If you want to read 20 Chapters ahead, be sure to check out my P-Tang12!!!
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(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)
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Drascua raised her razor sharp talons, trying to rake them across his throat. Aerion ducked effortlessly under the wild swing. Using his massive physical strength, he drove his armored elbow directly into her chest, shattering her ribs and staggering her backward against the bloody altar. Before the creature could even draw a breath to scream, Aerion swung the Black Prism in a brutal, horizontal arc.
The four fold enchantments triggered simultaneously on impact. The blade burned, froze, and electrocuted the flesh even as the razor sharp ebony sheared cleanly through bone.
Drascua's grotesque head tumbled from her shoulders, bouncing heavily onto the stone floor. Her headless body stood for a fraction of a second before collapsing into a filthy heap of blood and feathers.
The summit fell entirely silent, save for the howling of the mountain wind.
Aerion didn't pause to celebrate. He immediately knelt beside the twitching, decapitated corpse of the Hagraven. He ruthlessly ignored the foul stench, running his gauntleted hands through the filthy rags and pouches belted to her waist.
His fingers brushed against cold, heavy, polished metal.
He pulled it out. It was a beautifully crafted, dark metallic pommel, etched with the terrifying, jagged iconography of Mehrunes Dagon. The second fragment of the Razor.
[Item Added to Inventory: Mehrunes' Razor Pommel]
[Current Weight Increased: +0.2 KG]
He slipped it seamlessly into the void of his inventory before anyone else could clearly see what he was holding.
Aerion stood up, turning his attention to the massive, curved stone structure standing directly behind the bloody altar. It was a Word Wall, ancient and weathered, inscribed with the jagged, brutal language of the dragons.
He goes to approach and then placed his hand on the word wall, in which immediately the system notification immediately popped up.
[System Notification: Word of Power Discovered.]
[Would you like to learn the first word of the Dismay Shout: Faas (Fear)?]
[YES / NO]
Aerion did not hesitate. Possessing a shout that could instantly shatter the morale of an entire battlefield without shedding a drop of blood was an invaluable tactical asset.
He mentally selected YES.
After getting the shout, he turned around. The rest of his group had spread out across the summit, carefully looting the bodies of the Forsworn elite and scavenging the chests near the altar.
Aerion casually walked back to the bloody altar. Resting near the edge, half hidden by a pile of sacrificial bones, was a small, ornate, levitating jewel box containing an extraordinarily beautiful, pink-hued gem encased in gold.
A Stone of Barenziah.
Aerion snatched it up smoothly, the gem vanishing into his inventory without a sound.
[Item Added to Inventory: Stone of Barenziah (1/24)]
[Current Weight Increased: +0.05 KG]
He stood near the edge of the cliff, the Black Prism resting casually in his hand, waiting in absolute silence as his retainers finished their sweep of the area.
Lydia approached him, her arms full of loose septims and a few rare potions she had scavenged from a chest. She looked at the decapitated Hagraven, then at Aerion.
"Did you find the material you were searching for, my Thane?" Lydia asked respectfully.
Aerion offered a slow, affirming nod. "I did. Two pieces secured. Only one remains."
Onmund walked up behind Lydia, shaking his head in sheer disbelief. "Master... I didn't even see you look around. We were distracted by the explosion, and by the time the smoke cleared, you were just standing by the wall. How did you know exactly where to find it on her body?"
Aerion let out a low, smooth chuckle, slipping the Black Prism back into its scabbard.
"Do not overthink it, Onmund," Aerion brushed off the question with a wave of his hand. "Observation is a skill like any other. The Hagraven was protecting something near her waist. It was obvious."
He turned away from the altar, looking up at the position of the sun in the sky. It was just past noon.
"We have made excellent time," Aerion announced to the group, his tactical mind already plotting the final leg of the journey. "The final fragment of this artifact is located at Cracked Tusk Keep, a fortress hidden in the forests west of Falkreath. If we ride hard, we can reach the outskirts of the keep by nightfall."
He looked around at the tired but triumphant faces of his team. "We will execute a rapid assault, secure the final piece, and then we will take over the fortress to rest for the night. In the morning, we ride directly back to Tundra Homestead. Are there any objections?"
