Metalborn in Skyrim

Deep in the heart of the Druadach Mountains, beneath the shadow of jagged cliffs and ancient trees, a roaring bonfire lit the night sky. Its flames reached unnaturally high, their crimson glow casting eerie shadows on the weathered faces of the Forsworn warriors who had gathered around it. The air was thick with the pungent smell of burning herbs and blood, an oppressive haze that seemed to weigh on the soul.

In the center of the clearing stood an altar hewn from black stone, its surface slick with fresh blood. Around it lay the lifeless bodies of the Forsworn's sacrifices—villagers taken from the Reach, bound and slaughtered to fuel the ritual. The Hagraven presided over the gathering, her hunched figure grotesque in the firelight. She muttered incantations under her breath, her clawed hands tracing runes into the bloodied stone.

The assembled Forsworn warriors watched in reverence, their crude weapons gleaming with reflected firelight. They had fought and bled for years to reclaim the Reach from the Nords, enduring countless defeats and betrayals. Tonight, they believed, their fortunes would change. Mehrunes Dagon, the Prince of Destruction, had heard their prayers, and now they would receive his blessing.

The Hagraven raised her staff, its gnarled wood glowing faintly red. Her voice screeched into the night, cutting through the rhythmic drumming of the warriors. "O great Mehrunes Dagon, Prince of Destruction, hear us! We have given you blood, we have given you souls! Grant us your power so we may destroy our oppressors and reclaim what is ours!"

The chanting of the Forsworn grew louder, a guttural hymn to the Daedric Prince. The flames of the bonfire flared, their hue shifting to a deep crimson as a low, resonant rumble filled the clearing. The ground trembled, and the very air seemed to vibrate with an otherworldly energy.

The Hagraven stepped back, cackling with triumph as the voice of Mehrunes Dagon boomed from the altar, deep and menacing. "Forsworn… you who have spilled blood in my name, you who have cast off the chains of your oppressors, you seek my power to reclaim the Reach."

The warriors dropped to their knees, their heads bowed in awe. The Hagraven raised her arms high, her voice trembling with fervor. "Yes, great Prince! We have given you all you asked—souls, blood, sacrifice! Grant us your strength, and we will crush our enemies in your name!"

The voice of Dagon rumbled again, sending a shiver through the gathered Forsworn. "Your offerings please me. You have shown devotion and bloodshed worthy of my favor. Take my gift, Forsworn. Take the power to destroy those who stand in your way. Let the Reach burn with my wrath."

The red light from the altar surged outward in a wave, enveloping the gathered Forsworn. The warriors screamed—not in pain, but in ecstasy—as their bodies were consumed by the crimson glow. Their muscles swelled, their veins darkened, and their eyes glowed faintly red, as though the essence of Dagon himself now coursed through their veins. Weapons in hand, they felt the strength of ten men surging through their limbs, their very existence now a tool of destruction.

One of the warriors, a scarred and grizzled man named Kragar, raised his axe and roared. "This is it! This is the power we need to take back what is ours! We'll raze Markarth to the ground, and every Nord will pay for what they've done!"

The others echoed his cry, their voices ringing with newfound confidence. A lithe woman with braided hair and twin daggers grinned as she moved her hands in a blur, her speed almost inhuman. "They won't see us coming," she hissed. "With this, we're unstoppable."

The Hagraven cackled, her crooked teeth gleaming in the firelight. "Yes! You are chosen now! Chosen by Mehrunes Dagon! Go forth, my warriors, and bring chaos to the Reach! Burn their villages, spill their blood, and let the Nords know the wrath of the Forsworn!"

The Forsworn cheered, emboldened by their transformation. They believed that their sacrifices had been an even trade—souls offered to Dagon in exchange for the strength to reclaim their homeland. None of them suspected the true cost of their newfound power. They didn't realize that the very essence of Dagon now tethered them to his will, that their lives had been marked as future sacrifices to summon the Prince's avatar into the mortal plane.

Kragar turned to the warriors, his voice booming. "Tonight, we prepare. Tomorrow, we strike. The Nords won't know what hit them!"

The warriors dispersed into the camp, their energy electrified with anticipation. Some sharpened their weapons, their blades now glowing faintly red with the same power that pulsed through their bodies. Others howled into the night, their cries echoing across the mountains as they celebrated their newfound strength.

As the camp settled into a frenzied but focused energy, the Hagraven remained at the altar, her twisted lips curling into a sinister smile. She knew the truth—the Forsworn had been tools from the start, pawns in Mehrunes Dagon's grander plan. Their sacrifices had indeed pleased the Prince, but the bloodshed would not end with their enemies. When the time came, these empowered warriors would offer up their own lives, fueling the summoning of Dagon's avatar into Tamriel.

The Hagraven muttered a quiet prayer, her claws caressing the black stone of the altar. "Soon, O Prince of Destruction," she whispered. "Soon you shall walk this land, and all will tremble before you."

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The familiar jagged peaks of the Reach loomed overhead as Kael approached the village. His mind was restless, the rhythm of his steel pushes and pulls echoing his growing unease. He had spent the past day in Whiterun, carefully storing attributes in his metalminds and replenishing his supply of metals, but his focus never strayed far from the thought of the Forsworn. Their dark rituals, their growing strength, and their newfound Daedric power—it all haunted him like a shadow. He'd promised the captives he had saved that he would help fortify their village, but now, returning after his brief absence, a knot of dread coiled tighter in his chest.

