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(A/N: Don't forget to give those power stones to Skyrim everyone!)
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He materialized out of the thick black smoke directly between Ralof and the Dragonborn, physically cutting the Stormcloak off. "She is coming with me, Nord," Aerion declared, his melodic voice ringing with absolute, undeniable command as he raised the Black Prism, the dark blade gleaming with lethal intent in the firelight.
Ralof skidded to a halt, his boots sliding against the stone. He threw his arm up to shield his eyes from the heat of a nearby burning cart, his blue eyes widening in absolute shock as he registered the sudden appearance of the High Elf.
"What in the name of Talos...?" Ralof gasped. He immediately dropped into a defensive, brawler's stance, his eyes darting to the terrifying ebony blade in Aerion's hand. The Nord's initial confusion rapidly crystallized into deep, ingrained prejudice. "Who the blazes are you? And what does a filthy High Elf want with our kinswoman? Stand aside, or I'll go through you!"
Unlike Ralof, the brown haired Nord woman did not immediately bare her teeth in blind hatred.
She pushed herself up to her knees, her bound hands making the effort clumsy. Her face was smeared with gray ash and drops of the executioner's blood, but her striking, ice blue eyes were incredibly sharp. She looked from the frantic, desperate face of the Stormcloak soldier to the immaculate, towering, and terrifyingly calm High Elf.
While she possessed the fierce, undeniable ruggedness of a true daughter of Skyrim, she was clearly far more pragmatic and observant than her supposed "kinsman." She didn't put her guard up against Aerion immediately, she simply watched, calculating her absolute best odds of survival.
Aerion did not raise his blade. He simply let out a sharp, highly condescending snort.
"It is a fascinating paradox, is it not?" Aerion drawled, his voice dripping with aristocratic mockery. "You Stormcloaks scream to the skies about how the High Elves are nothing but racist, oppressive tyrants. Yet, the very first words out of your mouth are to brand me a 'filthy High Elf' based on absolutely nothing but the shape of my ears."
He took a slow, deliberate step forward, forcing Ralof to step back.
"Let me educate you, rebel," Aerion continued, his golden eyes narrowing into dangerous slits. "Not all Altmer share the same fanatical, supremacist worldview as the Thalmor Justiciars. Just as I am quite certain that not all Nords share the same narrow minded, short sighted bigotry of the Stormcloak rebellion."
Ralof's face flushed a deep, angry red beneath the soot. He opened his mouth, fully prepared to launch into a passionate, furious defense of Ulfric's cause and his own honor.
"Ralof!"
A booming, commanding voice tore through the chaotic roar of the fires.
Standing in the heavy stone doorway of the adjacent observation tower was Ulfric Stormcloak. The rebel leader had managed to slip his bonds.
"What are you doing standing out in the open, you fool?!" Ulfric roared, waving his arm frantically. "Get into the tower! Move!"
Ralof flinched, the absolute authority of his Jarl overriding his desire to argue with an elf. He clicked his tongue in profound frustration, glaring venomously at Aerion before turning his attention to the bound woman on the ground.
"Kinswoman, come on! Follow me to the tower!" Ralof shouted, gesturing wildly. "We can regroup with Jarl Ulfric! It's our only chance!"
Aerion did not wait for her to process the rebel's offer. He stepped forward, reaching out with his free left hand, and firmly grasped the Nord woman by the upper arm.
"Following that man is a death sentence," Aerion told her, his voice dropping the mockery and adopting a tone of absolute, urgent sincerity. "He is running blindly into a stone trap. I know a vastly safer route out of this inferno. Come with me, if you wish to live."
The Nord woman looked frantically between the two of them. She was completely torn. On one hand was a fellow Nord, a soldier fighting for the independence of her homeland. On the other hand was a terrifyingly powerful, wealthy High Elf who had just materialized out of the smoke and offered her a highly pragmatic, unpanicked alternative.
Both men promised safety, but the elf's absolute composure in the face of the apocalypse was incredibly compelling. Before she could make a conscious choice, the universe made it for her.
The sky above the courtyard suddenly darkened again. The roaring of the flames was entirely drowned out by the deafening, rhythmic beating of massive, leathery wings.
