and strode out of the tavern, while Jenassa stepped up to the counter to claim her iron key.
Pushing through the heavy doors, Aerion and Lupin were instantly swallowed once again by the freezing, howling blizzard of Winterhold.
Aerion pulled his dark robes tighter around his core, though the magical fortification of his Health pool easily warded off the worst of the frostbite. They turned right, walking down the center of the snow packed main road.
They passed the ruined, crumbling foundations of houses that had literally fallen off the edge of the world, following the path until it abruptly terminated at the precipice of the Great Collapse.
Standing at the very foot of the bridge, Aerion finally had a clear, unobstructed view of the College of Winterhold.
It was utterly magnificent.
Up close, the sheer, monumental scale of the architecture was staggering. The College wasn't just a building, it was a massive, sprawling fortress of dark, enchanted stone, towering hundreds of feet into the raging blizzard.
The central courtyard was flanked by towering spires that pierced the gray clouds, their sweeping, curved roofs designed to deflect the brutal northern winds.
The entire structure sat precariously atop a single, impossibly thin pillar of jagged rock, completely surrounded by the churning, freezing black waters of the Sea of Ghosts. It was a monument to magical supremacy, a structure that violently defied the laws of physics and erosion through sheer, concentrated arcane power.
Aerion began the long walk up the steep, curving stone ramp that led to the bridge entrance. The wind here was terrifyingly strong, threatening to push him toward the deadly drop off, but he grounded his stance, his enhanced Stamina allowing him to easily push through the gale.
As he reached the apex of the ramp, stepping onto a wide, circular stone platform embedded with a massive, glowing metal sigil, his path was abruptly blocked.
Standing in the center of the path, wearing the ornate, hooded robes of a master wizard, was the Gatekeeper.
It was Faralda.
The High Elf woman had her hands tucked into her sleeves to ward off the cold. When she saw a figure approaching through the blizzard, she straightened her posture, preparing to deliver the standard, haughty rejection to whatever foolish Nord mercenary had wandered too close to the bridge.
However, as Aerion stepped fully into the light, brushing the snow from his golden skin, Faralda's stern, defensive expression completely shifted. A look of genuine surprise, followed rapidly by a warm, welcoming sense of kinship, washed over her sharp features. Finding a fellow Altmer in this frozen, hostile wasteland was a rare and beautiful occurrence.
"Well now, this is an unexpected pleasure," Faralda greeted him, her voice entirely dropping the condescending tone she usually reserved for the locals. She offered a graceful, highly polite bow of her head. "Welcome to the College of Winterhold. I am Faralda, a senior wizard of this institution and a master of the Destruction school. Tell me, brother, what can I help you with today? Have you come seeking refuge from the cold, or do you require the services of our enchanters?"
Aerion returned the formal bow with impeccable Altmer etiquette, his aristocratic grace perfectly matching hers.
"It is a true pleasure to meet you, Faralda," Aerion smiled, his melodic voice cutting smoothly through the howling wind. "My name is Aerion, and this is my familiar, Lupin." He gestured down to the shivering fox at his feet. "I am not here seeking temporary refuge, nor do I simply wish to purchase services. I have traveled a very long way because I wish to formally apply and join the ranks of the College."
Faralda raised an elegant eyebrow, though she didn't look entirely surprised. A High Elf wandering the frozen north in fine robes was almost certainly a magic practitioner.
"Is that so?" Faralda murmured, looking him up and down with an assessing, professional gaze. "We are always open to accepting new minds, provided they possess the necessary potential. But the College is not a tavern, it is a place of rigorous academic and magical study. Tell me, Aerion... what exactly do you hope to gain by joining our ranks?"
Aerion maintained his confident smile, his golden eyes locking onto hers. "I am already highly proficient in several disciplines, but true mastery is an endless pursuit. I wish to gain access to your extensive libraries to further refine my understanding of the Destruction school. Furthermore, I wish to test myself, to see if I possess any latent aptitude within the Conjuration school, a discipline I have yet to formally explore."