As he crested the final ridge, the sight before him froze him in place. The village—the same one he had delivered the freed captives to—was in ruins. Black smoke coiled into the gray sky, the acrid stench of burning wood and flesh choking the air. Kael landed silently on the outskirts, his boots crunching against charred earth as he surveyed the destruction.

The buildings were little more than scorched skeletons of what they had once been. Doors hung crooked on broken hinges, walls were riddled with jagged holes, and the faint orange glow of dying embers clung to the edges of the devastation. The once-bustling streets were eerily silent, save for the faint crackle of flames and the distant caw of a raven circling overhead.

Kael stepped cautiously through the wreckage, his sharp eyes scanning for any sign of life. He moved past a collapsed fence, the acrid scent of death growing stronger with every step. Then he saw them—the bodies.

They were scattered throughout the village, some slumped against walls, others sprawled across the ground. Their forms barely looked human, their flesh twisted and burned beyond recognition. Kael knelt by one of the corpses—a soldier, judging by the shattered remnants of armor melted into his chest. The man's face was frozen in a grimace of terror, his body contorted in a way that spoke of immense, unnatural force.

Kael's jaw tightened, his stomach churning. The village had been guarded—a small contingent of soldiers had been stationed here to protect these people. But it hadn't mattered. Whatever had come through here had torn through the defenses like paper.

"Damn it," Kael muttered under his breath, rising to his feet. His gaze swept the area, his senses heightened as he burned tin to detect any movement, any sound, that might signal survivors. But the village was deathly still. He called out, his voice echoing through the ruined streets. "Is anyone alive? If you can hear me, say something!"

Only silence answered him.

Kael gritted his teeth and turned back toward the center of the village. He moved quickly now, his steel pushing carrying him over collapsed debris and scorched earth. The knot of guilt in his chest tightened. These people had been counting on him. He had promised them safety, but he'd been too late. He couldn't shake the feeling that this was his fault.

In the center of the village, he found what remained of the villagers' meeting hall—a crumbled building whose charred beams jutted upward like the ribs of a fallen beast. Here, the destruction was worse. Deep gouges in the earth suggested an explosion of incredible force, and nearby, the remains of several soldiers lay in a gruesome heap. Kael knelt to examine the scene, his sharp eyes picking out details. The ground was soaked with dried blood, and faint scorch marks radiated outward from a central point.

"What did this?" Kael muttered to himself. He wasn't sure if he wanted to know the answer.

His gaze caught on something near one of the bodies—a crude weapon, its blade jagged and crude but glowing faintly red. Kael's blood ran cold. The weapon was unmistakably Forsworn, but the crimson hue was something new. He reached down, brushing his fingers against the weapon's surface, and felt a faint hum of power vibrating beneath his touch. The Forsworn were growing stronger, faster than he had anticipated.

Kael stood, his jaw set with determination. There was no time to waste. He needed to check the other villages in the area—if the Forsworn were attacking on this scale, more lives were in danger. He burned steel and launched himself into the air, the wind whipping past him as he soared toward the next village.

The journey was frantic, and each landing brought more despair. The second village was in the same condition as the first—smoke rising into the sky, corpses littering the streets, and no signs of life. Kael didn't linger long. He moved on, his steel pushing carrying him across the rugged terrain of the Reach with desperate speed.

The third village was no better. The smell of death was overwhelming, and the destruction was absolute. Kael clenched his fists, his frustration bubbling to the surface. The Forsworn weren't just raiding—they were annihilating everything in their path, leaving nothing but ashes and death in their wake.

By the time Kael reached the fourth village, the sun was dipping low in the sky, casting long shadows across the mountains. He was exhausted, his body aching from the constant exertion, but he pushed himself forward. He had to know—had to see if there was anyone left to save.

This time, the village wasn't silent. The sound of screams pierced the air, sending a jolt of adrenaline through Kael's veins. He landed just outside the village and took cover behind a rocky outcrop, his sharp eyes scanning the scene. What he saw made his blood run cold.

The village was under attack. Forsworn warriors swarmed through the streets, their red-glowing weapons cutting down anyone who resisted. Houses burned, their flames illuminating the chaos. Villagers ran in every direction, their cries of terror mingling with the triumphant shouts of their attackers.

Kael's jaw tightened as he took in the scene. His instincts screamed at him to act, but he forced himself to take a moment to assess. The Forsworn were outnumbering the villagers at least two to one, their movements swift and coordinated. This wasn't a mindless raid—it was a calculated assault.

Kael's gaze fell on a group of villagers huddled near the edge of the village, desperately trying to fend off a pair of Forsworn warriors. One of the villagers, a woman armed with a pitchfork, lunged at the nearest attacker, but her weapon was batted aside with ease. The Forsworn raised his glowing axe, ready to strike.

Kael didn't wait. He burned pewter, his strength surging as he launched himself into the fray. With a powerful steel push, he sent himself hurtling toward the Forsworn warrior, his sword flashing in the fading light. The man didn't even have time to react before Kael's blade cut him down.

Kael landed in front of the villagers, his gaze fixed on the second Forsworn warrior. "Get to cover!" he barked over his shoulder. "Now!"

The villagers hesitated for a moment, then scrambled toward the safety of a nearby building. Kael turned his full attention to the remaining Forsworn, his stance steady as he prepared for the next strike. The warrior snarled, charging at Kael with wild abandon.