Alduin had circled back.
The World-Eater banked sharply through the thick black smoke, his glowing red eyes locking onto the cluster of survivors near the chopping block. He opened his massive, jagged jaws, drawing in a terrifyingly deep breath that sucked the very oxygen from the courtyard.
"Brace yourselves!" Aerion roared.
He didn't have time to run. He didn't have time to cast a physical barrier.
Ralof took one look at the descending god of destruction, turned on his heel, and sprinted with absolute, desperate speed toward the stone doorway of the tower, diving inside just as the dragon unleashed its wrath.
Aerion shoved the Nord woman roughly to the cobblestones, standing directly over her. He planted his boots wide, tapping entirely into the newly acquired, bottomless reserves of his Archmage muscle memory and his monstrous 600 point Magicka pool.
He thrust his left hand toward the sky.
He didn't cast a standard shield. He wove two highly complex magical matrices together simultaneously. He projected a massive, shimmering, dome like Greater Ward, designed to absorb raw magical and kinetic impact.
But knowing the unnatural, soul burning nature of Alduin's fire, he infused the very fabric of the ward with the blinding, absolute holy light of his Restoration (Healing) spell.
"YOL... TOOR... SHUL!"
The apocalyptic torrent of superheated plasma and dark fire slammed into Aerion's magical dome.
The impact was utterly catastrophic. It felt as though a mountain had been dropped directly onto Aerion's shoulders. His boots skidded backward across the stone, the friction tearing the leather soles. He gritted his teeth, a feral, agonizing snarl escaping his lips as the sheer, overwhelming pressure of the dragon's breath tried to crush his ward.
'Hold it!' Aerion screamed internally, his golden eyes burning with the effort.
The fire washed over the dome, parting around them like water around a stone, completely incinerating the cobblestones just inches outside the barrier. The holy light infused within the ward violently rejected the dark magic of the World-Eater, creating a blinding, chaotic clash of energies that turned the air into crackling ozone.
Jenassa, who had sprinted to his side, threw her arms over her head, shielding Lupin with her own body beneath the glowing umbrella of Aerion's magic.
The system interface went absolutely berserk in his mind, registering the profound, life or death exertion of his magical pathways.
[Restoration (Healing) Leveled Up 8 Times! Current Level: 91]
For three agonizing, breathless seconds, the inferno raged against them. And then, with a final, frustrated roar, Alduin pulled his head up. The dragon banked hard to the right, taking to the sky once more to rain meteors down upon the outer walls.
The pressure vanished instantly.
Aerion dropped the ward, his left arm dropping heavily to his side. He was panting, his chest heaving with exertion, a thin line of sweat trailing down his soot stained cheek. His Magicka pool had taken a massive hit, but the barrier had held. They were alive.
He looked down.
The Nord woman was staring up at him from the cobblestones. Her ice blue eyes were completely wide, reflecting a mixture of absolute awe and profound, undeniable shock. She had just watched a high elf stand his ground and successfully block the breath of a mythical dragon god.
Aerion reached down, offering her his hand.
"Are you unharmed?" Aerion asked, his breathing returning to a steady, controlled rhythm.
The Nord woman blinked, snapping out of her daze. She accepted his hand, her bound wrists making the grip awkward, and allowed him to effortlessly haul her to her feet.
"I... yes," she rasped, coughing slightly on the ash. "I'm alive."
She looked at him, her skepticism fracturing under the weight of the reality she had just survived. "Thank you. You... you saved my life."
"It is precisely what I should do," Aerion replied smoothly, dismissing the act of god like magic as if it were common courtesy. He looked around at the burning, chaotic courtyard. "Now, come. Follow me. I will lead you to a safe passage from this keep. You have my absolute word, you need not worry. I will not harm you, nor will I hand you over to the executioners. I am not like the Thalmors."
The Nord woman searched his golden eyes for a fraction of a second. She saw no deception, only a terrifying, highly capable competence.
She offered a firm, decisive nod. "Lead the way, Elf."