"None, Master," Eirik spoke for the mages and everyone, gripping his staff. "We have enough magicka left for one more fight. Let's finish this."
"Then let us move," Aerion commanded.
They left the bloody summit of Dead Crone Rock behind, descending rapidly through the cleared interior of the ruin and stepping back out into the freezing afternoon air. They retrieved their warhorses from the dense brush, mounting up in silence.
Aerion pulled up the detailed topographical map from his System interface, calculating the most efficient, direct route through the jagged, treacherous landscape of the Reach.
"Follow me," Aerion ordered, spurring Revan forward.
They rode east, leaving the sheer gray cliffs of the Reach behind, cutting across the rocky plains toward the southern borders of Whiterun. They pushed the horses hard, the rhythmic thundering of hooves the only sound on the road. As they crossed the provincial border and turned southeast, the landscape dramatically shifted once more.
The sparse, rocky terrain vanished, replaced by the dense, suffocating, ancient pine forests of Falkreath Hold. The trees grew incredibly tall and thick, blocking out the fading sunlight and plunging the road into a deep, perpetual twilight. The air grew damp and heavy with the scent of pine needles and wet earth.
By the time they navigated the winding forest paths and finally caught sight of their target, the sky was completely black, illuminated only by the pale light of Masser and Secunda.
Through the dense trees, the jagged, ruined stone walls of Cracked Tusk Keep loomed.
It was a traditional, heavy stone fortress, but it was in a state of severe disrepair. However, the sheer number of campfires blazing in the exterior courtyard, and the sheer volume of armed men and women patrolling the broken walls, indicated a massive bandit presence.
Aerion held up a fist, halting the group in a thick grove of pines a hundred yards from the keep's main entrance.
"Let's get off," Aerion whispered. "Hitch the horses here."
As the group quietly tied the reins to the tree trunks, Aerion carefully observed his team in the moonlight.
Lydia, Jenassa, and Eisa were breathing steadily, their stamina completely intact thanks to their physical conditioning and potions. But the apprentices and Eirik were a different story. The long, grueling ride, combined with the adrenaline crashes of two major battles, had taken a visible toll. Onmund was leaning heavily against a tree, his face pale. Brelyna's hands were shaking slightly from magical exhaustion.
Aerion made a command decision. He needed them alive and functional, not pushed past their breaking points into a fatal mistake.
"There's a change of strategy," Aerion announced softly, gathering them in a tight circle.
He looked at the four mages. "You four have performed impeccably today. But I can see the exhaustion in your eyes. Magic requires a focused mind, and yours are fraying. You will not be entering the interior of the keep."
Onmund opened his mouth to protest, but Aerion held up a hand.
"This is not a reprimand, it is a tactical redeployment," Aerion corrected gently. "You four will join the assault on the exterior courtyard. We will clear the perimeter together. Once the courtyard is secure, you will remain outside. You will rest by their fires, recover your strength, and ensure no straggling bandits return from patrols to trap us inside. Understood?"
Relief washed over the faces of the apprentices. They were desperate to prove themselves, but the prospect of navigating another dark, claustrophobic dungeon while magically exhausted was terrifying.
"Yes, Master," Eirik nodded gratefully.
Aerion turned to his three retainers. "Lydia, Jenassa, Eisa. Once the courtyard is clear, it will just be the four of us going into the dark. The objective is in the deepest vault."
"Almost like old times, Patron," Jenassa smirked, twirling an ebony dagger.
"The strategy for the courtyard remains the same," Aerion outlined, looking back toward the blazing fires of the keep. "I will step out and draw the absolute entirety of their attention. Bandits are significantly less disciplined than the Forsworn. They will pour out of the keep to swarm the lone target in the open. When they commit, you hit their flanks."
With the plan finalized, Aerion stepped out of the tree line.
He walked deliberately onto the exposed, cracked stone path leading directly toward the ruined gates of Cracked Tusk Keep. The moonlight caught the jagged edges of his Nordic Carved Armor and the terrifying bronze mask of Krosis.
"Hey! Who goes there?!" a bandit sentry shouted from atop the ruined wall, squinting into the darkness.
Aerion didn't answer. He raised his right hand, pointing directly at the wooden watchtower where the sentry was standing.
He unleashed a single, massive Fireball.
