Metalborn in Skyrim

Kael stepped into the dimly lit tavern, the heavy wooden door creaking behind him as he crossed the threshold. The warmth of the hearth greeted him, a welcome change from the chill outside. The room smelled of roasted meat, spilled ale, and damp wood—a mix that spoke of a place well-used but well-loved. Conversations buzzed softly, the kind of murmurs shared among people who had lived their lives together for years.

His presence drew a few curious glances, but most returned to their drinks or meals quickly. Strangers weren't entirely uncommon in these remote villages, but Kael had learned to carry himself with a quiet confidence that encouraged people to keep their questions to themselves. He approached the bar, where a stout man with a bushy beard and weathered hands was wiping down a tankard.

"Evening," Kael said, setting his bag on the floor beside him. "I'm looking for information. Something's been happening in the area—disappearances, attacks. Heard anything?"

The barkeep's hand paused for just a moment before he resumed wiping the tankard. "You'd best speak to the others. I keep my head down, tend the tavern, and stay out of trouble."

Kael nodded, not surprised by the cautious answer. He turned to the room and scanned the faces of the villagers. Farmers and hunters, mostly, with tired eyes and weather-beaten skin. A few looked up as he passed, but none seemed eager to engage. Except one.

At a corner table, a man with a mop of unruly hair and a wiry build leaned back in his chair, a smirk tugging at his lips. He was younger than most of the others, with sharp eyes that seemed to sparkle with mischief.

"You're not from around here," the man said, his tone light.

Kael raised an eyebrow. "What gave it away?"

"The way you walk. Like someone who's either looking for trouble or trying really hard to avoid it."

Kael smirked faintly and stepped closer. "Maybe both. Name's Kael. I'm here on the Jarl's orders to investigate what's been happening."

The man sat up straighter, his grin widening. "The Jarl sent you? Well, aren't you fancy. Name's Dain. I know a thing or two about the area. Want a partner?"

Kael studied him for a moment, noting the easy confidence in his posture. Dain looked like the kind of man who didn't take much seriously—but the kind you'd want by your side in a tight spot. "We'll see. What do you know?"

Dain shrugged. "Enough to keep you from wandering into quicksand or poking a sleeping bear. People talk to me. Might come in handy."

Before Kael could respond, a muffled sob caught his attention. At a nearby table, a woman sat hunched over, her shoulders trembling as she clutched a tankard in both hands. Her hair was unkempt, and her red-rimmed eyes suggested this wasn't her first drink of the evening.

"Her husband," Dain said quietly, the humor leaving his voice. "One of the ones who disappeared."

Kael nodded, his expression softening as he walked over to her table. He pulled out a chair and sat down across from her, his movements slow and deliberate, as though not to startle her.

"Ma'am," he said gently. "I'm sorry for your loss. I'm here to help. Anything you can tell me might make a difference."

The woman glanced up, startled, her tear-streaked face etched with grief. She wiped at her eyes with a shaky hand. "You're… with the Jarl?"

"Yes," Kael said, his tone steady. "He sent me to find out what's happening and make sure no one else gets hurt."

Her lip trembled, and she looked away, clutching the tankard tightly. "My husband went out two nights ago with his brother to check the traps. When they didn't come back, I went to look for them." Her voice cracked, and she swallowed hard before continuing. "I found blood—too much blood—and claw marks on the rocks near the traps."

Kael leaned forward slightly, his voice calm and reassuring. "I'm so sorry you had to see that. Claw marks—do you mean from a wolf or bear?"

She shook her head. "No. These were… bigger. Deeper. Like nothing I've seen before. Whatever it was, it wasn't natural."

Kael nodded, his expression thoughtful but kind. "Thank you for telling me. I'll do everything I can to make sure this doesn't happen again."

Kael spent the next hour speaking with other villagers. Most had little to add—rumors of strange sounds at night, flashes of light in the hills, and the occasional missing livestock. But one older man, a retired hunter with a limp, provided a crucial clue.

"It's the Forsworn," the hunter said, his voice low and firm. "They've been seen near the hills, lurking like they always do. Where there's Forsworn, there's Hagravens. Mark my words."

Kael frowned. "Hagravens?"

The hunter nodded grimly. "Horrid things. Twisted women who've given up their humanity for power. They dabble in dark magic and make the Forsworn stronger. If they're involved, you've got more than bandits to worry about."

The thought made Kael's stomach twist. Magic wasn't something he was eager to face, even with his powers. But the hunter's account fit with what he'd seen at the caravan site—the claw marks on the barrel and the lack of human footprints suddenly made sense.

