I cracked my eyes open as the first rays of sunlight peeked through the narrow windows. Groaning, I stretched, my muscles protesting from yesterday's labor. The smell of stew from outside my door made my stomach growl. But I shook my head, my coin purse was feeling way too light for comfort.

"Time to see if I can catch my own breakfast," I muttered, hauling myself out of bed.

I tugged on my linen clothes, the fabric rough against my skin. I couldn’t help but grin as I reached for my new fur backpack. The soft pelt felt luxurious under my fingers as I slung it over my shoulders. Next came the fishing rod, clipping it to my belt.

I hesitated for a moment before pulling out my iron sword. The blade glinted in the early morning light as I fastened the sheath to my hip.

The common room was quiet as I made my way out, only a few patrons nursing mugs of something that smelled strongly of herbs. I nodded to Orgnar as I passed, earning a grunt in return.

The door of the Sleeping Giant Inn creaked shut behind me as I stepped out into the crisp morning air. A light mist hung over Riverwood, the first rays of dawn just peeking over the mountains. I took a deep breath, taking in the fresh, earthy scent carried on the breeze.

Glancing towards the Riverwood Trader, I frowned when I saw the shutters were still drawn tight. Looked like my plan to buy some bait wouldn't work this early. I'd have to improvise.

"Morning, Fjorgeir," I called out, spotting the familiar guard making his rounds. He paused, squinting in my direction.

"Alex, isn't it?" he said, a hint of a smile tugging at his weathered features. "You're up with the birds today."

I chuckled, adjusting the fishing rod slung over my shoulder. "Something like that. I was hoping to get a line in the water before my shift at the mill. Catch myself some breakfast, you know?"

Fjorgeir nodded sagely. "Ah, I see. Well, the fish should be biting nicely this time of day. Just mind you don't wander too far – there's been rumors of wolf packs getting bolder lately."

"Don't worry, I'll stick close to town," I assured him. A thought struck me then. "Hey, I've been meaning to ask... why did you call yourself 'the Scribe'? You some kind of writer or scholar?"

Fjorgeir let out a bark of laughter that seemed to startle a nearby chicken. "No, no," He patted the notebook tucked into his belt pouch. "Just an old habit from my days as a mercenary. Kept logs of contracts, troop movements, that sort of thing. Suppose the name just stuck after I hung up my sword."

A sly grin tugged at my lips. There was clearly an interesting tale behind that mercenary comment. "A hired sword, eh? I'll have to pick that seasoned brain of yours for stories sometime."

Fjorgeir let out a rasping chuckle, the corners of his eyes crinkling. "Aye, you just might at that, lad. But for now, best be getting a move on before them fish get tired of waiting on you."

"You're probably right about that." I gave him a parting wave. "I'll catch you later, Fjorgeir."

The village fell away behind me, the sounds of clucking chickens and the mill's water wheel fading into the peaceful ambiance of the wilds. My boots crunched over fallen twigs and pine needles as I breathed in the fresh, piney scent.

After a couple of minutes, I veered off the road towards the river, which burbled and splashed merrily over the rocks. Lush grass gave way to a small sandy bank, and I settled down with my back against the rough bark of an old oak. Stretching out my legs, I pulled the loaf of bread from my inventory and tore off a small chunk to use as improvised bait.

The simple act of tying the makeshift lure to my hook filled me with a strange nostalgia. I couldn't remember the last time I'd gone fishing – probably a camping trip with my grandpa four years ago. But the muscle memory was still there, my fingers working the line with ease.

I flicked my wrist, and the baited hook arced out over the river to land with a tiny plop. Leaning against the sturdy oak, I let the fishing rod rest across my lap with one hand loosely gripping the handle. With my other hand, I opened my palm and turned it upward, facing the sky. I took a deep breath, centering myself, and focused my mind.

A faint golden glow began to emanate from my palm, slowly growing brighter and more vibrant. The light pulsed and flickered, condensing into a small, golden orb that danced as if alive. Despite its radiance, it cast only a very gentle illumination over my surroundings, like a warm candlelight.

