Metalborn in Skyrim

Morning light filtered through the cracks in the wooden walls of the Sleeping Giant Inn, waking him from a restless sleep. He blinked groggily, the unfamiliar surroundings reminding him that this wasn't the afterlife—or the life he'd left behind. The bed beneath him was rough but sturdy, the straw mattress creaking as he stretched his arms overhead. The warmth of the fire had long since faded, replaced by the crisp bite of Skyrim's winter air, which slipped in through the poorly sealed window.

He sat up, rubbing his eyes, and took in the faint light spilling into the room. Dust motes floated lazily in the sunbeams, dancing through the still air. The quiet hum of the village outside seeped in—distant voices, the rhythmic thunk of an axe splitting wood, and the occasional lowing of a cow. Somewhere nearby, birds chirped in a lively morning chorus, their songs carrying through the valley.

Swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, he stretched again and glanced at his bag resting against the wall. Inside were the metal studs he'd spent the previous night experimenting with. Each one represented a new mystery, a piece of a puzzle he was only beginning to understand. He pulled them out one by one, rolling them between his fingers. Their cool, metallic weight felt grounding, a small anchor in this strange new reality.

As he examined them, an idea began to take shape. It wasn't practical to keep digging through his bag every time he wanted to use Feruchemy. He needed a way to keep the metals on him, in contact with his skin, and easily accessible. The solution was simple but effective: a bracelet.

He rifled through the bag until he found a thin leather cord, then retrieved a small sewing kit he'd discovered tucked away in the room's single drawer. Sitting at the edge of the bed, he set to work. With careful fingers, he threaded the studs onto the cord, spacing them evenly and tying secure knots between each one. The task was soothing, his hands moving with methodical precision.

When he finished, he fastened the makeshift bracelet around his wrist. The cool touch of metal pressed against his skin, each stud gleaming faintly in the dim light. He held up his wrist to inspect his handiwork, turning it in the soft glow. The metals hummed at the edge of his awareness, a quiet reminder of their potential.

"There," he muttered, a small smile tugging at his lips. "This will work."

He stood and moved to the window, pushing it open to let in the brisk morning air. The scene that greeted him was breathtaking. Riverwood stretched out before him, nestled in a verdant valley cradled by towering mountains. The sunlight bathed the village in a golden glow, the frost clinging to rooftops and tree branches sparkling like diamonds. The river, wide and fast-moving, cut through the valley, its surface catching the morning light in a dazzling display.

The forest surrounding the village was dense with pines, their dark green needles contrasting sharply against the snowy ground. Birds flitted between the branches, their chirps and warbles adding a vibrant soundtrack to the serene landscape. A deer grazed at the edge of the treeline, its ears twitching as it listened for danger. He marveled at how alive the world seemed, every detail sharper and more vivid than anything he'd experienced before.

The village itself was already bustling with activity. Farmers hauled sacks of grain from barns to wagons, while a pair of children chased each other around a water trough, their laughter echoing through the crisp air. Near the blacksmith's forge, a man chopped wood with practiced efficiency, each swing of the axe sending a satisfying crack through the morning stillness. Smoke curled lazily from chimneys, carrying the scent of burning pine and baking bread.

After a quick breakfast of stale bread and cheese, he approached the bartender, who stood behind the counter wiping a mug with a rag that had seen better days. The man's demeanor was friendly but busy, his focus split between tending to patrons and keeping the bar organized.

"I'm looking for work," he said, keeping his tone casual, though his curiosity about this world made him lean in slightly. "Anything around town I could do?"

The bartender glanced up from his task, pausing for a moment to assess him. "Work, huh?" he said, his tone thoughtful. He tilted his head toward the window, through which the faint clinking of metal on metal could be heard. "Talk to Alvor, the blacksmith. He's always got something that needs doing."

