Skyrim: A Craftman's Journey

4E 201, Blue Palace

Legate Rikke 

Rikke stood near one of the Blue Palace's high arched windows, watching the first winter snow fall quietly over Solitude. From here, the white flakes looked peaceful—quite the contrast to the chaos that stirs beneath the lands of Skyrim.

The Dragon attack on Windhelm had nearly torn the already frayed edges of this war apart.

General Tullius had been excited, wanting to strike as soon as the news came. The other Legates shared his sentiments, eager to press the advantage while Ulfric reeled from the damage.

But surprisingly, it had been Elenwen who urged caution. 

"We do not yet understand what occurred in Windhelm," the Thalmor Ambassador had said, "Mobilize your armies now, and they may very well burn in the fields before reaching the gates."

As much as Rikke loathed agreeing with the Altmer, the logic was sound. Cities with walls, siege weapons, and garrisons couldn't defend against the flying beasts, what hope would the Legions have out in the open field? It would be a massacre.

General Tullius hadn't liked it—jaw clenched, hands fisted—but in the end, he had relented.

Rikke still didn't know what to make of Elenwen. At the last war council, the ambassador had been practically salivating at the idea of razing Whiterun and purging the Vigilants. Now she was cautious, restrained.

There was always another game beneath the surface with the Thalmor. Always.

The soft echo of her boots on the marble floor pulled her from thought as she made her way toward the Jarl's private chambers. She glanced over her shoulder, ensuring no one followed, before slipping inside.

Jarl Elisif awaited her, standing near the hearth, along with two others. Falk Firebeard—the Jarl's steward. And Sybille Stentor, the vampire court mage.

One might wonder why the Jarl herself doesn't have a dedicated housecarl to protect her, but others who know Lady Sybille's true nature would understand. The woman seldom leaves Elisif's side and was fiercely protective of her, having practically raised the young Jarl after Torygg's death. 

"Legate," Elisif greeted with a small smile, relief evident in her voice. "Thank you for coming."

Rikke nodded, though her unease lingered at all the secrecy. "May I speak plainly, my Jarl?"

"Always."

"Why is General Tullius not involved in these talks? I understand why you opted to keep Lady Elenwen away, but the General—"

Elisif lifted a hand, silencing her. "It is precisely because Tullius is the General. The Thalmor's eyes are fixed upon him. But you, Legate—you are his right hand, yet still… flexible. I need the opinion of someone loyal to the Empire, not the Thalmor."

Rikke's throat tightened, but she nodded. "Understood."

The Jarl looked at everyone then. "The reason I called for this meeting is this." She pulled out an opened letter. "I received this letter discreetly during a walk through the city. I was visiting the Bard's College with Sybille when a man dropped this letter. Sybille confirmed it wasn't enchanted or trapped."

Rikke arched a brow, stepping closer.

"It bears Ulfric's own personal sigil, requesting a meeting to talk of a truce." Elisif confirmed.

Rikke widened her eyes in surprise. Falk's expression mirrored her shock. "Ulfric Stormcloak requests a ceasefire?"

"Yes," Elisif confirmed, voice heavy with uncertainty. "He claims the dragons are a threat greater than our civil war. He proposes we stand united—Skyrim, together—if only temporarily."

"And where does he propose this meeting to be held?" Rikke asked with a frown. "This could very well be a trap, my Jarl." 

"High Hrothgar," Elisif replied simply.

Rikke's mind churned. True enough, if any place could be used as neutral grounds, it would be the home of the Greybeards. 

"Do you intend to accept?"

"We may have no choice," Elisif admitted grimly. "But that is not our only concern." She nodded to Falk.

The steward sighed, posture rigid. "Captain Aldis has reported troubling news. The Vigilants of Stendarr were attacked by remnants of the Mythic Dawn. They claim to want to bring another Oblivion Crisis to our lands."

The blood drained from Rikke's face. "Divines help us."

"The Vigilants fought them off, but suffered heavy losses," Sybille added, "Even the Keeper of the Hall was severely injured, a cut on her arm that couldn't heal." 

