Metalborn in Skyrim

The faint flicker of torchlight cast long shadows on the mine walls as he stood in the center of the now-silent cavern. The last bandit's body lay crumpled near a pile of crates, the hilt of his sword still warm in his hand. He let out a slow breath, his heart pounding in his chest. The fight had taken everything he had—quick reflexes, cunning, and no small amount of luck—but he'd survived. And now, the spoils of victory lay before him.

He sheathed his sword and began systematically searching the mine. The torches crackled softly, their light illuminating the blood-streaked floor and scattered tools. The first body he looted yielded a small pouch containing 15 septims. Not much, but enough to buy another night at the inn if he needed it. Another bandit had a second pouch, this one containing 20 septims, bringing his total to 35. He grinned as he pocketed the coins—small victories.

Near the central chamber, he found a rack of armor. Most of it was mismatched or damaged, but a set of leather armor caught his eye. He ran his fingers over the hardened leather, its surface worn smooth from use. It wasn't fancy, but it was leagues better than the torn tunic he'd been wearing since arriving in this world. He stripped off his tunic and slid into the armor, adjusting the straps until it fit snugly. The weight was reassuring, a reminder that he was no longer defenseless.

"Much better," he muttered, flexing his arms and testing the range of motion. It wasn't perfect, but it would do.

Gathering the Ore

The final task was the iron ore. The bandits had already mined piles of it, stacked in crude heaps throughout the cavern. It was more than he could carry by hand, but near the mine entrance, he found his solution: a cart. It was old and rickety, the wooden wheels creaking as he gave it a test push, but it would hold the weight.

Over the next hour, he loaded the ore into the cart, his muscles straining with each heavy chunk. By the time he was finished, his arms felt like lead, but the satisfaction of seeing the full cart was worth it. Burning pewter lightly, he grasped the handles and began the long trek back to Riverwood. The added strength made the task manageable, though the strain was still exhausting. The wheels groaned against the uneven path, and the rhythmic crunch of gravel underfoot was the only sound as the forest closed in around him.

The sun was beginning to set when the wooden buildings of Riverwood came into view, their warm lights glowing like beacons in the encroaching twilight. Villagers paused to stare as he entered town, their eyes widening at the sight of the heavily laden cart. He pushed on, ignoring the murmurs, and headed straight for the forge.

Payment and New Plans

Alvor was stoking the fire when he arrived, the glow of the forge illuminating his sweat-slicked face. The blacksmith glanced up as he approached, his eyes widening at the sight of the cart.

"You actually did it," Alvor said, setting his hammer aside. He walked over, inspecting the ore with a practiced eye. "That's more than I expected. Good work."

He nodded, wiping sweat from his brow. "So, do I get my payment?"

Alvor chuckled and reached into a pouch at his side, pulling out a handful of coins. He counted out 100 septims and handed them over. "And don't forget the sword. You earned it."

He unsheathed the blade, holding it in the firelight. The steel gleamed, the edge sharp and well-maintained. It wasn't fancy, but it was dependable, and that was what mattered.

"Thanks," he said, sliding the sword back into its scabbard. "Actually, I was hoping you could help me with something else."

Alvor raised an eyebrow. "What kind of help?"

He hesitated, then reached into his bag and pulled out one of his metalmind studs. "I need more of these. And bigger ones—bracelets, rings, whatever works."

Alvor took the stud, turning it over in his hands. "What's this for?"

"Let's just say it's… part of how I work," he replied, avoiding the specifics. "I also need certain alloys. Do you have iron, steel, tin, zinc, copper, and lead?"

Alvor nodded. "I've got those. But if you need something specific, you'll have to tell me exactly how to mix it."

He pulled a scrap of parchment from his bag and jotted down the formulas:

Bronze: 88% Copper, 12% Tin

Brass: 66% Copper, 34% Zinc

Pewter: 91% Tin, 9% Lead

Alvor studied the parchment, his brow furrowing. "Alright. I can make these, but it'll take some time. And it won't be cheap."

"How about this," he countered. "Charge me for what I use, and I'll help with the work."

The blacksmith's lips twitched in amusement. "You know how to work a forge?"

"Not really," he admitted. "But I can follow instructions."

Alvor sighed. "Fine. Let's get started."

The forge blazed brightly, the roaring fire casting flickering light across the cramped workshop. Sweat glistened on Alvor's brow as he prepared the materials, the rhythmic clang of tools punctuating the steady crackle of flames. The intense heat pressed down on them like a physical weight, the air thick with the mingling scents of smoke, scorched metal, and the earthy tang of molten ore.

"Pewter's mostly tin," Alvor explained, his voice steady as he worked. He hefted a chunk of the silvery metal onto the workbench, its surface dull but smooth. "But you'll need a bit of lead to give it strength. Too much lead, and it'll be brittle. Too little, and it won't hold up under strain."

He leaned in closer, watching as Alvor picked up a balance scale and began measuring the metals with practiced precision. The blacksmith placed several chunks of tin on one side, carefully adding and removing pieces until the scale tipped just right.

"91% tin," Alvor muttered, more to himself than to him. He set the tin aside, then measured the lead, a dense, dark lump that seemed to absorb the forge's light. "And 9% lead. These ratios are critical, so don't get sloppy."

He nodded, his eyes fixed on the process. This wasn't just an exercise in metallurgy; it was survival. Pewter wasn't merely an alloy—it was a lifeline, a material that could mean the difference between life and death in the field. Every detail mattered.