I couldn't help but smirk as I watched the magical orb fluctuate in my hand. This was the first time I had ever tried magic, and witnessing the manifestation of Healing Aura on Self felt absolutely amazing.

After a few moments of admiring the enchanting display, I concentrated further, channeling my will into shaping the spell. The fluctuations of the orb grew more chaotic, the light pulsing and rippling like water disturbed by a stone. The orb suddenly burst apart, streams of golden light spiraling outward and enveloping my body in a warm, soothing embrace.

The tendrils of light danced across my skin, leaving a tingling sensation in their wake, before slowly fading away.

I pulled up the effect panel, and sure enough, a new entry had appeared:

Healing Aura on Self (19 minutes and 53 seconds):

The recipient is surrounded by an aura that slowly restores health for 1200 seconds.

Of course, the aura's healing properties were redundant at the moment, as I was already at full health.

I lowered my hand, still grinning like an idiot at successfully casting my first spell. Magic - actual damn magic! Who would've thought? Shaking my head in amusement, I turned my attention back to the gently bobbing fishing line.

Three minutes ticked by, the only sounds the gurgling river and the morning chirps of birds. That's when I felt it - the slightest tug on the line, like a curious nibble. My body tensed, eyes locking onto the red float. C'mon, take the bait you little bugger.

Another teasing twitch of the line had me shooting to my feet, rod gripped tightly. This was it! I started reeling in, visions of a hefty trout dancing in my head. But as I pulled the line from the water, I deflated. Nothing. The bait hadn't even been nibbled on.

"Oh, you've got to be kidding me," I grumbled, glaring at the river as if it had personally offended me. Talking to fish now, am I? Keep it together, Alex.

With an exaggerated huff, I flicked my wrist and cast the line back out, the bread bait plopping into the shallows. This time I was ready, perched on the balls of my feet like a coiled spring.

The minutes ticked by with maddening slowness. I could've sworn I felt the occasional phantom tug, my body jolting with anticipation only to slump in disappointment. After the third such letdown, I scowled at the placid water.

"You think you're so clever, don't you?" I groused, feeling increasingly silly for scolding a river. "Just you wait, I'll out-stubborn you yet."

True to my word, I refused to be deterred. Each time the bait drifted too far, I reeled it in and cast again with laser-focused determination. Twenty minutes passed by the time my focus was rewarded - the line went taut, the rod bending dramatically as something powerful surged against it.

"Ha! Got one!" I crowed, excitement making me giddy as a kid.

Planting my feet, I leaned back and started reeling with slow, steady strokes. My arms burned from the strain, but I was grinning like a fool. After several tense minutes of give-and-take, I finally spotted a flash of silver breaking the surface.

"Come to papa," I grunted, putting my back into it.

I gave it one final heave, and swung my catch up onto the sandy bank - a respectable-sized salmon flopping wildly. Too absorbed in my victory, I didn't notice my boot slipping on the small slope until it was too late. The next thing I knew, I was flat on my back, winded but still clutching my prize like a trophy.

"Worth it," I wheezed, grinning up at the cloudless sky as the salmon calmed beside me. Looked like I'd be having a hearty breakfast after all. A lazy flick of its tail was the only sign it was still alive. I knew I should probably put the poor thing out of its misery, but I was too busy basking in the simple joy of my first catch in Skyrim.

That's when the text flashed across my vision, making me jolt upright.

Started: Angler Acquaintances

I blinked rapidly, half-expecting the words to disappear like a mirage. But they remained stubbornly visible, hovering just below my line of sight. A quest notification? I hadn’t thought quests were a thing in this system, because I hadn’t encountered any kind of option for it…

I brought up the menu interface, eyes widening at the new addition - Quests. I opened it, and selected the lone entry, Angler Acquaintances.

Angler Acquaintances

To become more skilled at fishing, you should visit the Riften Fishery and speak to those who work there. In particular, Viriya and Swims-In-Deep-Water are rumored to be highly knowledgeable.