The spell crossed the distance in a blinding streak of orange light, detonating against the wooden supports of the watchtower with a deafening, explosive roar. The sentry was instantly vaporized, and the burning remnants of the tower crashed down into the courtyard.
"ATTACK! WE'RE UNDER ATTACK!" the surviving bandits screamed.
The courtyard erupted into absolute chaos. Dozens of heavily armed bandits, Orcs, Nords, and Khajiit, poured out from the tents and the interior of the keep, drawing steel and charging blindly toward the source of the explosion.
Aerion stood his ground in the center of the path, becoming an impenetrable, lethal wall of magic.
He dual casted Chain Lightning, the crackling blue energy violently arcing through the tightly packed ranks of the charging bandits, instantly electrocuting a dozen men before they could cross half the distance. He followed up with a sweeping Ice Storm, the jagged vortex of freezing wind tearing through their lines, slowing their charge to a crawl and shattering their cheap iron armor.
"FLANK THEM!" Eisa's voice rang out from the shadows.
The retainers and the apprentices struck with devastating timing.
From the left, Lydia and Eisa crashed into the disorganized bandit lines. Lydia bashed a heavy Orc bandit to the ground with her shield, while Eisa cleanly decapitated him before he could rise. Jenassa rained lethal ebony arrows from the tree line on the right, perfectly sniping any bandit archers attempting to return fire on Aerion.
The apprentices, knowing this was their final exertion for the night, emptied their remaining magical reserves. Onmund and Eirik hurled localized Fireballs into the center of the bandit formations, while J'zargo and Brelyna covered the flanks with sustained streams of Frostbite, freezing the bandits in place for the warriors to cut down.
The bandits, caught between the apocalyptic magical bombardment from the front and a perfectly synchronized ambush from the sides, broke almost immediately.
"Run! It's a fucking mage!" a terrified Nord screamed, dropping his sword and attempting to flee into the forest.
He didn't make it three steps before Jenassa put an arrow through his spine.
Within minutes, the exterior courtyard of Cracked Tusk Keep was entirely clear, littered with the smoking, frozen bodies of over thirty bandits. The smell of ozone and burning pine filled the night air.
Aerion walked slowly into the courtyard, lowering his hands. He looked around, ensuring there were no survivors playing dead.
He turned to the four exhausted mages, who were already leaning heavily against the stone walls, their chests heaving.
"Secure the courtyard," Aerion commanded softly. "Warm yourselves by the fires. Do not lower your guard entirely, but take your rest. You have earned it."
He turned toward the heavy, iron reinforced wooden doors leading into the dark interior of the keep. He drew his Ebony Greatsword, the heavy blade gleaming in the moonlight.
Aerion looked back at Lydia, Jenassa, and Eisa. They were uninjured, breathing steadily, their weapons drawn and ready for blood.
"Come," Aerion said, his voice cold and resolute. "Let us finish this."
He kicked the heavy doors open and stepped into the interior of the fortress, ready to claim the final piece of the Razor.
The heavy, iron banded doors of Cracked Tusk Keep groaned shut with a hollow, echoing finality, sealing Aerion and his three retainers inside the dark, stone fortress.
Outside, the cold night air of the Falkreath pine forest offered a sharp, biting relief to the four exhausted mages left behind to hold the perimeter. J'zargo, Onmund, Brelyna, and Eirik did not simply sit in the dirt. Following their master's orders, they immediately moved to secure their position. They climbed the crumbling exterior stone stairs, taking up a vantage point on the ruined, elevated ramparts that overlooked the bloodstained courtyard and the tree line beyond.
Brelyna raised her hands, weaving a quick, precise incantation. Three glowing orbs of Magelight shot from her fingertips, adhering to the high stone walls of the keep. The pale, ethereal light flooded the courtyard, driving back the oppressive shadows of the forest and illuminating the bodies of the bandits Aerion had slaughtered moments before.
"We need some cover just in case," Eirik noted, his mercenary instincts kicking in as he surveyed the exposed rampart. "If a patrol returns and they have archers, we are sitting ducks up here."
Onmund and J'zargo nodded, putting their aching muscles to work. They dragged several heavy wooden crates and reinforced supply barrels left behind by the bandits, stacking them into a sturdy, makeshift barricade along the edge of the wall.
