The clinking of coins from the Dragontail table faded into background noise as I leaned against the inn's wall. I wasn’t sure what I could do to occupy the rest of the evening. The skill book was out – that Training Exhaustion debuff had left my brain feeling like mush. Hunting held little appeal right now, and truth be told, I was hesitant to risk losing the day's hard-won progress by dying and being reset back to this morning.

No, what I needed was something peaceful. Something to while away the hours until I could rest easy, knowing my achievements were locked in. As if answering my unspoken wish, an image flashed through my mind: a tranquil riverbank, a fishing rod in hand, the gentle rush of water.

"Perfect," I murmured, pushing off from the wall and heading for the door.

The crisp evening air hit me as I stepped outside. My gaze fell on Fjorgeir the Scribe, lounging near the northern gate with the easy posture of a man with nowhere pressing to be.

"Evening, Fjorgeir," I called out, strolling over. "Quick question – any idea where I might pick up some bait for fishing?"

The guard's helmet tilted slightly as he considered. "Ah, you'll want to talk to Veekas. He's usually set up across the river, has a nice little spot on the far bank." He gestured vaguely eastward. "Can't miss the docks."

I thanked him and set off across the wooden bridge spanning the White River. The planks creaked softly underfoot, and I found myself pausing midway to admire the play of fading sunlight on the rushing water below.

The moment I neared the opposite bank, my steps faltered. There, perched on a chair at the edge of a small dock, was the Argonian I'd spotted earlier. His scales glinted in the light, tail swishing lazily as he tended to his fishing rod.

I hesitated, an uncomfortable tightness settling in my chest. It wasn't fear, exactly – more a deep-seated unease at confronting something so utterly alien. But I needed that bait, and he was my best lead.

Clasping my hands tightly behind my back, I approached. "Evening," I called out, trying to keep my voice steady. "You wouldn't happen to be Veekas, would you?"

The Argonian's head turned towards me, yellow eyes regarding me with an unreadable expression. "Greetings," he replied, voice a low, sibilant rasp. "I am indeed Veekas. What brings you to my humble fishing spot?"

I gestured to his rod. "Was hoping to try my hand at fishing, actually. Are they biting today?"

Veekas' mouth quirked in what might have been a smile. "Sometimes they bite, sometimes they do not. The uncertainty is interesting, no? Yet patience will always bring rewards."

I blinked, caught off guard by the philosophical bent to his answer. "I... suppose so," I managed. "Sounds a bit deep for fishing talk."

The Argonian's gaze drifted back to the water. "Are not the best rivers always just a little bit too deep for comfort, my friend?"

A surprised chuckle escaped me. "Can't say I've ever thought about it quite like that."

"Then, my friend," Veekas said, amusement coloring his words, "you should meet more Argonians."

"What brought you to Riverwood, anyway? I don't usually see many of your kind around here." I winced inwardly, hoping the question didn't come across as rude.

Veekas hummed thoughtfully. "My home is right here. But you are right in that I have not always lived here."

"Where are you from originally, then?" I pressed, genuinely curious.

"Windhelm, my friend," he answered, a hint of something darker creeping into his tone. "But that is not a friendly place for one with scales, and the river is cold. This is a kinder place, let us leave it at that."

I nodded, sensing it was best not to pry further. "Thanks for indulging my curiosity. I actually came by hoping to buy some bait – I heard you might sell some?"

Veekas perked up at that. "Indeed I do! I have a bucket's worth for 30 septims right here." He paused, eyeing me critically. "Though I don't see any bucket with you, unless you have one hidden away in that pack?"

I shook my head ruefully.

"No matter," the Argonian continued. "I can throw in a bucket for 25 septims as well. A fair price, wouldn't you say?"

It was more than I'd hoped to spend, but bait was pretty crucial for fishing, so I fished out the coins and handed them over. Veekas reached behind his chair, taking out a wooden bucket brimming with wriggling bait.

"May your catch be plentiful," he said as I took the bucket. "And remember – patience is key."