"Stay close to my cloak," Aerion instructed. He turned to his bodyguard. "Jenassa, watch our flanks. Lupin, stay at her heels."
Jenassa had her heavy Dwarven Bow drawn, an arrow nocked, though she knew it was entirely useless against the flying behemoth. She nodded, her face grim.
Aerion did not take them toward the tower where Ralof and Ulfric had fled. His meta knowledge dictated a different path. He needed to find the Imperial soldier, Hadvar. Aligning with the Legion in this specific instance provided a vastly superior tactical advantage for navigating the immediate aftermath of the disaster.
They moved out of the courtyard, plunging into the narrow, burning alleys of Helgen.
It was a vision of absolute hell. The air was thick with the suffocating stench of burning pine and roasting flesh. Screams echoed from collapsing buildings.
Aerion looked up through the smoke. The Imperial defense was a tragic, futile display of mortal arrogance. Battalions of archers were firing volleys of steel arrows into the sky, the projectiles simply bouncing off Alduin's impenetrable scales. Battlemages were hurling fireballs and lightning bolts at the beast, but the magic merely dissipated against the sheer, overwhelming aura of the World-Eater.
Standing on a raised stone balcony near the keep, shouting himself hoarse, was General Tullius.
"Archers! Concentrate your fire! Bring it down!" Tullius roared, refusing to accept the reality of the myth. "Battlemages, target its wings!"
Aerion ignored the doomed military command. He relied entirely on his instinct, his Gamer's sense of spatial navigation, and the faint, fragmented memories of the game's map. He led his small group through a shattered stone archway, dodging a massive chunk of burning masonry that collapsed from a roof above them.
They emerged into a small, relatively open stone plaza situated near the western wall of the town.
The area was currently being bathed in the fiery glow of a burning inn nearby.
Crouching behind the low stone wall of a ruined garden, desperately trying to shield themselves from the heat, were three figures.
Aerion instantly recognized the Imperial light armor. It was Hadvar.
Cowering directly behind the soldier was a young, terrified Nord boy, no older than ten, sobbing quietly into his hands. Standing beside the boy, holding a simple iron sword with a trembling grip, was an elderly Nord man dressed in battered, rusted iron armor.
Aerion's lore knowledge identified them instantly. The boy is Haming. And the old man is his grandfather, Froki Whetted-Blade.
Alduin was currently perched on a nearby watchtower, unleashing a continuous stream of fire down onto the main road just yards away from their position, completely cutting off their escape route.
Hadvar was peering over the stone wall, his face pale and streaked with soot, desperately looking for an opening. Hearing the crunch of boots on the gravel behind him, the soldier spun around, drawing his Imperial sword.
Hadvar froze.
Standing amidst the ash and smoke was a towering, immaculate High Elf, a heavily armed Dark Elf, a small red fox, and the female prisoner who was supposed to be headless by now.
Hadvar's eyes darted frantically. He only knew of one group of High Elves operating in this region, Elenwen and her Thalmor Justiciars. But this elf was not wearing the black and gold robes of the Aldmeri Dominion, nor did he carry himself with the sneering, arrogant disdain of a Thalmor agent. He moved like a warrior.
Hadvar didn't have time to analyze the political anomaly. His eyes snapped to the Nord woman, the profound guilt of the execution roster flashing across his face.
"You!" Hadvar gasped, lowering his sword slightly. "You're still alive! The Divines smile upon you today, prisoner."
He looked at Aerion and Jenassa, gripping his sword tighter. "I don't know who you elves are, or how you survived that blast, but if you want to stay alive, you had better follow me! The dragon is burning the main thoroughfares. We need to move!"
Aerion stepped forward, his demeanor calm and authoritative.
"We shall follow you gladly, soldier," Aerion agreed smoothly. He gestured toward the terrified boy and the old man. "I suggest you bring the child and the elder as well. It is vastly safer for them to move with the likes of us who are armed than to remain huddled behind a crumbling wall."
Hadvar shook his head fiercely, his rigid military training overriding his common sense.
"No! It's too dangerous to move them through the open streets!" Hadvar argued. "They need to stay hidden here! I need to take the three of you and regroup with General Tullius at the main courtyard! He'll know how to organize a defense against this... this thing!"
