Chapter 160: 152. Heading To Kynesgrove
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(A/N: Don't forget to give those power stones to Skyrim everyone!)
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"Then let us prepare," Aerion commanded, turning away from the spymaster. "Sinmir! Ensure the perimeter remains absolutely secure. Jenassa, prepare your gear. We ride east to hunt a dragon when Lydia and Valdemar returned."
After that, the oppressive tension within the main house of the Aerion Estate lingered like heavy smoke for nearly two hours.
Delphine, possessing the hyper vigilant survival instincts of a hunted Blade, instinctively gravitated toward the absolute corner of the living room, ensuring her back was firmly against the solid wooden wall. She did not sit down, and she did not loosen the heavy straps of her leather armor.
She simply stood in the shadows, her sharp eyes constantly darting between the towering, deeply suspicious High Elf who had brutally dismantled her cover, the terrifyingly still Morag Tong assassin sharpening her arrows by the hearth, and the boisterous, heavily armored Dragonborn who was happily completely oblivious to the shadow war currently unfolding in her own living room.
Aerion did not attempt to engage the spymaster in further conversation. He sat comfortably at the dining table, leisurely sipping a goblet of spiced wine, projecting an aura of absolute, untouchable aristocratic calm that he knew would slowly, methodically drive Delphine's paranoid mind insane.
Finally, the heavy, rhythmic thud of galloping hooves echoed from the dirt path outside, rapidly approaching the estate gates.
"They have returned," Sinmir announced from the doorway, stepping aside.
A moment later, the heavy wooden door swung open. Lydia and Valdemar stepped into the house, looking slightly winded. They had utilized Aerion and Jenassa's personal horses to halve the travel time to Whiterun and back.
Slung securely across their broad, steel clad shoulders were two massive, bulging leather supply packs filled entirely with fresh climbing rope, heavy winter rations, and thick, reinforced waterskins.
"The provisions have been successfully secured, Thane Aerion," Valdemar reported, dropping the heavy pack onto the floorboards with a loud thud.
Aerion stood up smoothly, setting his empty goblet down on the table.
"Excellent efficiency, Valdemar," Aerion praised his Housecarl. He turned his golden gaze over the assembled team, his voice dropping into the crisp, commanding cadence of a military expedition leader. "The group is fully supplied. Arm yourselves. We depart immediately."
The room instantly sprang into coordinated action. Aeloria hefted the massive, rune etched Axe of Morthal, settling the heavy weapon comfortably across her back. Jenassa smoothly slung her quiver over her shoulder, checking the tension on her bowstring.
As they filed out of the house, stepping into the bright, crisp morning sunlight of the tundra, Aerion stopped near the porch, turning to address the massive mercenary captain standing guard.
"Sinmir," Aerion commanded smoothly. "Maintain absolute lockdown on this perimeter. Continue to guard the homestead precisely according to the terms of the contract we have established. The mammoth herds are the lifeblood of our economic leverage. Ensure they are entirely secure."
Sinmir slammed his fist against his breastplate in a fierce, respectful salute. "You can rely on us, Patron. Nothing breaches these walls while you are away."
"I know," Aerion smiled softly, completely confident in his private army.
He turned and walked toward the dirt road situated just outside the palisades. Bjorlam, having enjoyed a warm bed in the barracks and a hot breakfast, was already sitting happily on the driver's bench of his heavy wooden carriage, brushing down the mane of his massive draft horse.
"Good morning, my Thane!" Bjorlam called out cheerfully as the heavily armed group approached. "A vast improvement over sleeping in the frozen mud, I must say. Where does the road take us today? Back to the city gates?"
Aerion approached the front wheel of the carriage, reaching his hand seamlessly into his dark leather satchel to access his digital void.
"We are not returning to Whiterun today, Bjorlam," Aerion informed the driver smoothly, pulling a small, heavy pouch into his palm. "We have urgent, highly specific matters to attend to in Eastmarch. I require you to take us directly to the mining settlement of Kynesgrove."
Before Bjorlam could even fully process the distant location, or voice his entirely valid concerns regarding the brutal, snowy mountain passes leading into Stormcloak territory, Aerion tossed the heavy pouch of 100 septims underhand up to the driver's bench.