When Kael returned to the bar, Dain was waiting for him, perched casually on a stool and spinning a small knife between his fingers.

"Get what you needed?" Dain asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Maybe." Kael said, running a hand through his hair. "Claw marks, blood, and strange tracks. Forsworn might be involved."

Dain let out a low whistle. "Forsworn, huh? You sure you don't want to handle this all by yourself? Maybe throw in a Hagraven or two for fun?"

Kael smirked despite himself. "Planning to help, or are you just here to provide commentary?"

Dain hopped off the stool with a grin. "Oh, I'll help. You'll need someone to keep things lively while you're out saving the world."

Kael chuckled softly. "Just try not to get yourself killed."

"Don't worry," Dain shot back, clapping him on the shoulder. "I'm harder to kill than I look."

———————————————

The villagers offered Kael and Dain lodging for the night, directing them to a small house on the edge of the village. The space was cramped but warm, with a single table, a couple of wooden chairs, and a straw mattress laid out near the hearth. The scent of freshly baked bread lingered in the air, a small reminder of comfort amidst the tension of the task ahead.

Kael spread the map on the table, smoothing it out as Dain leaned over, resting his hands on the surface. A faint orange glow from the dying fire illuminated the parchment, casting flickering shadows on their faces.

"The traps are here," Kael said, pointing to the area the distraught wife had marked before they left the tavern. His finger traced the route leading up into the hills. "We'll start there. If the Forsworn are operating nearby, this should put us on their trail."

Dain tilted his head, tossing a small knife between his hands. "And when we find them? What's the plan? Or are you making it up as you go?"

Kael smirked faintly, his gaze flicking up from the map. "A bit of both. Plans don't usually survive first contact, but it's good to have options."

Dain grinned. "Good enough for me. Just don't expect me to jump into the middle of a Forsworn camp swinging like a madman."

Kael chuckled softly. "I'll do my best to keep us alive."

They spent another hour going over the details, refining their approach and discussing contingencies for different scenarios. By the time they finished, the fire had burned down to glowing embers. Kael rolled up the map and leaned back in his chair, his mind already racing through possibilities.

At first light, Kael and Dain set out. The forest around the village was eerily quiet, the usual chorus of birds and rustling leaves absent as if nature itself was holding its breath. Kael moved cautiously, his eyes scanning every shadow, every break in the tree line. The comforting weight of his metalminds at his wrist was a constant reminder of the power at his disposal. He burned tin sparingly, sharpening his senses just enough to detect distant movement without overwhelming himself with the ambient noise of the woods.

Dain followed closely, his steps light and deliberate. He moved with the practiced ease of someone who had spent years in the wilderness, his hand resting casually on the hilt of his dagger. "You're awfully relaxed," he remarked, watching Kael stride confidently through the forest.

Kael glanced back with a faint smile. "Shouldn't I be? There's nothing out here. No movement, no sounds—other than us, anyway."

Dain raised an eyebrow. "Nothing out here? That's bold. Forests like this usually have a way of hiding surprises."

Kael tapped his temple lightly, a sly grin playing on his lips. "Not from me. I've got sharp eyes and ears on my side. If anything were creeping up, I'd know long before it got close."

Dain let out a low chuckle, his voice teasing. "Alright, eagle eyes. Just don't get too cocky. The wilderness loves humbling overconfident types."

Kael shrugged, his grin widening as he turned back to the trail. "Let it try. I'm ready."

Dain muttered something under his breath, shaking his head with a grin. "Well, I hope the forest knows it's up against a walking alarm system. Guess I'll put my dagger away and let you handle it."

Kael laughed softly, his steps steady and assured. "Stick close, Dain. I wouldn't want you getting spooked by the shadows."

Dain snorted. "Spooked? Please. I'm just here to make sure you don't trip over your own confidence."

The deeper they went, the colder the air grew. The trees thinned, their skeletal branches clawing at the overcast sky, and patches of frost glittered on the rocky ground. After an hour of walking, they reached the traps.

The remains of the traps were a grim sight. Wooden frames lay splintered and smashed, their sharp edges smeared with dried blood. Kael crouched beside one, studying the jagged claw marks etched into the surrounding rocks.

"These match what the wife described," Kael murmured, running his fingers along one of the grooves. The marks were deep, uneven, and inhuman. They didn't resemble the scratches left by wolves or bears. Something larger—and far more dangerous—had been here.

Dain knelt beside him, inspecting the ground. "Tracks," he said, pointing to faint impressions in the dirt. The footprints were crude, their shapes uneven and distorted, like they'd been made by bare feet twisted by years of unnatural wear. "Hagraven."