Aerion felt a flare of profound irritation at the soldier's blind obedience.
"General Tullius is currently shouting at the sky while his men are being incinerated," Aerion countered, his voice sharp, cold, and dripping with absolute logic. He took a step closer to Hadvar, tapping instantly into the deepest reserves of his Persuasion skill.
He laced his words with the commanding, undeniable authority of a battlefield general, projecting an aura of absolute certainty that the Imperial soldier was neurologically trained to obey.
"Listen to me very carefully, Legionnaire," Aerion commanded, his golden eyes locking onto Hadvar's. "I have just traversed the other side of this town. I have seen the Imperial defense. It is completely, utterly futile. That dragon is invincible. Steel bounces off its scales, and magic dissolves against its hide. If you lead us back to the courtyard, you are marching us directly into a mass grave."
Hadvar blinked, the magical persuasion and the sheer, crushing logic of the statement hitting him hard.
"Look at the beast," Aerion pointed toward the sky, where Alduin was currently raining meteors down upon the barracks. "There is no defense. The only option is evacuation. We need to go to the main Keep. I know there are subterranean passages beneath the fortress that lead out into the mountains. It is the only way to escape the fire."
The system interface flashed brilliantly.
[Persuasion Leveled Up 10 Times! Current Level: 47]
[LEVEL UP! You are now Level 107!]
[You have gained 1 Attribute Point!]
Aerion ignored the level up, keeping his intense gaze locked on the soldier.
Hadvar hesitated for one agonizing second. Then, his shoulders slumped. He looked at the crying boy, the old man, and the roaring inferno consuming his town.
"Gods... you're right," Hadvar sighed, the fight completely leaving him. "General Tullius can't stop this right now. Nobody can. Without nay preparation it's suicide."
Hadvar turned to Froki. "Old man! Grab the boy! Stay close to the elves! We are making a run for the Keep!"
"Aye, Hadvar! We're right behind you!" Froki grunted, scooping the terrified Haming into his arms despite the heavy iron armor.
"Follow me closely!" Hadvar ordered, raising his shield and stepping out from behind the wall. "If you want to live, do exactly as I say!"
Jenassa clicked her tongue in profound annoyance. Taking orders from a lowly Imperial grunt offended her mercenary pride. She opened her mouth to protest the arrangement.
Aerion immediately raised a hand, silencing her without a word. He gave her a sharp, brief shake of his head. Just follow the man for now.
Jenassa swallowed her pride, falling into step behind the Patron.
They moved as a tight, cohesive unit. Hadvar led the way, his shield raised against the falling embers. Aerion walked directly behind him, his massive frame acting as a physical bulwark for the Nord woman, Froki, and the boy. Jenassa covered their rear, her crimson eyes constantly scanning the rooftops.
It was a terrifying, chaotic sprint. They hugged the massive stone walls of the buildings, desperately avoiding the open streets where Alduin was focusing his breath. The heat was unbearable, the cobblestones scorching their boots.
They dashed across a small courtyard, dodging a massive, burning wooden cart that had been flipped by the sheer kinetic force of a dragon's landing.
"Keep moving! We're almost there!" Hadvar yelled, pointing toward the massive, reinforced iron doors of the Helgen Keep just ahead.
They sprinted the final fifty yards, the roar of the flames deafening in their ears.
Just as Hadvar reached the stone archway leading to the Keep doors, another figure sprinted out from the alleyway to their left.
It was Ralof. The Stormcloak was covered in ash, gripping a scavenged iron war axe tightly in his hand.
He skidded to a halt in front of the Keep doors, instantly locking eyes with the Imperial soldier.
"Ralof! You damned traitor!" Hadvar spat, his military conditioning instantly flaring up despite the apocalypse occurring around them. "Out of my way!"
"We're escaping, Hadvar!" Ralof snarled back, raising his axe defensively, his eyes darting to the Nord woman, then fixing furiously on Aerion. "You're not stopping us! And you're not taking my kinswoman to an Imperial dungeon!"