I thanked him and bid farewell, heading back across the bridge with my newly acquired fishing supplies. The weight of the bucket swung gently at my side as I followed the road north out of town, searching for the perfect spot.

After a few minutes of walking, I found it – a quiet bend in the river, sheltered by a stand of birch trees. There was even a convenient flat rock that would serve nicely as a seat. I set down my bucket and began gathering wood for a small fire. The evening might be mild now, but I knew how quickly the temperature could drop once the sun dipped below the horizon.

I gathered an armful of branches, sticks, and bark, settling down by the riverbank I'd chosen as my spot. The Toolkit: Survivalist’s in my inventory made quick work of breaking everything down into proper tinder and kindling. Crouching down, I set about the familiar ritual of starting a fire by hand.

My palms spun the stick, the wooden shaft grinding against the branch. Fourteen long minutes passed in a blur of sweat and mounting frustration before the first tendrils of smoke finally began to wisp up from the nest of tinder. My arms burned with the exertion, but I kept at it, gently blowing on the fragile ember and feeding it more fuel. At last, bright flames licked hungrily at the kindling, and I grinned in satisfaction.

"There we go," I murmured, taking out the iron cooking pot from my inventory.

I propped the pot up on a couple of sturdy sticks, angling it over the growing fire. A few more branches went on, stoking the flames until they crackled with warmth. If I wanted a proper hot meal tonight, that pot would need to get blazing.

Scooping up a wooden bowl's worth of river water, I carefully poured it into the heating pot. While that started warming up, I dug out the raw fox and wolf meat I'd harvested, grimacing slightly at the pungent, bloody aroma. The slices hit the water with a satisfying hiss, and soon the rich scent of searing meat filled the air around my little camp.

I plopped down on the grassy bank with a contented sigh, enjoying the fire's warmth. Tiny motes of light began winking into existence above the crackling flames, slowly resolving into the unmistakable shape of an axe constellation.

Leaning in, chin resting on my palm, I studied the glowing perk nodes. The first one immediately caught my eye.

Firecraft: Light campfires 7 seconds faster in all weather conditions.

Rank 0/4

Perks to increase: 1

Next perk progress: 0%

"Well, that's an easy choice," I said, touching the base node. The constellation pulsed faintly in acknowledgment.

I tapped the glowing torchbug, and the constellation shifted to a sun shape.

Unyielding: Increases carry weight by 15 points.

Rank 0/2

Perks to increase: 1

Next perk progress: 3%

"Now we're talking." I drummed my fingers against my knee, unable to hide my grin. Increasing my inventory weight was absolutely vital - more space for loot meant more money and resources. It was a bit disappointing that this perk could only boost my weight limit by 30 at most, but I'd take any edge I could get.

The final constellation looked like an uncut gemstone, but my progress bar towards the next perk point was a measly 49%. Oh well, can't have everything.

A small red torchbug icon caught my eye. When I tapped it, the starry perk display abruptly winked out, leaving my eyes to readjust to the normal firelight. I blinked away the afterimages, inhaling deeply as the scent of roasting meat made my mouth water.

With the basics for a fire laid out, I turned my attention to the handy Toolkit: Survivalist's panel. Flicking through the various options, I noticed I had just enough materials to craft a wooden walking stick - a couple pieces of wood and some leather strips I'd gotten from the bandits. According to the description, the walking stick would grant me a little stamina boost, letting me travel longer distances before tiring out. Could definitely come in handy for future treks, I figured.

Wooden Walking Stick

[Damage 0 | Weight 2 | Value 10 | Effect: Increases your stamina by 10 points.]

I selected the craft option, and in a blink, the finished product appeared in my off-hand, its smooth wooden shaft catching the fading sunlight. Not bad at all. I gave it an experimental twirl, feeling the slight weight as it sliced through the air. Solid craftsmanship.

Slipping the walking stick into my inventory for now, I instead pulled out my fishing rod, giving the line a little flick. The supple rod bent obligingly, the lure at the end of the line dancing in a wide arc before plopping back down mere inches from my boots. I'd need a bit more practice with the casting, it seemed.