Once the cover was established, the four mages slumped down behind the crates, resting their backs against the cold stone, their staffs resting across their knees. The adrenaline of the courtyard ambush was fading, leaving a heavy, quiet stillness in its wake.
Suddenly, Onmund leaned forward, his eyes narrowing as he peered through a gap between two barrels.
"There's some movement," Onmund whispered, pointing toward the dense cluster of pine trees bordering the southern dirt road. "Shadows in the tree line. Three... no, four of them."
A returning bandit patrol, drawn by the residual smoke and the sudden appearance of the Magelight spheres, was creeping cautiously toward the courtyard. They had their iron bows drawn, scanning the dead bodies of their comrades in confusion.
Eirik let out a tired sigh, gripping his wooden staff and pulling himself up to a crouch.
"Save your magicka, kids," Eirik murmured, a weary smirk touching his lips. "Let the old sellsword handle the stragglers."
Eirik leaned over the crates, raising his left hand. He didn't bother with a complex incantation. He drew upon his remaining reserves and hurled two rapid, concentrated Fireballs into the dark.
The spells illuminated the forest in a blinding flash of orange light. The explosive impacts were deafening, shattering the trunks of two pine trees and catching the four bandits dead center. The patrol was instantly incinerated, their screams cut short as they were violently thrown backward into the underbrush, completely neutralized.
J'zargo peered over the barricade, watching the smoke clear, and let out a sharp, approving laugh. The Khajiit apprentice began to clap his hands in a slow, rhythmic applause.
"Not bad for a Nord," J'zargo praised, his competitive nature flaring to life despite his exhaustion. "But J'zargo thinks he could have done it with only one spell. The spread of your fire is too wide. Inefficient."
Eirik snorted, sliding back down behind the crates. "Inefficient? They're dead, aren't they? I don't see you vaporizing bandits, cat."
"Oh, J'zargo will," the Khajiit grinned, his fangs flashing in the Magelight. He leaned against the stone, looking out into the forest. "In fact, J'zargo wagers ten septims that he will spot the next patrol before the Nord does. And J'zargo will kill them faster."
Brelyna rolled her eyes, though a faint smile touched her lips. "Are we seriously making a game out of a perimeter watch?"
"Why not?" Onmund chimed in, shifting his staff. "I wager fifteen septims I can drop a bandit from twice the distance Eirik just did. Ice spikes only. No area of effect spells."
The tension of the night broke entirely, replaced by the competitive, boastful banter of battle tested mages. They kept their eyes glued to the dark tree line, turning their vital guard duty into a morbid, highly effective contest of arcane marksmanship, entirely confident that their Captain was handling the interior.
Inside the fortress, the atmosphere was a suffocating contrast to the crisp forest air. The entrance hall of Cracked Tusk Keep was unnervingly silent. The air was thick with the stench of stale ale, unwashed bodies, and the metallic tang of old blood baked into the stone floor.
Aerion stood in the center of the antechamber, the dim light from a single, sputtering torch reflecting off his bronze mask. Lydia, Jenassa, and Eisa fanned out around him, their weapons drawn, stepping silently over the moldering carpets.
The first room was completely empty, abandoned when the exterior courtyard was attacked. But as they pushed through a heavy wooden archway into the main feasting hall, the illusion of an easy infiltration vanished.
"THERE THEY ARE! GET THEM!" a voice roared from the shadows.
A dozen bandits, heavily armored in layered furs and steel plate, wielding heavy battleaxes and maces, erupted from the adjoining corridors and overturned tables, surging toward the intruders with desperate, cornered fury.
Aerion did not raise his hands. He did not summon the limitless, apocalyptic fire of the Eye of Magnus. He had explicitly forbidden his mages from entering the keep because the tight, claustrophobic corridors were a death trap for explosive magic. He applied the same rule to himself.
He reached over his shoulder and drew the Ebony Greatsword.
The massive, pitch black blade hissed against its scabbard, the heavy steel catching the torchlight. Aerion stepped forward to meet the charge, relying entirely on the brutal, terrifying physical attributes he had just vastly upgraded.
The first bandit, a massive Nord wielding a steel warhammer, lunged at Aerion, bringing the heavy weapon down in a crushing overhead strike designed to shatter a skull.