"I'll gut you where you stand, rebel!" Hadvar roared, raising his sword.
The two men stepped toward each other, completely blinded by their political hatred, ready to engage in a bloody duel to the death while a dragon literally dismantled the town around them.
Aerion's patience entirely snapped.
He didn't have time for this petty, historically scripted squabble.
Aerion stepped out from behind Hadvar. He didn't draw the Black Prism. He raised both of his hands, his fingers splayed wide.
He tapped directly into his level 98 Destruction (Frost) matrix and his level 41 Destruction (Lightning) matrix.
Instantly, his left hand became wreathed in a terrifying, swirling vortex of absolute zero frost, freezing the ambient moisture in the air into jagged ice crystals.
His right hand erupted into a blinding, violently crackling sphere of pure purple plasma, the electrical arcs snapping hungrily toward the stone walls.
The sheer, overwhelming magical pressure radiating from the High Elf caused the very air in the archway to vibrate.
Aerion fixed Ralof with a stare of absolute, uncompromising lethality.
"Move out of my way, rebel," Aerion commanded, his voice devoid of any melodic warmth, echoing with the terrifying, cold resonance of an apex predator. "Or I will instantly reduce you to a frozen, shattered pile of ash before your Jarl even realizes you are missing."
Ralof froze.
The Stormcloak looked at the blinding, crackling lightning and the swirling, absolute zero frost inches from his face. He looked into the golden eyes of the High Elf and realized, with absolute, terrifying certainty, that this was not an empty threat. The mage would obliterate him without a second thought.
Ralof swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing. He slowly, reluctantly lowered his iron axe.
He let out a loud, frustrated, highly disgusted snort.
"Fine. Burn in Oblivion, the lot of you," Ralof spat.
He turned on his heel and sprinted away, abandoning the Keep doors and running toward a different, secondary entrance to the fortress further down the wall. With the obstacle cleared, Aerion seamlessly extinguished the magic in his hands. "Open the doors, Hadvar," Aerion ordered calmly, as if nothing had happened. "Before the World-Eater returns."
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[Main Panel]
Name: Aerion
Race: High Elf (Altmer)
Health: 430/430 Stamina: 430/430 Magicka: 600/600
Level: 106 ➝107
Skills: Animal Affinity (MAX LEVEL), Fast Skill Levelling (MAX LEVEL), Fast Magic Mastery (MAX LEVEL), Instant Shout (MAX LEVEL), Destruction (Fire(+2)/Lightning(+1)/Frost) (Level 62/41/98), Restoration (Healing/Purify(+1)) (Level 91/56), Alteration (Level 35), Alteration (Level 20), Illusion (Level 42), Conjuration (Necromancy/Summoning(+1)) (Level 37/10), Persuasion(+1) (Level 47), Smithing (Level 22), Sneak (Level 41), One Handed (Level 85), Two Handed (Level 65), Lockpicking (Level 35), Archery (Level 72), Enchanting (Level 66), Light Armor (Level 53), Block (Level 70), & Pickpocket (Level 8)
Shouts: Fus (Force), Tiid (Time), Krii (Kill), Feim (Fade), & Su (Air)
[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, Dragonstone, Golden Staff of Flames, Parchment Rolls Of Mammoths Farm And Loan, Ebony Claw, Orcish Dagger, Jagged Crown, The Mirror, Glass Sword, Ring of Pure Mixtures, Grand Soul Gem (Filled), Reanimate Corpse Tome, Staff of Lightning, Deed to Tundra Homestead, Garnet, Sapphire, Ruby, & Dawnbreaker
2x Potion Of Ultimate Magicka, Common Soul Gem (Empty), Black Soul Gem (Empty), & Elven Sword
3x Glowing Mushrooms, Potions of Minor Stamina, & Common Soul Gem (Filled)
4x Potions of Minor Magicka, Spider Eggs, & Lesser Soul Gem (Filled)
5x Lesser Soul Gem (Filled)
8x Iron Arrows, Ancient Nord Arrows, & Black Soul Gems (Filled)
9x Potions Of Minor Healing
Weight: 74.92 KG / 515 KG
Septims: 77,555