Bjorlam caught the pouch, the heavy, unmistakable clink of a hundred septims completely overriding his survival instincts. The driver looked down at the gold, his eyes widening in pleasant surprise. He had fully intended to ask why they were suddenly marching into the heart of Ulfric Stormcloak's domain, but the weight of the coin rendered the question entirely irrelevant.
"Kynesgrove, eh?" Bjorlam grinned, securely tucking the pouch into his belt. "Of course I can bring you there, my Thane. Have no worry at all. Honestly, with this many heavy blades sitting in the back of my wagon, I feel safe enough to drive this rig straight through the gates of Oblivion itself. We ride for Eastmarch!"
"Your confidence is appreciated, Bjorlam," Aerion smiled, stepping back as his team began to clamber into the covered back of the wagon. "However, the matter is urgent. I request that you drive as fast as the horse can safely manage."
"Hold on tight, then!" Bjorlam laughed, snapping the heavy leather reins. "Hyah!"
The draft horse snorted, pulling the heavy carriage away from the Aerion Estate and merging back onto the main cobblestone highway. They rode south for several miles, following the winding path of the White River, until they reached the massive, three way intersection at the base of the mountains.
Bjorlam expertly pulled the left rein, directing the carriage eastward, entirely bypassing the rugged, dangerous dirt paths of the Rift in favor of the wider, vastly safer, paved Imperial road that led directly north toward the snowy capital of Windhelm.
The ride was significantly smoother than their previous cross country trek, allowing the tension within the carriage to slowly dissipate.
Aeloria, naturally possessing an incredibly outgoing and deeply curious Nordic personality, quickly grew bored of watching the pine trees roll by. She leaned forward in her seat, resting her elbows on her heavy steel knees, and turned her bright blue eyes toward the quiet, hooded woman sitting nervously in the corner of the wagon.
"So, Delphine," Aeloria began, her voice booming slightly in the confined space. "I have to ask. Why exactly did you decide to hike all the way across the tundra to personally report this dragon sighting to Aerion and myself? We're Thanes now, sure, but we aren't the local guard captain. Why not just tell the Riverwood guards to send a runner to Dragonsreach? It would have been vastly faster, and much safer for you."
Delphine stiffened slightly, instantly recognizing the trap, even if Aeloria was asking the question entirely out of innocent, logistical curiosity.
Aerion, sitting near the front of the canopy with Lupin curled across his boots, closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the wood. A cold, highly amused smirk touched his lips. He didn't interrupt. He simply listened to the spymaster squirm.
"Well, Thane Aeloria," Delphine replied carefully, utilizing the exact, meticulously prepared script of lies she had constructed for this exact scenario. "I did consider reporting it to the local guards, of course. But... you must understand the bureaucratic reality of the holds."
Delphine leaned forward slightly, projecting an aura of earnest, concerned citizenship.
"If I tell a simple guard in Riverwood that I saw a dragon flying east," Delphine reasoned, weaving her deception smoothly, "he has to write a report. Then he has to wait for a courier. Then the courier has to ride to Whiterun. Then the report sits on the Steward's desk for three days before Jarl Balgruuf even sees it. By the time the Jarl finally dispatches a detachment to investigate Kynesgrove... the dragon has already burned the settlement to the ground and flown away. That if the Jarl even decided to send a dispatch into another territory."
Aeloria frowned, nodding slowly as she considered the frustrating reality of Imperial bureaucracy. "That... is unfortunately very true. Avenicci loves his ledgers more than action."
"Exactly," Delphine pressed her advantage, leaning in closer. "But the rumors on the road said that you were different. The rumors said you were a woman of absolute action. They said you marched out to the Western Watchtower and slew the beast yourself. I knew that if I brought this intelligence directly to you, the Dragonborn, you wouldn't wait for a ledger to be signed. You would ride out immediately."
It was a highly compelling lie designed perfectly to appeal to Aeloria's heroic nature and her deep seated frustration with slow politics.
But to a transmigrator who had actively studied the deep lore and character motivations of the game for thousands of hours, the words were absolutely transparent nonsense.