"Thanks," he replied, nodding politely before downing the last of his water. Adjusting the bag on his shoulder, he made his way to the door. The crisp morning air greeted him as he stepped outside, the chill invigorating as the sun began its slow climb over the mountains.

The forge wasn't hard to find; the rhythmic clang of hammer on anvil was like a beacon guiding him through the village. The blacksmith's workshop was an open-air structure near the river, its roof supported by thick wooden beams. Tools and raw materials were scattered about, and a warm glow radiated from the forge itself, where Alvor worked diligently.

The blacksmith was a large, barrel-chested man with arms as thick as tree trunks. Sweat glistened on his brow as he swung his hammer down onto a glowing blade, sparks flying with every strike. He barely glanced up as the newcomer approached, his focus unwavering until he delivered the final blow.

"Looking for work?" Alvor asked, finally turning to face him. His voice was gruff but carried no malice, just the directness of someone used to speaking plainly.

"Yeah," he replied, meeting the man's gaze. "The bartender said you might have something."

Alvor straightened, setting the blade down on the anvil with a loud clang. He crossed his arms, studying the stranger for a moment before nodding. "I'm running low on iron. We need it for weapons, nails, tools—everything. The closest place to mine it is Embershard Mine, but it's overrun with bandits." He jerked his chin toward the mountains in the distance. "Clearing it out would be a big help."

He gestured toward a sword resting against a barrel nearby. "If you can clear them out and bring back enough iron ore, I'll pay you 100 septims. And..." He lifted the sword with one hand, holding it out. "You can keep this blade if you manage it."

Taking the weapon, he tested its weight and balance. It wasn't ornate, but it was solidly crafted, the steel blade gleaming in the sunlight. He nodded, satisfied. "I'll do it," he said, sliding the sword into the leather scabbard Alvor handed him.

"Good," Alvor said with a firm nod. "There's a trail leading south out of town. Follow it until you see the mine's entrance. Be careful—it's crawling with scum."

With the promise of coin and the sword at his side, he felt the first stirrings of real purpose. Gathering a small satchel of rations from the blacksmith's supplies, he set off down the road, the sound of the village fading behind him. 

By mid-afternoon, he reached the outskirts of the mine. The dense forest that had accompanied him from Riverwood gave way to a rocky clearing, where jagged cliffs loomed over a well-worn path leading to a large wooden gate. The gate, reinforced with iron bands, marked the entrance to the Embershard Mine. Two bandits stood guard outside, their conversation carrying faintly across the clearing. They were scruffy and unkempt, their mismatched leather armor a patchwork of scavenged pieces. One leaned lazily against a spear while the other fiddled with the buckle on his belt.

From his hiding spot behind a cluster of bushes, he observed them carefully, heart pounding in his chest. Two guards, lightly armored, distracted. Perfect.

Burning copper, he felt the familiar warmth settle over him, masking his Allomantic abilities. It was a comforting presence, a shield that made him feel invisible in more ways than one. Next, he burned bronze, his senses extending outward like ripples in a pond. The faint vibrations told him there was no magic nearby—the guards were ordinary, not mages. A small relief, at least.

He crouched lower, gripping the hilt of his sword as he weighed his options. He could take them one at a time, but that would give the other a chance to sound the alarm. No, he needed to be quick, decisive. He burned iron, and the world transformed. Blue lines sprang into existence, connecting him to every piece of metal in sight. The studs on their belts, the spear tip, even the iron bands on the gate—it all pulsed with potential energy.

Focusing on the lines leading to their belt buckles, he pulled sharply. The guards staggered forward, their bodies lurching awkwardly as they collided with a dull thud.

"What the—?" one of them stammered, stumbling back and clutching his head.

"You did that on purpose!" the other snapped, shoving his companion.

"Me? You're the one who can't keep your damn balance!"

Before they could recover, he burned zinc and rioted their emotions. Panic and anger flared in their eyes, overriding their confusion. Their voices rose as they yelled at each other, shoving harder now, their tempers boiling over.