"And that's not all," Falk continued. "Haafingar has been plagued by a necromancer problem. Some of our patrols have been having minor skirmishes with skeletons and all manners of Draugr in the roads and mountainsides."

Rikke let out a breath. 'It's one thing after another here in Skyrim.'

"Any word where the undead came from?" Rikke asked. "Of all the things, that's one problem I can fix quickly."

"From what I'm told, Wolfskull Cave, possibly Mount Kilkreath," Falk suggested.

Rikke nodded, her resolve solidifying. "In the end, the choice is yours, Jarl Elisif. Ulfric, for all his faults, truly loves Skyrim and his people. Perhaps these Dragons, terrifying as they are, are just what we need to unify Skyrim at long last."

Elisif nodded with a smile. "I agree. What will you do, Rikke?"

She straightened, a hand on went to the hilt of her sword. "I'll take Legate Adventus and a cohort of legionnaires. We'll clean out the necromancer filth near the capital."

Elisif's smile returned faintly. "Thank you, Legate. And good luck."

Rikke saluted and departed. Her mind raced with plans—the necromancers, the dragons, and now the Mythic Dawn. Skyrim was fraying at the edges, and every thread threatened to snap.

Her boots echoed softly through the winding halls as she went outside of the Blue Palace to Castle Dour. 

As she passed a corridor near the guest quarters assigned to the Thalmor, familiar voices drifted from a slightly ajar door. Her steps slowed instinctively.

"What do you mean Northwatch Keep has fallen?!" Elenwen hissed.

Rikke tensed, ears straining.

"We received a runner to the embassy in the middle of the night, my Lady." A nervous Altmer answered, "Aryandel claims that she was out on patrol when she returned to the keep, only to see it taken over by…vampires."

Elenwen's fury was palpable, even muffled by stone. "Vampires?! Elite Thalmor soldiers fell to mere vampires?!"

The messenger faltered. "That's… what we heard, my lady. We—"

Rikke had heard enough. Quietly, she slipped away, boots silent against the stone as her thoughts churned.

…

4E 201, The Midden

Gerron Ironbreaker

The Midden was, by all accounts, a fascinating location. The Atronach Forge, even more.

It wasn't hard to find the room that held the forge itself. Situated on a circular stone chamber, the forge itself consisted of a raised circular platform, made of worn stone and featured concentric circles etched on the surface. 

He ran his gloved hand across the stone dais again, fingertips tracing the worn Daedric inscriptions that circled the central brazier. Every time he looked at it, the Artificer System flared softly in his vision.

[Atronach Forge]

A magical dais located in the heart of the Midden, the forge was created thousands of years ago, predating the creation of the College of Winterhold. It was a project meant to combine Dwemer technology and Daedric runes and symbols. Being a conduit to the realms of Oblivion, the Atronach Forge blesses all that is created upon it with greater enchantments.

Gerron couldn't keep off the grin on his face. Was this not the answer to all his qualms? The balm to his recent troubles? Being a conduit to the realms of Oblivion means that it could take the feedback of powerful magic, which means that inscribing constellations to his armor and creating his more ambitious projects were no longer impossible.

Serana was amused by his look. "I'm guessing this is everything you're hoping for it to be?"

"Oh yes." Gerron looked back at her, a spark in his eyes. 

The following weeks at the College passed in a blur of late nights and meticulous study. When Gerron wasn't in the Midden, crafting and experimenting, he was either pouring over books in the Arcanaeum or getting familiar with the College's grounds.

Despite his clear lack of spell mastery, the other professors quickly took note of him. Particularly Sergius Turrianus, the Imperial enchanter whose expertise, while respected, often went underappreciated by the younger, flashier mages obsessed with Destruction spells and conjured daedra.

Mages, especially those of the current generation, are far more interested in the 'fun' aspect of magic. And that only includes Destruction—since that is the foremost school of magic that deals with power—and Conjuration, since who doesn't want atronachs at your beck and call?

While Alteration and Illusion was respectable in their own right, Restoration and Enchanting was considered by many to be the 'lesser' school of magic. Which makes absolutely no sense at all, in Gerron's opinion.