Objectives:

* Visit the Riften Fishery

I scootched over to lean against the tree trunk, mulling over the unexpected quest. Riften was halfway across the province - there was no way I could justify trekking that far just for fishing tips. At least, not yet.

But the implication of quests, even simple ones like this, was very good. Could I level up by completing them? Gain new positive Effects like that quest that gave you the Agent of Dibella ability that granted 10% more combat damage to members of the opposite sex? If so, it was something that my inner min-maxer couldn't ignore.

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

Of course, many quests were not as straightforward as paying a visit. I grimaced, thinking of the Golden Claw debacle waiting for me in Bleak Falls Barrow. Bandits, draugr, and a giant frostbite spider in those ancient Nordic ruins? No, that particular quest would need to wait until I was stronger, more prepared.

A gurgling sound broke me from my thoughts. I glanced over to see the salmon's mouth opening and closing, its gills flaring desperately. Right, I should probably get around to cooking my hard-won prize before it went to waste.

Scooping up the still-twitching fish, I turned it over in my hands, admiring the deep red flesh revealed by its frantic struggles. My stomach rumbled hungrily at the thought of fresh-cooked salmon for breakfast.

The iron hunting knife I'd purchased yesterday appeared in my other hand out of thin air, and I hesitated, grimacing. I'd never actually killed and prepped my own food before. Sure, I'd gone fishing before, but we always just tossed the catches back. This felt...different, somehow.

The salmon's frantic flopping snapped me out of my momentary quandary. I grasped the base of its tail firmly, angling the blade towards the base of its skull. With a sharp exhale, I brought the knife down, severing the head cleanly. The body gave a few final twitches before going still.

"Sorry about that," I whispered, tossing the head aside.

I sliced along the salmon's underbelly, the blade parting flesh and scales with ease. Scooping out the guts and tossing them into the shallows, I was left with two glistening crimson fillets. They looked delicious...and also a little unnerving, if I'm being honest. I'd never been so up-close and personal with my breakfast before.

Shaking off my squeamishness, I rinsed the fillets in the river's cool waters before setting them aside on a nearby broad, flat stone. Time to get a little campfire going.

I scanned the area, gathering up suitable stones to form a small circle for the fire pit. With that taken care of, I wandered around, collecting any dry wood, twigs and strips of bark I could find. Spotting a fallen dead log, I eagerly dragged it over to my little campsite.

Once I had a decent pile assembled, I plopped down and dug into my inventory for the "Toolkit: Survivalist's" item. I wasn't entirely sure what the point of this thing was if I could just make a fire myself, but I opened its menu anyway. A bunch of options for crafting kindling, tinder and the like popped up.

I selected some kindling from the branches and twigs, along with "Tinder (Good)" from the bark. My eyes widened as the raw materials vanished, replaced by perfectly uniform kindling sticks and tinder cubes. That was… impressive, sure, but it didn’t seem that much better than just putting the materials in the fire pit manually? Maybe it would prove more convenient for advanced crafting down the line.

For now, I decided to go with what I knew. I arranged the kindling into a neat cone over a small pile of the bark tinder in the stone circle. Recalling distant camping memories and TV shows, I grabbed a straight stick and a flat piece of dry wood, grimacing as I realized my only hope was an old-fashioned hand drill fire.

I planted the stick into the wood and started spinning it rapidly between my palms. Nothing. I kept at it, sweat starting to fall down my face from the exertion. Twenty minutes passed before the first wisp of smoke emerged. Five more endless minutes of drilling, and a thin trail of smoke began to rise steadily.

"C'mon, you stubborn bastard," I muttered through gritted teeth, gently guiding the smoke trail towards the tinder pile. Shielding it with one hand, I used the other to waft air across the glowing embers.

Slowly but surely, the smoke thickened into smoldering embers. A few more coaxing breaths, and a tiny flame burst to life in the tinder. "Yes!" I hissed, quickly feeding it with the kindling and larger twigs. The fire grew, crackling and popping with satisfying snaps as it hungrily consumed the fuel.