"I'll show you balance!" one snarled, swinging his fist.

The other dodged, grabbing his spear and jabbing it threateningly.

The distraction was all he needed. He flared pewter, his muscles surging with power, and tapped into the small reserve of speed he'd stored in his steelmind. The world slowed around him, every movement of the bickering guards drawn out like a frame in an old film. He darted forward, the sword in his hand feeling weightless as he moved faster than he ever had before.

The first guard barely had time to register the sound of footsteps behind him before the blade sliced clean through his side. His body crumpled, the shock in his eyes lingering even as life left them.

The second bandit turned, his spear raised, but it was too late. With a burst of speed, he closed the gap, driving his sword into the man's chest. The bandit's mouth opened in a silent gasp, the weapon falling from his fingers as he collapsed to the ground.

The clearing fell silent once more, the only sound his labored breathing. He extinguished his metals and crouched, wiping the blade clean on the grass. His hands trembled slightly, the adrenaline still coursing through his veins. These weren't his first kills—he'd taken out wolves in the forest—but these were people. He forced himself to push down the guilt. They were bandits, killers. If he hadn't struck first, they wouldn't have hesitated to put a blade through him.

Straightening, he cast a wary glance toward the mine's entrance. "Two down," he muttered under his breath. "Who knows how many more to go."

The air inside Embershard Mine clung to him like a damp cloak. The faint scent of mildew mixed with the sharper tang of iron, a smell both metallic and earthy. Every breath tasted of wet stone and decay, the oppressive humidity making the air feel heavier the farther he ventured in. Torches lined the walls, their flames flickering weakly, casting jagged, shifting shadows that seemed to claw at the cavernous space. The wood of the torches crackled softly, adding to the quiet symphony of dripping water and the occasional creak of wooden supports holding the mine together.

The entrance was cluttered with barrels and crates, stacked haphazardly as if abandoned in a rush. Pickaxes leaned against the walls, their wooden handles worn smooth from use, and a wheelbarrow filled with chunks of iron ore sat tipped over in one corner. 

Ahead, the faint murmur of voices reached his ears. Creeping forward, he peered around a bend in the tunnel to see three bandits gathered near a stack of crates. They were playing dice, their weapons carelessly discarded nearby. One of them, a wiry man with a scar across his cheek, laughed raucously as he rolled the dice, slapping the table in triumph. Another cursed, shoving the man playfully.

Burning zinc, he pushed on their aggression, stoking the embers of irritation that always simmered beneath friendly competition. The scarred man's grin faded, replaced by a scowl as he shoved his opponent harder. "You're cheating!" he snapped.

"What are you talking about?" the other retorted, his voice rising in anger.

Simultaneously, he burned brass, soothing the vigilance of the third bandit, a hulking brute who sat sharpening his axe. The man's focus wavered, his hands slowing as his grip on reality softened under the influence of the brass's calming warmth.

Within moments, the dice game erupted into a shouting match, two of the bandits now shoving each other violently. The third barely reacted, lulled into apathy. Seizing the opportunity, he stepped into the torchlight, flaring pewter to enhance his strength and reflexes.

The scarred bandit turned too late. With a single swing of his sword, he slashed across the man's chest, his leather armor offering no protection against the blade's force. Blood sprayed, and the bandit crumpled with a gurgled scream.

The second bandit lunged for a nearby dagger, but he burned steel and pushed the weapon out of reach, sending it skidding across the stone floor. The bandit hesitated, wide-eyed, before the sword found his neck in a swift, decisive strike.

The third bandit finally stirred, shaking off the effects of the brass. He roared and charged, raising his axe high. With enhanced speed, he sidestepped the clumsy attack and drove his blade into the man's side, twisting it as the bandit groaned and collapsed to the floor.