"Your way of enchanting is certainly more unique than the usual standard techniques that most mages currently use." Sergius had said to Gerron in one of their many conversations. "The structure and the arrays of your runes are ones I haven't seen before."

Gerron chuckled. "I've studied many ancient magical runes, including Nordic, Daedric, Dwemer, and Dragon. The ones I use were created after meticulous study of trying to make sense of the four, creating a brand new script so to speak. I call it 'Arcanic'."

It was technically a half-lie. The real reason he could create something such as this was due to the Artificer System.

[Arcanic Rune Script]

Using the four languages as a baseline, you have created the Arcanic Rune Script. A runic language used for enchanting that combines the strength of each language while eliminating their weaknesses.

"You created your own script?!" Sergius stated with shock. "That…That is revolutionary! Please, I would very much appreciate it if you could share your studies with me!"

Gerron did so as he spent the next few days holed up in Sergius' laboratory. It was quite the experience to have a claimed expert on Enchanting as his student, but Gerron just shook his head amusedly.

"This is incredible." Sergius said after successfully imbuing a basic fire enchantment to a sword. "Not only are the enchantments stronger than the usual, but it uses much less magicka in turn, allowing for the use of a smaller soul gem for more powerful effects. Ingenious!"

He whirled to Gerron then, clear respect, excitement, and awe in his eyes. "With this achievement, none would object if you claim yourself to be a Master Enchanter. We have to take this to the Archmage!"

Gerron had kept an amiable relationship with Savos Aren, especially after the great first impression he had given by breaking Ancano's nose. The Archmage had no problems in formally granting Gerron the title of Master Enchanter, under the condition that he publishes a book regarding his findings to put in the Arcanaeum, since that was the basic requirement for one to become a Master.

Gerron had no problems with that.

The next day, the news of a new Master Enchanter spread all across Skyrim, the name Gerron Ironbreaker spearing far and wide. 

Serana had given her congratulations, the Vampire herself working hard on her own studies. 

Speaking of the vampire, Serana had slipped into College life with unnerving ease. Magic had always been her strength—and it showed. Her talents, combined with her centuries-old experience, made her a natural among the mages. She didn't attend any of the beginner classes, but always made a presence whenever the professors did lectures on the more advanced topics of their schools of magic.

Gerron had heard many tales of his vampiric friend from the teachers and students. She was a bit of an anomaly to most with her equal focus to three schools of magic instead of one. 

Most Master Wizards were considered that due to their extreme proficiency on one of the magical branches, which was what made them rare since the study to become a master usually took decades at the very least.

Even the College itself only has four proclaimed masters, five now including Gerron. Faralda for Destruction, Tolfdir for Alteration, Mirabelle for Illusion, and Savos Aren for Conjuration and Destruction. Collete Marence and Phinis Gestor—though talented—were only experts at their craft.

While learning magic from other schools is common, very rarely do mages dedicate their time to split masteries.

This was what Serana had achieved. Instead of becoming a Master to a singular branch, she had done something which many considered to be a more difficult task. She was an Expert level Mage—which is a step below Master—to three different schools of magic; Destruction, Illusion, and Conjuration.

This unique dedication of hers had earned her the friendship of Mirabelle Ervine herself, surprising everyone in the College. According to Toldfir, Mirabelle was a very stern woman who rarely—if ever—socializes with the students. Yet Serana had somehow cracked that veneer, often found trading observations and lessons with the Breton woman.

Gerron didn't pry on the hows—but it was impressive.

His evenings at the Arcanaeum were spent with Dexion Evicus, the scholarly researcher who till now kept his position of Moth Priest a secret. They traded many stories with each other. Gerron shared tales of the many dragons he had encountered. While Dexion—being a well travelled man—spoke of the cultures and geographical landscapes of the other provinces in Tamriel.

One tale, in particular, stuck with Gerron.

"You've heard of the White Phial?" he had asked, leaning forward.

"Indeed," Dexion replied, stroking his greying beard. "Crafted with the Unmelting Snow from the Throat of the World itself. A vessel said to purify any liquid, never running dry. It was a fascinating item, though I'm not certain whether it was fable or real." 