I grabbed the salmon fillets, cradling the rich crimson flesh in my palms for a moment. The aroma was mouth-watering. Squatting by the dancing flames, I eyed the makeshift spit I'd fashioned from a couple green branches, wondering if this crazy plan would work.

What the hell, only one way to find out. I threaded the fillets onto the branches and propped them over the licking fire. Sizzles and pops filled the air as droplets of fish oil hit the burning kindling. This was already leagues better than cabbage stew.

I settled cross-legged beside the crackling flames, watching the fillets intently as they slowly started taking on an appetizing golden-brown hue.

That's when it happened. A sudden swooshing sound made me damn near leap out of my skin as a lightshow erupted over the campfire. Pinpricks of light swirled and gathered into the unmistakable shape of a woodcutter's axe constellation hovering in midair. On either side, a pair of glowing torchbugs appeared out of thin air, their ethereal wings beating lazily.

"What in the actual fuck?" I breathed, eyes wide with disbelief.

I blinked rapidly, half-expecting the vision to fade like a fever dream. But the axe constellation remained stubbornly intact, practically daring me to make sense of this latest oddity.

"Okay..." I muttered, running a hand through my sweat-damp hair. "Let's see what fresh madness this is."

Leaning forward, I squinted at the glowing nodes adorning the axe's handle. The first one pulsed with a warm, inviting light.

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

Rank 0/4

Perks to increase: 0

Next perk progress: 33%

A reluctant grin tugged at my lips as I read the description. "Well, that would've been handy just now."

My gaze drifted to the next node, the warm glow illuminating the text.

Trailblazer: Additional 10 Stamina when using a walking stick.

Rank 0/3

Perks to increase: 0

Next perk progress: 33%

"Huh, not bad," I mused, rubbing my chin thoughtfully. A stamina boost could come in handy on long treks, especially if I was weighed down with gear. Though a walking stick seemed like an odd requirement.

I leaned closer, looking at the remaining perks clustered around the axe's blade. Each one seemed geared towards enhancing various survival skills – 25% chance of gathering extra wood for each piece harvested, longer-lasting skill bonuses from large campfires, keener senses for detecting various things.

They all seemed great, but a nagging question remained - did these perks tie into the ones I'd already selected during level-ups? Or did they follow their own separate progression system? The "Next perk progress" line hinted at the latter, but I couldn't be certain.

"Well, only one way to find out," I muttered, reaching out to prod at one of the ethereal torchbugs hovering near the constellation.

The axe abruptly winked out, replaced by a new symbol taking shape - a brilliant sun, its rays stretching outwards in a blinding corona. I blinked rapidly, shielding my eyes against the sudden glare.

"Okay, so that's how we swap between them," I said, giving the other torchbug a careful poke. Sure enough, the sun vanished as swiftly as it had appeared, the axe reasserting itself with a warm, comforting glow.

I switched back to the sun, leaning in to inspect its perks. The first one caught my eye immediately.

Unyielding: Increases carry weight by 15 points.

Rank 0/2

Perks to increase: 0

Next perk progress: 67%

A delighted grin spread across my face. Now that was just what I needed - some extra inventory capacity to offset my limited slots. The other perks radiated outwards in branching paths, each one focused on mitigating the toll of hunger, thirst, exhaustion, and extreme temperatures.

Not just that, this also confirmed these survival constellations followed their own perk point system, since the progress towards the next perk differed between the two constellations. That was great news, since I didn’t want to spend my level-up perk points on survival perks if at all possible.

I prodded the torchbug again, ushering in the next constellation. This one took the shape of a multifaceted gemstone, its edges glittering with a pale, icy light.

Adaptation: Increases warmth rating by 20 points.

Rank 0/5

Perks to increase: 1

Next perk progress: 49%

"Now we're talking," I said with a low whistle. The first rank was just begging to be taken, those 20 extra warmth points singing their siren song. The thought of shrugging off Skyrim's biting chill made my decision easy, though I only had one choice anyway. I focused my will, and the gemstone's edges flared brilliantly as the perk unlocked.