Once the metals were measured, Alvor transferred them to a heavy iron crucible. With a grunt, he set the crucible into the forge, the flames licking hungrily at the solid chunks of tin and lead. Within moments, the edges of the metals began to soften, then melt, pooling into a shimmering, molten silver.

"Now stir," Alvor instructed, handing him a long metal rod. "Keep it moving, or the metals will separate."

The rod was heavy and awkward in his hands, but he gripped it tightly, plunging it into the molten pewter. The heat radiating from the crucible was intense, and sweat dripped down his face as he stirred, the liquid metal swirling and rippling under the rod's steady motion. The tin and lead shimmered together, merging into a uniform, silvery pool.

"Good," Alvor said after a few minutes, his voice cutting through the roar of the forge. "You're getting the hang of it."

When the alloy was fully mixed, Alvor pulled the crucible from the forge using a pair of heavy tongs, the metal glowing faintly. Together, they poured the liquid pewter into a long rectangular mold. The molten metal hissed and popped as it settled, steam rising in wisps. They stood back, letting it cool, the once-glowing liquid hardening into a solid bar.

After several minutes, Alvor knocked the mold apart with a hammer, revealing the newly formed pewter ingot. He handed it over, the metal cool and smooth to the touch. Despite the exhaustion burning in his arms, he felt a surge of pride.

"Not bad," Alvor said with a rare smile. "Now let's move on to the others."

The Other Alloys

They continued working late into the night, the forge blazing as Alvor guided him through the creation of bronze and brass. While the processes were similar, each alloy had its own quirks.

For bronze, they combined 88% copper with 12% tin, the reddish metal of the copper ingots glowing brightly as it melted alongside the tin. The molten bronze took on a warm, golden hue, a stark contrast to the silvery pewter. Alvor explained how bronze was prized for its hardness and resistance to corrosion, a property that made it ideal for tools and weapons.

"Keep stirring," Alvor said, his tone gruff but patient. "Bronze can be tricky. You need to keep the copper and tin well mixed."

Brass, on the other hand, required a different mix: 66% copper and 34% zinc. The zinc added a silvery sheen to the molten alloy, which bubbled and hissed with more volatility than the others. Alvor warned him to be cautious, explaining how zinc burned hotter and could be dangerous if handled carelessly.

Despite the intensity of the work, he found himself absorbing the knowledge eagerly, each step of the process deepening his understanding of metallurgy. The once-foreign ratios and techniques began to feel like second nature as they churned out ingots of bronze, brass, and pewter, each one cooling in neat stacks on the workbench.

Crafting the Metalminds

With the raw materials prepared, they turned their attention to crafting the metalminds. Alvor retrieved a set of molds—small, round shapes perfect for casting the beads he needed. He heated each ingot in the forge until it melted, pouring the liquid metal carefully into the molds. The small studs cooled quickly, and Alvor used a hammer and chisel to knock them free.

Each stud was polished to a smooth finish, their surfaces gleaming under the workshop's dim light. He picked one up, running his fingers over its cool surface. These beads weren't just tools—they were extensions of himself, physical manifestations of the powers he was learning to control.

Once the studs were complete, Alvor moved on to the bracelets. Using a sturdy metal bar as a guide, he hammered strips of brass, bronze, and pewter into thin, curved bands. Each bracelet was carefully measured to fit snugly around a wrist, the edges filed smooth to prevent discomfort.

"Why so many?" Alvor asked at one point, glancing at the growing pile of beads and bracelets.

"I need one for each metal," he explained, his tone guarded. "It's… complicated."

Alvor gave him a skeptical look but didn't press further. The blacksmith had seen his share of strange requests over the years, and this one wasn't the strangest by far.

By the time the last bracelet was complete, the forge's fire had burned low, and the workshop was filled with the sharp scent of molten metal and sweat. The beads and bracelets lay in neat piles, their surfaces gleaming in the faint light. Pewter, bronze, brass, and the other alloys were all accounted for, their potential humming at the edge of his awareness.

Finally, as the last bead was cooled and polished, Alvor stepped back, wiping his hands on his soot-streaked apron. "That's everything," the blacksmith said with a heavy sigh. "You've got enough here to outfit an army."

He laughed softly, running his fingers over the gleaming bracelets and piles of beads on the workbench. Each one represented hours of labor and the promise of new possibilities. "I'm not an army, but I'll take what I can get."

"Just remember," Alvor said, his tone turning serious. "This wasn't easy or cheap. Don't waste it."

He nodded and reached into his bag, retrieving the pouch of coins Alvor had paid him earlier for clearing out Embershard Mine. The weight of it felt heavier now, as though it carried the cost of more than just his labor.

"Here," he said, placing the pouch on the workbench. Alvor raised an eyebrow, watching as he pushed it toward him. "This should cover the materials and your time."

The blacksmith frowned, crossing his arms. "You sure? That's your pay for taking care of those bandits."

"And this," he gestured to the bracelets and beads now tucked neatly into his bag, "is worth far more to me than 100 septims. Consider it even."

For a moment, Alvor hesitated, his eyes scanning the young man's face. Then, with a grunt, he picked up the pouch and tucked it into his belt. "Fair enough," he said. "At least you've got a head on your shoulders. Don't go losing all this on a whim, or I'll regret letting you have it."

"I won't," he promised, tightening the strap on his bag.