'A beautiful deflection,' Aerion critiqued silently, his eyes remaining closed. 'She completely walked past the core issue of why she was actively tracking the Dragonborn, and instead successfully reframed her intrusion as a desperate plea to a complete bypass of bureaucratic matters.'
Aeloria, completely buying the logic, smiled warmly. "Well, you made the right call, Delphine. We won't wait for Jarl Balgruuf's permission to hunt."
As the carriage rumbled onward, crossing into the snowy, volcanic borders of Eastmarch, the conversation between the two women naturally shifted away from politics and directly toward the mythological beasts currently terrorizing the skies.
"Have you ever actually seen a dragon up close before this one?" Aeloria asked curiously, adjusting the heavy haft of the Axe of Morthal resting across her lap. "Besides the one flying over the mountains, I mean. Because before I slain one of them, I honestly thought they were just fairy tales."
Delphine's eyes narrowed slightly, a brief, terrifyingly sharp flash of her true, ancient, dragon hunting lineage bleeding through her humble innkeeper disguise.
"I know vastly more about dragons than most people in this province, Aeloria," Delphine stated, her voice dropping into a low, completely serious register that entirely lacked the warmth of a tavern owner. "They are not fairy tales. They are immortal, highly intelligent, and utterly ruthless predators. And they are not just randomly waking up. Someone, or something, is actively bringing them back."
Aeloria's brow furrowed in deep concern. "Bringing them back? What do you mean? How is that even possible?"
Delphine leaned back into the shadows of the canopy, intentionally withdrawing from the conversation to maintain her air of mysterious authority.
"It is a complex matter," Delphine deflected smoothly, hiding entirely behind the veil of secrets. "There are factions moving in the shadows of this province that you do not yet understand. I will explain everything I know, and everything I suspect... but only after we are completely finished with this specific dragon business in Kynesgrove."
Aerion's smirk widened infinitesimally in the dark.
'So incredibly predictable,' Aerion mocked internally. 'She is actively gatekeeping the critical lore. She is deliberately buying herself time. She refuses to divulge her intelligence network until she personally, physically witnesses Aeloria absorb a dragon's soul to absolutely confirm her identity as the true Dragonborn.'
He could have easily intervened. He could have leaned forward, shattered her fragile veil of mystery, and laid out the entire plot regarding Alduin the World-Eater, the Thalmor dossiers, and the Blades' hidden temple right there in the wagon. He could have destroyed her leverage instantly.
But Aerion remained perfectly silent.
He was playing a vastly longer, significantly more devastating psychological game. He was deliberately allowing Delphine to build herself up as the mysterious, vital informant in Aeloria's eyes.
He was waiting for the absolute and most humiliating moment to completely rip the rug out from under the spymaster, ensuring that when her true fanaticism was exposed, she would permanently, irreversibly lose all standing and trust in the Dragonborn's eyes.
The journey continued through the freezing afternoon. They rolled past the massive, towering stone walls and the heavy, iron gated bridge of Windhelm, the ancient capital city of the Stormcloaks looking incredibly grim and imposing against the snowy mountains.
Bjorlam did not cross the bridge. He expertly navigated the carriage onto the southern road, following the winding, frozen river deeper into the volcanic tundras of Eastmarch.
As the sun began to dip past noon, the snowy terrain finally gave way to a rocky, steaming, heavily forested valley.
They had arrived at the absolute foot of the hill leading up to Kynesgrove.
But the scene that greeted them was not one of a quiet, bustling mining settlement.
It was absolute, unadulterated, screaming panic.
As the heavy carriage rolled to a halt at the base of the dirt path, the doors of the small wooden settlement above violently flew open. Dozens of miners, farmers, and local merchants were actively sprinting down the steep, muddy hill in sheer, blind terror. Men were shouting incoherently, women were screaming, and children were crying as they scrambled desperately to evacuate the area, entirely abandoning their homes and their livelihoods.
Bjorlam pulled hard on the heavy leather reins, bringing the panicked draft horse to a halt. The driver stood up on his bench, his eyes wide with profound shock as he watched the chaotic stampede rushing toward his wagon.
"By the Eight, what in Oblivion is happening here?!" Bjorlam shouted over the screams, turning to look into the back of the carriage. "Is it a bandit raid? An Imperial patrol attack?"