Speaking of practice, I reopened the toolkit, eyes scanning the various recipes. One in particular caught my eye - rendering animal fat into a flammable oil. With the stack of fat I'd harvested from my hunting trips, I could produce a decent amount to help get fires going more easily. A few taps later, and a glass bottle appeared in my free hand, sloshing with a thick, greasy liquid that glistened like liquid gold in the firelight. I gave it an experimental sniff, recoiling at the pungent, smoky scent.

"Definitely flammable," I muttered with a chuckle, stashing the oil away in my inventory.

I grabbed my fishing pole and threaded a wriggly worm onto the hook. With a smooth overhead cast, the line arced out and plopped into the river with a soft plunk. Now we waited.

Ten minutes ticked by, the water gurgling peacefully around me. Just as I was starting to get fidgety, the tip of the rod twitched. I snapped to attention, eyes locked on the gently bobbing float. Another twitch, more insistent this time, and I tightened my grip.

With a surge of resistance, I swept the rod back in a wide arc. My line went taut, and I started reeling like mad, pulling hand over hand. Whatever I'd hooked was putting up a fight, that was for sure!

I gave the rod a sharp upward jerk, trying to throw off my catch's momentum. It worked - the resistance slackened ever so slightly, and I was able to start reeling again. A few more hard tugs, and suddenly, my prize broke the surface.

I gaped, dumbfounded. Because there, glinting wetly on the end of my line, was a goddamn sharp rock.

"You've got to be kidding me," I grumbled, staring at the offending hook-snagger.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

Shaking my head, I carefully worked the barbed tip free from its stony prison and dropped the rock into my inventory. May as well keep it, I supposed – there were some recipes in the toolkit that required sharp rocks.

The aroma of sizzling meat drew my attention back to the campfire. Right, dinner. I took out the seared fox and wolf cuts, sucking in a breath at the rich, smoky scent. Into my inventory they went, save for one slice of fox that I tore into with gusto.

Not bad, if a bit on the gamey side.

Licking the grease from my fingers, I rebaited my hook and cast out once more. This time, I'd barely settled back against the grassy bank before the tip started twitching again. I was on my feet in an instant, rod bending as I fought against the resistance.

"Oh yeah, this one's a fighter!" I grunted, digging my heels in.

Sharp jerks sent whatever was on the other end into a frenzy. It thrashed wildly, nearly ripping the pole from my hands. Gritting my teeth, I hung on for dear life, reeling like a madman whenever I got the chance.

At last, a silvery form broke the surface in an explosion of spray. My face split into a grin as I caught sight of the wriggling fish - a decent-sized bass by the looks of it. Into the cookpot it went, flopping furiously as I rebaited and cast out yet again.

Over the next few hours, I settled into a rhythm - cast, wait, fight, reel in. Dusk painted the sky in rich oranges and purples as my cookpot slowly filled with a a couple of fish. Three brook bass, and a weird-looking pogfish.

But that wasn't all, oh no. My inventory steadily grew more and more...varied:

Ancient Nordic Dagger

Animal Bone (Large)

Building Glass

Human Skull

Iron Clothes Press

Iron Lantern

Iron Pot

Sharp Rock (x2)

Wooden Bowl

Wooden Plates (x2)

Wooden Roped Bucket

I stared at the human skull in my palm, giving it a slow spin. Whose remains had I just casually pulled from the river's depths? And more importantly, what the actual fuck was going on with these waters? I fished up all sorts of bizarre objects – an ancient dagger, shards of glass, even a rusty old clothes press. It made no damn sense.

A soft glow caught my eye, and I huffed out a bewildered laugh. There, hovering serenely above my head, was the orb of light summoned by my Ring of Illumination. At least some things still made sense in this world.

Throughout the evening, I'd taken breaks from fishing to regularly cast my Soothe spell whenever my magicka had recovered enough to sustain it. The gentle warmth it provided helped stave off the river's chill as I waited patiently for bites. My efforts paid off, with Illusion gradually increasing from 2 to 6 over the hours.

