If you want to read 20 Chapters ahead and more, 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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The very fabric of High Hrothgar violently shuddered. The massive stone pillars groaned in agonizing protest. The dragon relief fire pits flared brilliantly, the flames dancing wildly in the localized metaphysical hurricane. The floorboards beneath Aeloria's feet trembled violently, the sheer, concentrated density of the ancient words threatening to tear the monastery completely apart.
Lydia, Valdemar, and Jenassa squeezed their eyes shut, their hands clamped desperately over their ears as they fought to steady their footing against the localized metaphysical hurricane. Even Lupin the fox let out a terrified whimper, pressing his small body flat against the trembling floorboards behind Aerion's boots.
But amidst the deafening, earth shaking resonance, two individuals remained entirely grounded.
Aeloria stood in the center of the formation. As the Dragonborn, the ancient language did not assault her, it washed over her like a heavy, welcoming tide.
And standing just outside the circle, maintaining his flawless, aristocratic composure despite the violent tremors shaking the floor beneath him, Aerion listened.
Because of the unique, narrative locked Dragon Master skill newly integrated into his consciousness, the deafening roar of the Greybeards was not a chaotic jumble of acoustic violence. His transmigrator mind instantly, perfectly translated the deep, booming draconic tongue into the common speech.
"Long has the Stormcrown languished, with no true power..."
Aerion understood every single syllable perfectly. The sheer magnitude of the lore unfolding before his eyes brought a profound, deeply satisfied thrill to his heart. He was standing at the absolute epicenter of Skyrim's mythological narrative.
As the final, echoing syllable of "Dovahkiin!" rolled away into the high stone vaults of the monastery, the violent tremors slowly subsided. The flames in the braziers settled back into their calm, steady dance. The suffocating, heavy silence of the mountain returned, ringing slightly in the ears of the mortal warriors.
Slowly, Valdemar and Lydia lowered their hands from their heads, blinking in absolute, terrified awe at the four frail looking old men who possessed the power to shatter mountains with a whisper.
Master Arngeir stepped forward from the circle, the heavy folds of his gray robes completely undisturbed. He looked at the heavily armored Nord woman standing tall in the center of the hall, a warm, profoundly approving smile touching his ancient, bearded face.
"You have tasted our Voice, Dragonborn," Arngeir spoke, his thrumming, resonant tone infinitely gentler now. "And you stood tall. You did not break beneath its weight. It is our official welcome to you."
Aeloria took a deep, steadying breath, allowing the lingering adrenaline to fade. She unclasped her hands from the haft of her battleaxe, offering the Masters a deep, highly respectful bow of her head.
"I thank you for your welcome, Master Arngeir. And I thank you for the summons," Aeloria replied, her voice steady and confident, completely devoid of her usual boisterous volume out of respect for the sanctuary.
She stood up straight, her bright blue eyes locking onto the ancient monk.
"I am answering your call because I need to understand," Aeloria confessed, her tone turning deeply vulnerable and intensely focused. "Just a few days ago, I was a simple warrior. Now, the guards in Whiterun become reverend to me, and then mountain or well the four of you screams my name. I wanted to know what it truly means to be a Dragonborn."
Arngeir offered a slow, incredibly wise nod, his eyes crinkling at the corners. He had heard the same desperate, searching questions from the lips of emperors and wandering heroes alike over the centuries.
"We are here to guide you in that exact pursuit, child," Arngeir assured her gently. "Just as the Greybeards have patiently guided those born with the Dragon Blood who have come before you."
Aeloria nodded her head in understanding. Thanks to Aerion's extensive, highly researched lore lectures during their march across the tundra, she was entirely aware that she was not the first of her kind. She knew she walked in the footsteps of ancient heroes and the founders of empires.
"I am ready to learn," Aeloria declared firmly, her jaw setting with unwavering Nordic determination.
Master Arngeir nodded in response, though a subtle, evaluating shadow crossed his wise eyes.
"You have indeed shown that you are the Dragonborn," Arngeir acknowledged softly. "You possess the inborn gift, the divine spark of Akatosh. But raw power is merely the foundation. Do you possess the discipline and the temperament to follow the strict, narrow path laid out for you? That is the question that remains to be seen."