Before Aeloria could even push herself up from the bench to respond, a terrified, mud splattered Nord woman sprinted past the front wheel of the carriage. Seeing the heavily armed warriors sitting in the back, she stopped for a frantic, breathless second, pointing a trembling, dirt caked finger back up the hill.
"Turn around!" the woman shrieked, her voice cracking with pure, primal terror. "Leave this place immediately! Do not go up the hill!"
"What is it?!" Aeloria yelled back, gripping her battleaxe. "What's attacking the town?"
"A dragon!" the woman screamed, tears streaming down her soot stained face. "A massive, black dragon just tore the sky apart! It flew right over the inn, and it landed directly upon the ancient dragon burial mound at the very top of the hill! It's going to burn us all to ash! Flee!"
Having delivered her frantic warning, the woman turned and sprinted wildly down the main road, desperate to put as much distance between herself and the beast as physically possible.
Bjorlam swallowed a massive, heavy gulp of saliva, his face entirely draining of color. His hands began to violently tremble upon the leather reins. He slowly, haltingly turned his head back to look at the strike team.
"My... my Thanes," Bjorlam stammered, his voice laced with pure, undeniable terror. "Did... did that woman just say a dragon? A real dragon?"
Aeloria stood up smoothly, the heavy plates of her steel armor clanking with absolute, unyielding resolve. Her bright blue eyes did not hold a single shred of fear, they burned with the fierce, focused anticipation of the ultimate predator.
"She did, Bjorlam," Aeloria confirmed, her voice booming with calm authority. She stepped toward the back of the wagon. "Do not worry. You are entirely safe her with use."
Aeloria turned to the rest of the team. "Get down everyone! We will move up the hill immediately!"
Valdemar, Lydia, Jenassa, and Aerion instantly, heavily disembarked from the carriage, their weapons drawn and their armor secured. Delphine followed closely behind, drawing a slender, incredibly sharp steel sword from beneath her leather cloak, her eyes scanning the sky with paranoid intensity.
Aeloria walked up to the driver's bench, placing a reassuring, heavily gauntleted hand upon the wooden frame.
"You and the horse need to get down the road immediately, Bjorlam," Aeloria instructed firmly. "Turn the wagon around. Drive back toward Windhelm, and look for safety behind their stone walls. Do not stop for anything. We will go up the hill and handle the beast."
Bjorlam looked at the heavily armed Nord woman, completely overwhelmed by her sheer, suicidal bravery.
"May the Divines protect you, Dragonborn," Bjorlam whispered fervently. "Stay safe!"
As the strike team turned away to begin their march up the steep, muddy path, several terrified, exhausted miners from the settlement rushed the carriage, frantically scrambling into the back of the wooden canopy to secure a faster escape from the volcanic valley.
Bjorlam didn't argue, he aggressively cracked his whip, turning the heavy draft horse around and tearing down the road away from Kynesgrove.
Aerion took the lead, his dark robes flowing behind him as they marched rapidly up the steep, winding dirt path that cut through the center of the panicked settlement.
They bypassed the Braidwood Inn, entirely ignoring the few remaining locals who were desperately packing their meager belongings onto handcarts. They didn't stop until they reached the absolute top of the hill, where the dense, autumnal forest cleared to reveal a massive, barren, circular depression in the earth.
The ancient dragon burial mound.
The air at the peak of the hill was incredibly heavy, vibrating with a profound, terrifying wave of ancient, necrotic magic. The sky above them seemed to actively darken, swirling with unnatural, tempestuous gray clouds despite the clear afternoon sun.
Aeloria stopped at the edge of the tree line, her brow furrowing in deep, tactical confusion. She gripped the heavy leather haft of her battleaxe, looking at the massive, undisturbed mound of packed dirt and smooth stones dominating the clearing.
There was no dragon visible in the sky, and there was no beast raining fire down upon the village below.
"Aerion," Aeloria whispered, her eyes scanning the empty clearing. "I do not understand. The woman said the dragon landed right here. Why would a massive beast fly all the way from the mountains just to sit on an ancient pile of dirt? Why isn't it wrecking havoc in Kynesgrove and eating the miners?"