Illusion increased to 3

Illusion increased to 4

Illusion increased to 5

Illusion increased to 6

The moon began to crest over the trees, so I decided to call it a night. I doused the campfire, scattering the glowing embers with a few kicks of my boot. I started the trek back towards Riverwood, thankful for the orb of light hovering above my head.

The walk passed quickly, my mind still occupied with thoughts of the day's strange catches. By the time I reached the Sleeping Giant Inn, I could barely keep my eyes open. I opened the door, wincing as it creaked loudly in the stillness.

I shrugged off my wolfskin cloak and dropped my fur-lined backpack near the door with a relieved groan. My linen tunic and pants soon joined the pile as I peeled off the day's clothes.

I practically fell into the bed, burrowing under the furs. My eyes slid closed almost immediately. I could finally rest easy knowing my progress was safely secured thanks to the new checkpoint.

oo0ooOoo0oo

I closed the leather cover of the Block skill book and leaned back in my chair with a satisfied sigh. I'd been poring over those pages for hours. Three solid hours of reading had finally paid off.

Block increased to 22

Increasing skills through reading was convenient, if time-consuming. No risk of dying horribly and losing progress, just a slow grind of absorbing knowledge. Still, I couldn't deny the appeal of hands-on combat. Battling for my life would surely level me up far quicker. The higher my skill levels climbed, the more time it would likely take to improve through reading alone.

I stretched slowly, rolling my shoulders to work out the kinks. My gaze drifted to the two toolkits on the inventory panel - the Smith's toolkit and the Survivalist's. Ever since unlocking that Craftsmanship perk, their contents had expanded dramatically. Schematics and recipes filled the panels, everything from forging armor to tanning leather. With these at my disposal, I could craft damn near anything, provided I had the right materials.

Weapons and armor would still require being near a proper forge, of course. And smelting down raw ore was a no-go without an actual smelter nearby. But the toolkits let me craft instantly, no tedious manual labor required. It was almost disgustingly convenient, if I'm being honest.

Speaking of convenience, I eyed the random assortment of junk I'd fished out of the river yesterday. At first glance, it all seemed utterly worthless. But thanks to those toolkits, even that rusty old lantern could prove useful.

I picked up the cracked iron lantern, giving it a little shake. A few stray drops of oil dribbled out onto my palm. I broke the lantern down into its core components using the Smith's toolkit panel - a handful of iron fragments.

Next came the wooden bowl and bucket. Another tap, and they disassembled into simple bundles of kindling, perfect for starting campfires.

By the time I was done, I had a modest stockpile of resources: 40 iron fragments, 10 bone fragments from animal bones and a human skull, and 20 bundles of kindling for fires.

The Ancient Nordic Dagger was definitely a keeper. At 40 damage, it put my current 33 damage iron dagger to shame. A solid sidearm could make all the difference in a tight spot. I’d already dissolved the iron dagger into iron fragments, so hopefully I could make use of those in the near future for crafting.

I briefly considered the two sharp rocks I'd inadvertently caught, knowing I could fashion them into stone arrows. But the panels told me it wouldn't be worth the effort - even the best stone arrowhead would pale compared to decent iron shafts. I decided to hang onto the rocks for now, just in case some niche use presented itself down the line.

The various woodcrafting recipes I could craft right now were available on the panel - chairs, barrels, weapon racks, even a full-sized chest for storage. They could be useful, sure, but did I really need any of that just yet? A secret wilderness stash could prove handy eventually, but it felt like overkill at the moment.

No, I had more immediate concerns. Like getting rid of that clunky iron greatsword taking up 16 units of precious inventory space.

I polished off the last few bites of a crisp green apple, then made for the door. The Sleeping Giant Inn's common room was mostly empty, with only Delphine at the bar. I slipped outside, the morning sun warm on my face.