Aeloria absorbed the warning, nodding her head respectfully. Before the lesson could officially commence, her protective instincts flared. She turned her head, looking back at her heavily armed strike team standing near the archway.
"Master Arngeir," Aeloria requested politely, gesturing to the High Elf, the Dark Elf, and her two Housecarls. "Before we begin... if my friends and companions are permitted to stay and witness the proceedings, I would greatly appreciate it. If our ancient traditions forbid it, I can ask them to wait outside the hall so as not to intrude."
Aerion immediately took a half-step backward, completely prepared to play the role of the humble, obedient scholar.
"We are more than willing to wait in the entrance corridor, Aeloria," Aerion offered smoothly, his melodic voice deferential. "We have no desire to disrespect the sacred rites of the monastery."
Arngeir slowly shook his head, raising a frail hand to halt their retreat.
"It is entirely fine for them to remain and witness the truth of the Voice," Arngeir permitted, a warm, accommodating smile on his face. He looked directly at Aerion, acknowledging the High Elf's respectful composure. "A loyal friend to the Dragonborn is a friend to the Greybeards. You may all stay."
With the logistical permissions granted, Arngeir turned his full, imposing attention back to Aeloria. The time for introductions had passed; the ancient curriculum was officially beginning.
"Without a single day of formal training, you have already taken the very first steps towards projecting your Voice into a Thu'um, a Shout," Arngeir instructed, his words flowing with the cadence of a seasoned professor. "Now, let us see if you are truly willing and able to learn the deeper mysteries."
Arngeir began to slowly pace around the perimeter of the central brazier, his hands clasped behind his back.
"Your Dragon Blood grants you an incredibly rare, inborn ability to absorb and instantly learn Words of Power," Arngeir explained. "Every true Shout is made up of exactly three Words of Power. As you discover and master each subsequent Word, your Shout will become progressively heavier, wider, and vastly stronger."
He stopped, gesturing respectfully toward one of the silent monks standing to his left.
"Master Einarth will now teach you the word Ro," Arngeir announced. "It is the second Word in the Unrelenting Force Shout. In the ancient tongue of the dragons, Ro translates to 'Balance'. When you combine this new understanding with Fus, the 'Force' you have already utilized, it will focus your raw power, turning your Thu'um into a vastly sharper, more devastating projection."
Master Einarth stepped forward. The ancient monkspeak a single syllable. He closed his eyes, inhaling deeply.
Suddenly, Einarth opened his eyes, whispers the word Ro, and thrust his hands downward toward the smooth, gray stone floorboards of the hall.
A pulse of raw, localized heat washed through the room. Glowing, blindingly bright fiery runes violently etched themselves directly into the solid stone, burning with an intense, ethereal orange light. The draconic characters for Ro seared themselves into the floor.
"Look upon the word, Dragonborn," Arngeir instructed softly. "Draw its meaning into your soul."
Aeloria stepped forward, her eyes locking onto the glowing, fiery runes. As she stared at the ancient script, the magical energy of the word physically lifted from the stone.
The ethereal fire flowed through the air, sinking directly into her chest, exactly as the soul of the dragon had done. She closed her eyes, letting out a sharp gasp as the profound, cosmic concept of 'Balance' fundamentally rewired her understanding of kinetic force.
Standing a few feet away, Aerion watched the magical transfer with profound, academic fascination.
However, his observation was suddenly, violently interrupted by the familiar, highly anticipated chime of his digital interface. The golden text aggressively superimposed itself over his vision.
[Word of Power Detected: Ro (Balance)]
[Systemic Anomaly Detected in User Data.]
[Notice: The User already possesses the foundational conceptualization of 'Ro' within their integrated to their soul due to previous interaction of slaying a Dragon.]
[Initiating Auto Conversion Protocol to maximize User progression.]
[Would you be willing to learn the third, final word of the Unrelenting Force Shout: Dah (Push)?]
[YES / NO]
Aerion stood perfectly still, his eyes widening a fraction of an inch in sheer, unadulterated shock.