Standing beside her, his golden eyes locked entirely upon the glowing, unnatural magical energies swirling directly above the burial mound, Aerion smiled softly.
'Because it isn't here to hunt mortals,' Aerion thought, his transmigrator mind humming with the sheer, epic anticipation of the unfolding lore. 'It is Alduin the World-Eater. The Firstborn of Akatosh. And he is currently in the process of resurrecting his ancient generals from the dirt to rebuild his dragon brethrens.'
But, flawlessly maintaining his role as the humble scholar who was merely observing the myth, Aerion did not speak the terrifying truth aloud. He simply raised a hand, pointing a long finger toward the swirling, darkening clouds gathering directly over the ancient stones. "Patience, Aeloria," Aerion murmured, his melodic voice incredibly soft, yet carrying the absolute weight of prophecy. "The beast is not definitely hiding. It is merely doing something we don't know what yey."
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[Main Panel]
Name: Aerion
Race: High Elf (Altmer)
Health: 540/540 Stamina: 560/560 Magicka: 750/750
Level: 158
Skills: Animal Affinity (MAX LEVEL), Fast Skill Levelling (MAX LEVEL), Fast Magic Mastery (MAX LEVEL), Instant Shout (MAX LEVEL), Dragon Master (MAX LEVEL), Destruction (Fire(+3)/Lightning(+1)/Frost(+1)) (Level 67/92/56), Restoration (Healing(+1)/Purify(+2)) (Level 52/50), Alteration (Level 35), Illusion (Level 50), Conjuration (Necromancy/Summoning(+1)) (Level 37/38), Persuasion(+1) (Level 89), Smithing (Level 22), Sneak (Level MAX), One Handed(+1) (Level 72), Two Handed (Level 81), Lockpicking (Level 35), Archery (Level 72), Enchanting (Level 66), Light Armor(+1) (Level 18), Block (Level 70), & Pickpocket (Level 8)
Shouts: Fus Roh Dah (Force Balance Push), Tiid (Time), Krii (Kill), Feim Zii (Fade Spirit), Su (Air), & Laas (Life)
[Inventory Panel]
1x Small Sack, Poacher's Axe, Mammoth Tusk, the Golden Claw, Calm Spellbook, Arvel's Journal, Inkwell & Quill, Thief Book, Scroll Of Summoning (Wolf), Scroll Of Healing, Weak Potion of Paralysis, Golden Staff of Flames, Parchment Rolls Of Mammoths Farm And Loan, Ebony Claw, Orcish Dagger, Jagged Crown, The Mirror, Ring of Pure Mixtures, Grand Soul Gem (Filled), Reanimate Corpse Tome, Staff of Lightning, Deed to Tundra Homestead, Sapphire, Ruby, Dawnbreaker, Traveling Backpack (Supplies), Potion of Minor Magicka, Vampire Armor, Vampire Boots, Movarth's Golden Ash (Unique), Dwarven Sword, Hide Boots Of Sneak, Gold Ruby Ring of Fortify Magicka, Iron Garnet Ring of Fortify Conjuration & Magicka Regen, Elven Dagger, Potion of Healing, Honed Ancient Nord Sword of Sparks, Gold Emerald Circlet, & Scroll of Fire Storm, Ring of Archery, Hide Boots of Stamina, Ancient Nord Sword of Absorbing, Iron Garnet Circlet, Iron Sapphire Circlet, Grand Soul Gem (Filled), Glass Boots, Dwarven Sword, & Dwarven Shield
2x Common Soul Gem (Empty), Black Soul Gem (Empty), Elven Sword, Amethysts, Potions of Plentiful Magicka, Scroll of Conjure Familiar, & Scroll of Magelight
3x Glowing Mushrooms, Potions of Minor Stamina, Flawless Sapphires, Gold Necklace, Iron Necklace, Petty Soul Gem (Filled), & Potions of Minor Magicka
4x Spider Eggs, Garnets, & Common Soul Gem (Filled)
5x Lesser Soul Gem (Filled)
7x Vampires Dust
8x Iron Arrows & Ancient Nord Arrows
9x Potions Of Minor Healing
12x Black Soul Gem (Filled)
Weight: 95.21 KG / 580 KG
Septims: 83,177