Faralda nodded slowly, an approving smile touching her lips. "A thirst for knowledge and a desire to expand one's horizons. You will find exactly what you seek behind these walls, Aerion. However..."
She gestured toward the massive, glowing metal sigil embedded in the stone floor between them.
"Before I can grant you access to the bridge, you must pass a standard aptitude test to prove you possess the necessary magical foundation," Faralda explained, her tone turning entirely professional. "Given your stated desire to study Destruction, and the sheer confidence in your bearing, I believe a demonstration of elemental force is appropriate. I require you to cast a bolt of fire, or a bolt of lightning, directly onto the seal on the ground. Prove to me that you can weave the magic."
Aerion's smile widened into a sharp, confident smirk.
He didn't just want to pass the test, he wanted to make an absolute, undeniable statement of power. He wanted the senior wizards of the College to know exactly who had just walked up to their front door.
Aerion stepped back, giving himself room. He closed his eyes for a fraction of a second, tapping into his immense, completely full Magicka reservoir. He simultaneously engaged his newly prestiged Destruction (Fire) matrix and his highly leveled Destruction (Lightning) matrix.
He thrust both of his hands forward simultaneously.
From his right palm, an intensely compressed, blindingly bright Firebolt erupted, the magical heat so pure it instantly vaporized the falling snow in its path.
From his left palm, a jagged, violently crackling Lightning Bolt tore through the air, the heavy scent of ozone flooding the platform.
He didn't fire them wildly. Utilizing his Fast Magic Mastery, he exerted absolute, flawless control over the volatile energies. He twisted his wrists, forcing the jet of fire and the arc of lightning to spiral around each other like a glowing, elemental helix, before slamming the combined, dual cast spell directly into the center of the metal sigil.
BOOM!
The impact shook the stone platform. The ancient magical seal eagerly absorbed the massive influx of raw, beautifully controlled power.
The metal sigil instantly flared to life, glowing with a blinding, sustained blue light that completely illuminated the bridge entrance, signaling a flawless, overwhelming pass of the aptitude test. Faralda stumbled back half a step, her eyes wide with sheer, unadulterated shock as she stared at the perfectly executed dual cast.
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[Main Panel] Name: Aerion Race: High Elf (Altmer) Health: 330/330 Stamina: 310/310 Magicka: 450/450 Level: 65 ➝ 66
Skills: Animal Affinity (MAX LEVEL), Fast Skill Levelling (MAX LEVEL), Fast Magic Mastery (MAX LEVEL), Instant Shout (MAX LEVEL), Destruction (Fire(+1)/Lightning) (Level 0/62), Persuasion (Level 85), Smithing (Level 22), Sneak (Level 26), One Handed (Level 67), Restoration (Healing) (Level 37), Two Handed (Level 65), Lockpicking (Level 23), Archery (Level 72), Alteration (Level 4), Enchanting (Level 19), Light Armor (Level 53), Block (Level 60), Illusion (Level 6), Pickpocket (Level 8)
Shouts: Fus (Force)
[Inventory Panel]
1x Steel Dagger, Small Sack, Poacher's Axe, Mammoth Tusk, Iron Shield, Steel Mace, Steel Warhammer, the Golden Claw, Calm Spellbook, Arvel's Journal, Inkwell & Quill, Thief Book, Scroll Of Summoning (Wolf), Scroll Of Healing, Steel Dagger of Minor Souls, Weak Potion of Paralysis, Ancient Nord Bow, Dragonstone, Ancient Nord Battleaxe Of Blaze, & Potion of Minor Pickpocketing
2x Iron Mace, Steel Axe, Steel Greatsword, & Lockpicks
3x Iron Greatsword, Steel Sword, Scroll Of Fireball, Glowing Mushrooms, & Potions of Minor Stamina
4x Potions of Minor Magicka & Spider Eggs
5x Lesser Soul Gem
8x Iron Arrows & Ancient Nord Arrows
9x Potions Of Minor Healing
Weight: 109.07 KG / 455 KG
Septims = 54,872