He had entirely expected to simply learn Ro alongside Aeloria. He had not anticipated that his system, recognizing that he have already learned the word Ro, would actively intervene to auto convert the overlapping knowledge into the final, devastating piece of the puzzle.
He was essentially bypassing weeks of rigorous monastic meditation in a single heartbeat.
Aerion actively bit the inside of his cheek to forcefully hide the massive, incredibly smug, profoundly sociopathic smile that threatened to split his face in half.
'Oh, you beautiful, broken system,' Aerion praised inwardly, a massive wave of euphoria washing over his Gamer soul.
Without a single microsecond of hesitation, he mentally smashed the YES button.
[Word of Power Learned: Dah (Push)]
[Shout Upgraded to MAX LEVEL: Unrelenting Force (Fus, Ro, Dah)]
A sudden, terrifying, absolute cosmic certainty settled deeply into Aerion's chest. The sheer, devastating weight of the complete Thu'um was intoxicating. He didn't just know the words; he felt the absolute, unyielding power to shatter siege walls and blow fully grown men off the peaks of mountains resting comfortably at the back of his throat.
The sense of accomplishment of entirely completing his very first three word Shout filled his soul with a profound, humming warmth.
He dismissed the interface seamlessly, turning his attention back to the lesson just as Master Arngeir continued.
"Now that you have absorbed the concept," Arngeir spoke gently to Aeloria, "Master Einarth will grant you his personal understanding of the Word, so that you may use it without years of meditation."
Master Einarth stepped close to the Dragonborn. He raised his hands, and a brilliant, glowing white aura pulsed from his body, transferring directly into Aeloria. She shuddered slightly as the ancient wisdom integrated into her mind.
"You have the Word, and you have the meaning," Arngeir announced, his voice taking on a slightly stricter, testing edge. "Now, we must see if you can project it. Show us your new Voice, Dragonborn."
Arngeir gestured to the open space in the center of the hall.
Master Einarth, Master Borri, and Master Wulfgar moved to the far edges of the room. In perfect unison, the three monks raised their hands.
With a soft, shimmering hum of Conjuration magic, three ethereal, glowing blue, highly detailed apparitions materialized in the center of the hall. They looked like ghostly warriors, specifically summoned to act as target practice.
"Strike the targets," Arngeir commanded. "Use both Words together."
Aeloria didn't hesitate. The thrill of the ancient power coursing through her veins was intoxicating. She stepped forward, planting her heavy steel boots firmly into the stone, squaring her shoulders toward the first glowing apparition.
She took a massive, deep breath, pulling the power from her chest.
"FUS RO!"
The combined syllables erupted from her lips. The shockwave was vastly, terrifyingly different from her first attempt on the plains. It was no longer a chaotic, expanding dome of pressure, it was a tight, hyper focused, devastatingly sharp cone of absolute kinetic violence.
The invisible blast tore across the room, violently striking the first ethereal target. The sheer force of the impact instantly shattered the magical construct, causing it to violently stagger backward before entirely dissipating into harmless blue mist.
Aeloria pivoted flawlessly. She didn't even wait to catch her breath, the draconic stamina fueling her lungs.
"FUS RO!"
The second target shattered into mist.
She turned on her heel, locking her bright blue eyes onto the final apparition.
"FUS RO!"
The third blast echoed through the high rafters, completely clearing the hall of the magical targets.
Aeloria lowered her stance, panting slightly, a massive, incredibly proud grin illuminating her face as she looked back at the Masters.
"Excellent," Master Arngeir praised, a look of genuine, profound admiration crossing his ancient features. He nodded deeply. "Your mastery of the Thu'um is swift, Dragonborn. You show incredibly great promise. You learn in mere moments what takes normal men a lifetime to even glimpse."
Arngeir gestured toward a heavy wooden door situated at the rear of the main hall.
"Your capacity for destruction is proven," Arngeir stated calmly. "Now, let us test your capacity for swiftness. Follow me into the courtyard."
Aerion, Jenassa, Valdemar, and Lydia fell into a respectful formation behind the monks as they processed through the rear archways of the monastery.
