Metalborn in Skyrim

Kael sat by the fire, staring into the flickering flames as the cold night air pressed in around him. The wilderness stretched endlessly in all directions, the jagged peaks of Skyrim looming in the distance. He had set up camp off the main road, nestled between rocky outcroppings for shelter from the wind. His journey north had been uneventful so far, but a lingering unease had settled in his gut.

He knew better than to rely solely on the fire for warmth. The frigid nights in Skyrim could be deadly, and he had no intention of freezing to death in his sleep. Rising from his seated position, he gathered a few sturdy branches and lashed them together with strips of leather from his pack, forming a simple frame. He then layered pine boughs over it, creating a crude lean-to that would help trap some heat and block the worst of the wind.

To further insulate the shelter, he shoveled snow against the sides of the lean-to, packing it tightly to create a barrier against the wind. The dense snow would help retain heat and provide additional protection from the harsh night air. He worked methodically, ensuring every gap was sealed, leaving only a small entrance to crawl through.

Next, he cleared the snow from the ground beneath the shelter, using his dagger to scrape down to the earth. He packed the cleared space with extra furs, making a rough but serviceable sleeping area. He was glad that he regularly stored all his attributes in his metalminds. He would use his Brass metalmind a lot for warmth during his trip to Winterhold.

Satisfied with his work, he returned to the fire and adjusted a pot of melting snow, ensuring he had enough water for the night.

With a sigh, he checked his weapons, ensuring his dagger and sword were within easy reach. He would sleep lightly, ready to spring into action at the first sign of trouble.Sleep did not come easily.

When it did, it came with fire.

Kael stood in the heart of a burning city, the heat suffocating, the flames licking at the stone walls and wooden beams around him. The scent of charred flesh filled his nostrils, acrid and thick. Shadows flickered in the firelight, shifting like specters among the ruins. He looked down at his hands—stained red, slick with blood.

His heart pounded. He knew this place. Knew the devastation. The screams echoed in his mind, distant but familiar. Faces swam before him, twisted in agony, their eyes wide with terror before the fire consumed them. He had been here before, but when? And why?

A voice, deep and guttural, like the grinding of stone, whispered from the inferno.

"You think you've escaped me? You think a war ends because you walk away?"

The flames twisted, forming a shape—a monstrous figure of burning stone and molten rage. Mehrunes Dagon's presence was suffocating, pressing against Kael's very soul. The Daedric Prince's laughter rumbled through the inferno, a terrible, mocking sound that sent a shiver down Kael's spine.

Kael tried to move, to fight, to run, but his body refused to obey. His legs felt as if they had turned to lead, his arms heavy and lifeless. He struggled against the paralysis, willing himself to act, but the fire wrapped around him like chains, binding him in place. His breath came in ragged gasps as the heat intensified, searing his skin, his lungs.

Then he felt it—pain, sharp and real. His left arm burned, not with the heat of the fire around him, but from within, as though molten steel coursed through his veins. He clenched his teeth, biting back a scream, as an unseen force carved through him, branding him with agony. The laughter grew louder, the flames rising higher, until the world itself seemed to splinter under the weight of his torment.

Then the world shattered, and he woke up gasping for breath as his left arm burned.

Kael bolted upright, sweat soaking his clothes despite the freezing air around him. His left arm throbbed, searing with an unnatural heat. He tore back his sleeve, expecting to see blistered flesh, but there was nothing—no burns, no marks, just the lingering, phantom pain.

His breath came fast and uneven. He was no stranger to nightmares, but this felt different. This was not just a dream—it was a memory, a warning. He ran a trembling hand through his damp hair, his mind racing. Had Dagon truly reached him in his sleep? Was this some lingering curse, or something worse?

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Dawn broke over the tundra, casting a cold light over the frost-covered ground. Kael rubbed the sleep from his eyes, the lingering weight of the dream still pressing against his thoughts. The encounter with Dagon had been nothing more than a nightmare—but he knew better than to dismiss it entirely.

Daedric Princes did not let go of their playthings so easily.

Determined, he packed up camp and resumed his journey. If he wanted answers, the College of Winterhold was his best chance. He needed to understand Daedric power, their limitations, their influence on the world. If Dagon truly had lingering plans for Skyrim, he needed to be ready.