Aerion didn't dodge. He stepped into the swing, raising the Ebony Greatsword in a flawless, two handed parry. The impact of the warhammer against the ebony blade rang out like a bell, but Aerion's arms did not buckle a single inch.
With a surge of monstrous, enhanced stamina, Aerion twisted his wrists, knocking the warhammer wide, and drove the heavy pommel of his greatsword directly into the Nord's face, shattering his jaw. As the bandit stumbled backward, Aerion stepped through, sweeping the massive blade in a horizontal arc that sheared cleanly through the man's steel breastplate and into his ribs.
"Hold the choke points!" Aerion commanded, his voice cutting through the clash of steel.
Lydia anchored the left flank near a narrow stone archway. She locked her heavy shield in place, absorbing the frantic axe blows of two bandits, before thrusting her longsword through the gap, piercing a lung. Eisa moved like freezing water on the right, the Pale Blade humming as she parried a mace, sidestepped, and sliced a clean line across her attacker's throat, the magical frost instantly sealing the blood in his veins.
Jenassa was a phantom. She didn't hold a line; she slipped through the chaotic melee, her twin ebony daggers finding the unprotected joints in the bandits' armor. She moved behind a massive Orc attempting to flank Lydia, driving both daggers deep into the back of his knees before slitting his throat as he collapsed.
The melee in the first floor was explicit, brutal, and intimate. It was a suffocating grind of muscle, sweat, and steel.
Aerion cleaved his way through the center of the hall. He moved with a heavy, unstoppable momentum, his Nordic Carved Armor completely shrugging off the desperate, glancing blows of iron swords. He fought with absolute, mathematical precision. A bandit thrust a spear at his chest, Aerion stepped inside the reach, grabbed the wooden shaft with his free gauntlet, snapped it in half, and drove the Ebony Greatsword through the man's stomach.
They did not rush toward the stairs. Following strict, ruthless tactical doctrine, Aerion led his retainers room by room, kicking open wooden doors and clearing out the armory, the kitchens, and the sleeping quarters. They executed every bandit they found, ensuring absolutely no one could sneak up behind them once they ascended.
When the first floor was thoroughly cleared, the stone floor slick with blood, Aerion approached the heavy, spiraling stone staircase leading up.
"Check your stamina," Aerion ordered softly, flicking the blood from his ebony blade.
"Good, Patron," Jenassa breathed, wiping a dagger on a dead bandit's tunic. Lydia and Eisa merely nodded, their chests heaving slightly but their grips firm.
They ascended the stairs, emerging onto the second floor of the keep.
The atmosphere here was drastically different. The second floor served as the command tier, and the bandits holding it were not the desperate rabble of the courtyard. They were hardened veterans, mercenaries who had turned to banditry, and they were highly coordinated.
As Aerion stepped out of the stairwell, a wall of heavy iron shields instantly locked together at the far end of the corridor, completely blocking the path. Behind the shield wall, three bandit archers drew their bows, taking aim over the heads of the shieldbearers.
"Arrows!" Eisa shouted.
Thwip. Thwip. Thwip.
Aerion stepped in front of his retainers, raising his left arm to protect his visor. The steel-tipped arrows shattered harmlessly against the thick, enchanted plates of his heavy armor, barely scratching the polish.
"Break the line," Aerion commanded.
He didn't wait for the archers to nock another volley. Aerion charged.
He moved with terrifying, ground eating speed. He hit the center of the bandit shield wall with the kinetic force of a battering ram, throwing his entire, magically enhanced weight behind his shoulder. The impact was devastating. Two of the heavy iron shields violently buckled, the men holding them crying out as their arms snapped under the sheer, immovable force of the High Elf.
The shield wall shattered. Lydia and Eisa immediately surged into the gap Aerion had created, their blades flashing as they engaged the stunned shieldbearers.
Aerion stepped through the broken line, his golden eyes locking onto the archers. He swung the Ebony Greatsword in a massive, sweeping arc, cleaving an archer's wooden bow entirely in half before the blade bit deep into his shoulder, dropping him instantly.
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.
_____________________________
[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)]
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: 49.51 KG / 885 KG
Septims: 252,867