Arngeir pushed the heavy stone doors open, leading the group out into the high altitude, open air back courtyard of High Hrothgar.
The transition from the warm, sheltered interior to the exterior peak was physically shocking. The courtyard was surrounded by towering, sheer cliffs of jagged gray stone.
The ground was covered in a thick, permanent layer of deep white snow. A violent, howling, freezing blizzard whipped constantly through the open space, chilling the unarmored monks to the bone, though they seemed entirely unaffected by the temperature.
"Master Borri," Arngeir called out over the howling wind, gesturing toward the center of the snowy courtyard. "Will now teach you the first word of an entirely new Shout. Wuld, which means 'Whirlwind' in the dragon tongue. We wish to observe how your soul adapts to a completely unfamiliar concept."
Master Borri stepped forward, his heavy gray robes whipping violently in the blizzard. He approached a flat patch of ancient cobblestone peeking out from beneath the snowdrifts.
Borri closed his eyes. He use his hands as well, as he took a deep breath and gently, precisely exhaled Wuld.
A stream of ethereal, glowing orange fire flowed gracefully from his lips, violently melting the snow and etching the brilliant, burning draconic runes for Wuld directly onto the freezing stone.
"Absorb the Word, Dragonborn," Arngeir commanded.
As Aeloria stepped forward to draw the glowing runes into her chest, Aerion stood safely near the heavy wooden doors, shivering slightly in his dark robes.
Instantly, the familiar golden chime echoed in his mind.
[Word of Power Detected: Wuld (Whirlwind)]
[Would you like to learn the first word of the Whirlwind Sprint Shout?]
[YES / NO]
Aerion didn't even have to process the thought. He slammed the YES button with extreme prejudice.
[Word of Power Learned: Wuld (Whirlwind)]
[Shout Unlocked: Whirlwind Sprint (Wuld)]
This expedition has paid for itself a thousand times over, Aerion chuckled inwardly, immensely satisfied.
He had essentially tagged along on Aeloria's divine destiny and was actively, effortlessly siphoning the absolute highest tier magical rewards the province had to offer without doing a single day of monastic labor.
Accompanying the Dragonborn to High Hrothgar was proving to be the most lucrative tactical decision of his entire transmigrator existence.
Out in the courtyard, Master Borri stepped close to Aeloria, glowing with a bright white aura as he transferred his personal understanding of the Word directly into her mind.
"You have the knowledge," Arngeir called out over the wind. "Now, you must demonstrate it."
Master Borri turned away from Aeloria. He walked briskly to the far end of the courtyard, standing near the heavy iron gates leading out toward the peak of the Throat of the World. He turned back, ensuring a clear, unobstructed path lay between himself and the Dragonborn.
"When Master Borri gives the signal," Arngeir instructed, "you must use the Whirlwind Sprint to cross the courtyard and pass through the gate before it closes."
Borri raised his hand. Suddenly, with a sharp, localized burst of magical speed, the monk blurred across the snow, demonstrating the Shout perfectly.
Aeloria watched the blur of movement, her eyes wide. She nodded, understanding the mechanics.
She settled into a low, aggressive runner's stance, her heavy steel sabatons digging deeply into the snow for traction. She focused entirely on the distant iron gate.
Master Borri raised his hand again, offering a sharp, downward chop. The signal.
Aeloria drew the breath into her chest.
"WULD!"
The result was absolutely breathtaking.
The word didn't project outward, it entirely inverted, wrapping the Dragonborn in a localized field of compressed kinetic acceleration.
Aeloria vanished.
She didn't run; she was violently, instantaneously propelled across the massive courtyard in a blurring, high speed streak of displaced air and flying snow. The sheer momentum of the shout carried her heavy, steel clad form across fifty feet of open ground in the span of a single heartbeat.
She materialized flawlessly on the far side of the courtyard, skidding slightly in the snow just past Master Borri, the heavy iron gate standing open before her.
She stood up straight, laughing out loud in sheer, exhilarated disbelief at the absolute rush of speed.