Panting, he extinguished his metals and surveyed the scene. Blood pooled beneath the bodies, mingling with the dirt and iron dust that coated the floor. He crouched to wipe his blade clean on the scarred man's tunic, his stomach churning at the mess he'd made.

As he delved deeper, the tunnels grew narrower, the light dimmer. The air grew colder, carrying a stronger metallic tang as the veins of iron ore became more prominent. Water dripped from the ceiling, pooling in shallow depressions on the uneven stone floor. The mine seemed to groan under its own weight, the creak of wooden beams adding to the unease that prickled at the back of his neck.

Ahead, he spotted a narrow wooden bridge spanning a deep chasm. The faint glow of torches on the other side revealed two bandits standing guard, their silhouettes sharp against the flickering light. One leaned against the rope railing, yawning, while the other paced restlessly, his hand resting on the hilt of a shortsword.

Burning iron, he reached for the blue lines connecting him to a bucket hanging from a nearby hook. With a sharp pull, he sent it hurtling toward the pacing bandit. The metal struck him square in the back, sending him stumbling forward. His foot caught on a loose plank, and he pitched over the edge of the bridge with a startled yell, his screams echoing as he disappeared into the darkness below.

The remaining guard turned, his eyes wide with alarm. "What the hell—" he began, but he never finished. Burning steel, he pushed off the nails in the bridge, propelling himself forward like a bolt of lightning. His sword sliced through the man's torso before he could raise his weapon, the force of the strike sending him crashing to the ground.

Pausing to catch his breath, he extinguished his metals and looked down into the chasm. The faint sound of rushing water rose from the depths, but there was no sign of the first bandit. He shuddered and moved on, his boots thudding softly against the wooden planks as he crossed the bridge.

The mine's central chamber was massive, its ceiling disappearing into darkness above. Veins of iron ore gleamed in the torchlight, winding through the stone walls like veins of blood in flesh. The chamber was filled with crates, barrels, and mining equipment, but it was the figure near the center that held his attention.

The bandit leader was a hulking man, his full steel armor gleaming in the firelight. A massive warhammer rested against his shoulder, its head etched with crude symbols. He turned as the intruder entered, a sneer twisting his scarred face.

"So, you're the one who's been causing trouble," the leader growled, his voice low and menacing. "You've got guts, I'll give you that. But guts won't save you."

Without warning, the leader charged, swinging the hammer in a wide arc. Burning tin, he dodged to the side, the hammer smashing into the stone floor with enough force to send a spray of rock shards flying. The noise was deafening, the vibrations rattling his bones.

He burned iron and tried to pull the leader off balance, but the weight of the man's armor made it impossible. The bandit leader laughed, the sound deep and guttural. "You think your tricks will work on me?"

The hammer came down again, narrowly missing his head as he rolled to the side. Desperate, he tapped into his ironmind, increasing his weight dramatically. The sudden shift made his movements slower but more deliberate, each step shaking the ground beneath him.

Burning steel, he pushed against the metal in the leader's armor, the added weight amplifying the force of the push. This time, the leader stumbled, his footing faltering as he struggled to counter the unexpected shift in momentum.

Seizing the opportunity, he flared pewter and lunged, driving his sword into the gaps between the leader's chest plate and shoulder guard. The bandit roared in pain, swinging his hammer wildly, but the increased weight kept him stable, allowing him to hold his ground.

The fight ended with a final, decisive strike. He tapped into the last of his stored weight and burned steel, slamming the bandit leader backward with a force that sent him crashing into a pile of crates. The man didn't rise again, his armor dented and blood pooling beneath him.

The chamber was silent, save for the crackle of torches and his own labored breathing. His body ached from the effort, but he forced himself to his feet. Around him, piles of iron ore glinted in the firelight, gathered by the dead bandits who had stolen it.

He gathered the ore into a sturdy sack, the weight heavy but manageable with pewter burning softly in his stomach. As he left the mine, the fresh air of the outside world hit him like a blessing, washing away the stench of blood and iron.