Gerron laughed and showed him the currently imperfect piece, telling him everything that happened in the Forsaken Cave. 

"By the Divines, so it was true" Dexion gaped as he held it in his hands. "It's broken, I see."

"Yes, though now that I know that Unmelting Snow is needed, it won't take long for me to fix it." Gerron said with a smile.

Later that night, he drafted a letter to send to High Hrothgar, asking for Kiera to scoop up some of that Unmelting Snow to bring back to the College.

But all his preparation, all his research—it culminated in this.

His current greatest breakthrough.

Standing once more in the Midden, Gerron worked tirelessly throughout the night before finally finishing his newest creation. Caraxes' dragonscale vest, newly inscribed with the constellation of the Atronach.

The Atronach Stone is known throughout Skyrim to bless the user with the ability to absorb magicka. While it is perfect for defense, this ability is useless to Gerron who isn't much of a spellcaster. 

This was by design of course, since he's a warrior first and foremost. However, that doesn't mean he couldn't use them. He'd been getting a lot of new ideas recently, all due to the new feature granted to him by the System when he read a random spell tome for the first time.

[The Spellcrafter]

Crafting spells is a delicate art, but those who know how to do so are considered by many to be the pinnacle of their craft. Through the mastery of runes and magical theory, you can freely create and modify whatever spells you have in your possession. Even creating a new branch of magic isn't outside of your capabilities. 

Suffice to say, there was a long conversation he needed to have with Serana. What kind of spells could the vampiric woman make now with his help? He shuddered at the thought.

Nevertheless, with his enchanting mastery, the shape of the constellation he could copy from 'the Firmament' book, and the new Spellcrafter feat, he designed the runes inlaid on the dragonscale vest to connect his ebony gauntlets. 

The plan was for the magicka, instead of being absorbed to Gerron's body, would instead go to the gauntlets and charge whatever weapon he has in his hand directly, completely taking away the need to replace Soul Gems embedded within.

Once he shared this thought with Serana, she was happy enough to test it with him. Donning the now rune-scribed dragonscale vest and holding the Mercury Hammer in his hand, they both stood in the Midden for the privacy it provided.

"Are you ready?" She asked.

"Let's do it." he told Serana, "Make sure to target the vest itself."

With a flick of her wrist, twin bolts of lightning arced toward him. The moment they struck the runes, they flared bright blue, fracturing the energy, siphoning it down his arms and into the hammer. The weapon's head pulsed with raw magicka, glowing like bottled lightning.

Gerron whistled. "Perfect."

…

The days that followed were filled with refinement, trial, and error—but the foundation was there. He had even begun inscribing the same things on his dragonscale shield and dragonbone sword, though they were far from being finished.

He knew it was just the beginning. With enough time, his hammer would strike with the power of storms. His armor would deflect spells and turn energy against his foes.

But his thoughts were interrupted when the door to his personal quarters in the Hall of Countenance—an upgrade given to him when he became a Master Enchanter—creaked open, and Mirabelle descended the steps, her expression unusually grave.

Serana—who liked to lounge here since it was more comfortable than her own quarters—perked up from her position by the couch, reading a book.

"Gerron. Serana." She called. "We have a situation. There's a visitor here to see you. He calls himself Isran, leader of the Dawnguard. He brings news regarding the Vigilants of Stendarr."

…

AN: Remember that the Thalmor wants the Civil War to last as long as possible. Had the Legionnaires marched on Windhelm when they were still recovering, there was a high chance that Ulfric would have died and the rebellion would falter. Which is exactly why Elenwen advised the opposite.

Gerron is putting his work in the College of Winterhold. New upgrades, new creations, and even new features. Highlights of this chapter: the creation of the Vest of the Atronach, earning the title of Master Enchanter, and gaining the Spellcrafter feat.

News of the attack on the Hall of Vigilants are also starting to spread. Isran arrives in the College of Winterhold to speak to Gerron and Serana.

As always, more chapters are available on my Pat_reon. Chapter 48 should be available by the time this chapter was posted. Just look up my name and you'll find me.

Hope you guys enjoyed the chapter! Cheers!