Once I was out of sight from the inn, I ducked behind a gnarled oak tree and took out the greatsword from my inventory. The massive blade hit the dirt with a dull thud as I mimed digging it up from a shallow hole. A few sweeps of my boot obscured the "grave", leaving only a scattering of fresh earth to sell the illusion.

Resting the sword's pommel on my shoulder, I straightened and marched right for Alvor's smithy.

The burly blacksmith looked up as I approached, eyes narrowing at the sight of the massive blade. "You find another one of those out in the woods?" he asked.

I shrugged one shoulder, letting the greatsword slide into my waiting hands with a grunt of effort. "Got it from the bandits as well, but I couldn’t carry it with me yesterday. Figured you might want to take a look, maybe buy it off me if the quality's decent?"

Alvor waved me over to his workbench, calloused hands running along the greatsword's edge with a practiced eye. He hmm'd and hawed for a few minutes before giving a grudging nod.

"Solid iron," he declared. "Looks like it hasn’t ever seen combat, even." He squinted up at me, one eyebrow raised. "I could probably sell it off to the Imperial Legion if they came along, so I could give you, say, 470 septims?”

I opened my mouth to accept, then hesitated. Was this a fair price for the sword, or was I being subtly influenced like I was with Lucan? I pinched my inner arm hard, the flash of pain clearing my head.

An iron sword fetched around 240 septims, right? And this was a massive two-hander, easily twice the size and requiring far more raw materials. 470 seemed reasonable.

I gave a slow nod. "Yes, 470 septims works for me."

Alvor's broad smile showed no trace of deceit as he fetched a weighty coin purse and handed it over. "Pleasure doing business with you, lad. Let me know if you turn up any more...antiquities out in the wilds."

I thanked him and walked out of the smithy, leaning against the outer wall near the smelter and forge. I pulled up my Smith's toolkit interface.

Two new recipes were available - one for Toolkit: Alchemist’s, the other for Toolkit: Brewer’s. Both required basic materials like wood scraps and leather, things I had on hand. With a few taps, I crafted both. Might as well expand my crafting options while I could.

The two new toolkits appeared in my inventory. I opened each in turn, scanning the available recipes with interest. As expected, without any alchemical perks, my options were limited to basic ingredients and brews. Still, having those options was better than nothing.

I was just about to dismiss the Alchemist's toolkit when one particular recipe caught my eye - Spell Research Journal. It required a few strips of leather, some paper rolls, and linen thread, all common enough materials. But what exactly was its purpose? I could already learn new spells instantly from tomes, so studying them seemed redundant.

Unless...maybe this journal unlocked some way to develop completely new spells? Or maybe modify spells? Okay, I definitely had to make it.

I checked my inventory and grimaced. Not enough materials on hand to actually craft the journal. But the Riverwood Trader would surely have what I needed in stock.

As I pushed off from the wall, a new notification sprang up:

Evasion increased to 6

Well... I wasn't really doing anything related to evasion... Is it because I was carrying the wooden walking stick on my belt? It was the only piece of gear on me marked 'Evasion', so I guess that's why? I’d certainly keep it on my belt then, if it passively leveled up a skill for me.

Oh, I almost forgot the two pelts! I opened up the Smith's toolkit panel again and broke down the poor-quality fox and wolf pelts I'd skinned, converting them into a couple of leather strips. With that done, I made my way towards the Riverwood Trader, pushing open the door.

Lucan looked up from behind the counter as I entered. I couldn't help frown, memories of our earlier transaction with the aquamarine still fresh in my mind. He'd scammed me good, there was no denying it. But I knew this sort of underhanded deal-making was likely the norm. If our roles were reversed, I'd probably do the same - use whatever Speech perks I could muster to twist the bargain in my favor.

No, there was no point in holding a grudge. If I wanted to avoid such scams in the future, I'd simply have to improve my own Speech skill and invest in some merchant-focused perks of my own. Then the shoe would be on the other foot.

I greeted Lucan with a curt nod, forcing a neutral expression. "I need to purchase a few items," I said, keeping my tone polite. "Five paper rolls, one piece of leather, a linen thread, and... two waterskins as well."