Master Arngeir slowly walked across the courtyard to join her, shaking his head slowly, a look of profound, deeply genuine astonishment on his ancient face.
"Your quick mastery of an entirely new Thu'um is... it is absolutely astonishing," Arngeir murmured, his resonant voice filled with quiet awe. He looked at the Nord woman as if looking at a walking miracle. "I have studied the ancient texts. I have heard the stories of the terrifying abilities of the Dragonborns of old. But to actually see it for myself... it is a profound surprise."
Aeloria, panting slightly, offered a humble, slightly confused shrug, her heavy steel pauldrons shifting.
"I honestly thought it was this easy for everyone who climbed the mountain," Aeloria admitted jovially, completely oblivious to the sheer impossibility of what she had just accomplished.
Arngeir let out a soft, echoing chuckle, shaking his head.
"No, child. Indeed not," Arngeir corrected her gently. "It is a gift completely unique to your bloodline. The rest of us must dedicate our entire lives to mastering even a fraction of what you absorb in a single breath."
His expression then shifted, the gentle monk replaced by the stern, ancient guardian of the world's most dangerous power.
"But you must beware, Dragonborn," Arngeir warned her, his voice dropping to a serious, commanding register. "You must ensure that your raw skill does not outstrip your wisdom. Power without purpose is a devastating curse."
"I don't even know how I do it, Master Arngeir," Aeloria confessed softly, looking down at her gauntleted hands. "I don't study it. It just... happens when I need it."
"You were given this divine gift by the gods for a specific reason," Arngeir assured her, placing a comforting hand on her steel clad shoulder. "It is entirely up to you to figure out how to best use it to shape the fate of this world."
Arngeir took a deliberate step backward, sweeping his gaze over the Dragonborn, and then briefly toward Aerion and the heavily armed strike team waiting by the doors.
"Your basic education is complete," Arngeir announced formally, his voice booming over the blizzard. "You are now ready for your final trial."
Aeloria straightened up, her eyes shining with determination. "Thank you, Masters. What's next?"
Arngeir pointed a frail, ancient finger back toward the treacherous path they had just climbed, gesturing down toward the distant, unseen valleys of Hjaalmarch.
"To prove your true mastery and your dedication to our path," Arngeir decreed, his words carrying the absolute weight of ancient tradition. "You must retrieve the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller, our revered founder, from his sealed tomb in the ancient, dangerous fane of Ustengrav."
Standing near the wooden doors, entirely hidden within the shadows of his dark hood... Aerion felt a massive, genuinely sociopathic smirk completely overtake his face.
Ustengrav, Aerion thought, his transmigrator mind actively humming with pure, unadulterated, game breaking glee. The ancient, dangerous fane. The sealed tomb. The epic final trial.
He casually let his right hand drop to his side, his fingers lightly brushing the heavy leather satchel. Resting perfectly, safely, and entirely securely within his digital void was the exact, legendary artifact the Greybeard had just dramatically assigned them to retrieve. "Remain true to the Way of the Voice," Arngeir instructed solemnly, entirely unaware that the grand quest was already completely, hilariously compromised. "And you will return to us triumphant."
_____________________________
[Main Panel]
Name: Aerion
Race: High Elf (Altmer)
Health: 540/540 Stamina: 560/560 Magicka: 750/750
Level: 145
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 42/76/41), Restoration (Healing(+1)/Purify(+2)) (Level 31/25), Alteration (Level 35), Illusion (Level 50), Conjuration (Necromancy/Summoning(+1)) (Level 37/26), Persuasion(+1) (Level 83), Smithing (Level 22), Sneak (Level 87), One Handed(+1) (Level 72), Two Handed (Level 81), Lockpicking (Level 35), Archery (Level 72), Enchanting (Level 66), Light Armor(+1) (Level 0), Block (Level 70), & Pickpocket (Level 8)
Shouts: Fus Roh Dah (Force Balance Push), Tiid (Time), Krii (Kill), Feim Zii (Fade Spirit), Su (Air), & Wuld (Whirlwind)
[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
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: 90.20 KG / 580 KG
Septims: 82,277