The road stretched before him, empty save for the occasional scattering of wildlife. The wind howled, carrying the scent of snow and ice. As midday approached, he spotted a lone figure traveling ahead—a robed man, walking with an eager stride, occasionally glancing at the sky as if expecting a sign from above.

Kael caught up, falling into step beside him.

The man, a young Nord with short, windswept hair, turned and offered a smile. "Ah, a fellow traveler! Always good to have company on the road."

Kael studied him. The robes, the slight hum of magic in the air around him. "A mage?"

"Aspiring one, yes. On my way back Winterhold. I take it you are too?"

Kael gave a short nod. "Something like that."

The mage's eyes gleamed with curiosity. "The College is a remarkable place. A gathering of minds from all across Tamriel, all seeking knowledge. Power. Understanding. You've come at an interesting time, though."

"Why's that?"

The young mage hesitated, lowering his voice as if sharing a secret. "The old Archmage—Savos Aren—he's dead. There was an explosion in the College, something… unnatural. I haven't been able to find out what exactly happened, but the Thalmor were definitely involved."

Kael frowned. "Thalmor?"

"They've always been watching the College. Meddling. Who knows what kind of magic was at play? But now we have a new Archmage. People say he's powerful, some say even more than Savos."

Kael absorbed the information. Skyrim was never short on conflicts, but this? This was something else. If the College had been shaken by recent events, he needed to be even more cautious.

The mage conjured a small orb of light in his palm, illuminating the path ahead as the sun began to dip toward the horizon. "Simple magic, but effective," he mused. 

Kael smirked but said nothing. They traveled together for a few hours before the mage parted ways.

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The road turned treacherous the closer Kael came to Winterhold. The snow thickened, the winds howled, and the temperature dropped sharply. He pressed forward, burning pewter to stave off the cold, his breath misting in the frigid air.

Then, as he crossed a frozen ravine, the ice cracked above him.

Two hulking shapes dropped from the overhang, landing with a thunderous impact that sent shards of ice flying. Frost Trolls—massive, covered in thick white fur, their breath misting in the cold as they let out guttural roars.

Kael barely had time to react before they charged.

He dodged, rolling to the side as their massive claws swiped where he had stood. Burning pewter, he countered, striking with his sword—but he knew the blade would do little against their thick hides. He could kill them if he went all out, but it would take time and resources he didn't want to waste. Instead, he had another plan.

As the trolls lunged again, Kael didn't dodge.

Instead, he jumped—with them.

Burning pewter to strengthen his body, he leaped toward the cliff's edge, the momentum carrying both him and the Frost Trolls into the abyss below.

The trolls let out furious roars as they plummeted. Kael twisted in midair, drawing his Orichalcum dagger—far sharper than any ordinary blade due to its unique material. As they fell, he drove the blade deep into one beast's chest.

The impact was immediate—the troll shuddered, its struggles weakening. But it wasn't dead yet.

Kael gritted his teeth as the beast thrashed violently in midair, its claws raking toward him even in its death throes. He wrenched the dagger deeper, twisting it in a brutal motion to sever its thick muscle and bone. The troll let out a strangled growl, its limbs twitching wildly.

The second troll, still alive, howled and tried to swipe at him mid-fall. Kael kicked off the dying troll, using the momentum to evade its attack.

They neared the jagged rocks below. If Kael didn't act now, they'd all be crushed on impact.

He took a deep breath and flared steel, pushing off the embedded dagger with a powerful steel push, sending himself hurtling upward. The trolls continued their descent into the darkness.

Below, the lifeless bodies of the Frost Trolls hit the ground with a sickening crunch.

The force of his push stopped his fall abruptly, the sudden change in gravity sending a sharp jolt through his limbs. He gritted his teeth, steadying himself midair before landing heavily on a rocky outcropping above.

Kael exhaled sharply, shaking out his limbs. His heart still pounded from the rush of it. He had taken a risk, but it had paid off.

With one last glance down at the fallen beasts, he turned and resumed his journey toward Winterhold.

No more delays.

The College awaited.