The trader gathered the requested goods and laid them out on the countertop. "The linen thread will be 5 septims," he said matter-of-factly. "The five paper rolls, 235. Leather, 70. And the waterskins, 90 more. That's 400 septims total."

I pinched the soft underside of my arm once more, the flare of pain helping to clear my head. Keeping a level gaze locked on Lucan, I asked, "The paper seems expensive. Why's that?"

His eyebrows shot up. "It's not that costly," he insisted, shaking his head. "Paper is difficult to make, not something we regularly use here in Riverwood.” He gestured broadly with one hand, encompassing the small shop and the village beyond. "Usually only nobles or mages in the cities have much call for it. Certainly not a common commodity around here."

I furrowed my brow, tilting my head slightly as I considered his explanation. My eyes narrowed, darting between the paper and Lucan's face. Slowly, I nodded. It made sense, though I couldn't help but feel skeptical. My fingers fidgeted with the hem of my tunic as I wondered: Was this just another merchant's trick to inflate prices?

With no way to be certain, I finally heaved a sigh, my shoulders slumping in resignation. Reluctantly, I gave a brief nod and reached into my coin purse.

I extended my hand to Lucan, the coins clinked softly in my palm. He scooped them up, and I watched them disappear into his till with a slight wince. My hand instinctively moved to pat my now-lighter coin purse, mentally tallying my remaining funds at 1,644 septims. I rolled my shoulders, trying to shake off the tension.

Items in hand, I thanked Lucan and headed back towards the Sleeping Giant Inn. Once in the privacy of my rented room, I put all of the required materials in my inventory, and used the toolkit panel to create the Spell Research Journal.

Sadly, the journal would have to wait. I glanced out the window, noting the sun's position in the sky - my shift at the lumber mill started in just ten minutes. I’d absolutely try to use the journal tonight, though.

I left the inn, the cold morning air raising goosebumps along my arms. Pulling my wolfskin cloak tighter, I set off down the road at a quick pace.

I was just passing the Riverwood Trader when a voice called out, stopping me in my tracks.

"You there! Traveler!"

I turned, one hand instinctively dropping to the hilt of my dagger as I took in the approaching figure. He was a wiry young man, dressed in simple traveling leathers and bearing a faded green satchel. As he drew closer, I could make out the distinct insignia emblazoned on the satchel's flap - a pair of crossed quills over a sealed scroll. A courier, maybe?

The man skidded to a halt before me, already fishing around in his bag. "Greetings, friend!" he said breathlessly, a friendly grin splitting his face. "Got a message for you on this fine morning."

With a flourish, he produced a folded parchment and extended it towards me. I accepted it hesitantly, arching one eyebrow in silent question.

The courier perked up. "It’s Harvest’s End, friend!" He tipped an invisible hat. "Have yourself a wonderful day now!"

And just like that, he was off again, boots kicking up little puffs of dust as he ran down the road. I stared after him for a moment, bewildered, before turning my attention to the mysterious parchment.

It wasn't sealed or marked with any insignia that I could see. Just a simple folded square, the paper already creasing and softening from the constant handling. Shrugging to myself, I unfolded it, eyes quickly scanning the neat script inscribed within.

Harvest's End

27th Last Seed

The year has turned its circle,

The seasons come and go.

The harvest is all gathered in

And chilly north winds blow.

Taverns will be busy throughout the day

but free food and drinks will be available

for all outside after 5pm!

Free food and drink? Now that was a celebration I could absolutely get behind! I quickly scanned the date - Last Seed, the seasonal equivalent of August if I remembered correctly. That meant autumn was just around the corner, and summer would be ending soon.

I could scarcely imagine enduring Skyrim's winters if the summer had already pushed me to the brink of freezing on more than one occasion. Being caught unprepared once winter set in would likely be a death sentence, especially for non-Nords.

Tucking the flyer securely into my coin purse, I set off towards my last shift at the lumber mill.