The next rank of Adaptation really caught my eye - it increased warmth rating by 40 points. Each successive rank seemed to grant an additional 20 points of warmth on top of the previous one. Considering my innate Nordic frost resistance only bumped me up 25 points, fully unlocking this perk should make me damn near immune to Skyrim's bitter chill.

One of the next nodes caught my attention right away - it promised to reduce exposure duration from nasty frost spells and chilling attacks. Could be a lifesaver against mages or ice wraiths. The other path’s perk looked interesting too - allowing me to swim in frigid waters for 50% longer, and no longer draining my stamina. Might come in handy if I ever needed to make a daring escape across a frozen lake or something. There were a couple more perks, all related to resisting the cold in various ways, and I couldn’t help but wonder why this skill constellation was some kind of gem, while the previous constellation was a sun. Almost felt like they should be switched around…

"Well, whatever… This is not bad, not bad at all," I told myself, rubbing my chin approvingly. They all seemed damn useful in their own ways. Definitely going to need to keep an eye out for more campfire opportunities to invest some points.

I reached out to prod the torchbug again, eager to see what other constellations were available. But instead of a new constellation appearing, the axe winked back into existence with a warm, familiar glow.

"Huh? That's it?" I muttered, brow furrowing in confusion. I tried again, giving the torchbug a few insistent pokes, but it just switched through the sun, gem and back to the axe. "Just three constellations? Weird..."

I shrugged, dismissing the odd limitation. Three was better than none, and who knew - maybe more would unlock as I leveled up or something. Speaking of which...

The delicious aroma of sizzling fish fat hit my nostrils, making my stomach rumble loudly. "Shit!" I hissed, whipping my head back towards the campfire. In my distracted analysis of the perks, I'd completely forgotten about cooking my hard-won breakfast.

Cursing under my breath, I scrambled forward and yanked the makeshift spit off the flames. The salmon fillets sizzled angrily, their formerly rich crimson hue now an unappetizing charcoal black in some spots. I cursed as the residual heat seared my fingers, nearly dropping the whole mess into my lap before managing to deposit the fillets onto the bare ground.

"Dammit, dammit, dammit," I grumbled, blowing on my stinging fingertips. So much for a celebratory breakfast feast. I prodded one of the fillets gingerly - while not a complete loss, it was definitely overcooked to the point of being leathery in some places.

I sighed, running a hand through my hair as I regarded the sad, slightly charred remains of my first catch in Skyrim. "Well, it's still food, I guess," I said. "And I'll need the energy for today's shift..."

Resigning myself to the less-than-stellar meal, I tore off a hunk of the fish, blowing on it furiously before taking a cautious bite. Not great, but it could've been worse. A bit dry and chewy, but the smoky char added an interesting dimension of flavor that almost made up for the overcooked texture.

I polished off the rest of the fillets with relatively little fuss, licking the last traces of fish oil and char from my fingers with a contented smack of my lips. Not a breakfast for the ages, but it did the job of getting some solid protein into my belly.

A glance at the sun's position told me I'd better get a move on if I didn't want to be late for my second day's work at the mill. I doused the campfire, kicking dirt over the glowing embers until I was certain they were fully extinguished. Wouldn't do to accidentally start a forest fire my first week in Skyrim.

The crunch of pine needles under my boots provided a satisfying backdrop as I made my way back towards Riverwood. My stomach felt pleasantly full from the charred salmon fillets, and I took a deep breath, thinking about my future in Skyrim.

This was going to be my life for a while - fishing these rivers and streams for sustenance, carefully rationing what little coin I could scrape together from the lumber mill's meager wages. I’d live my life here in Riverwood… not.

Who was I kidding? I was in fucking Skyrim - a land of magic, fearsome dragons, and infinite possibilities. Did I really want to waste that potential lingering in some sleepy village, whiling away the days as a lowly lumberjack? Sure, I needed to play it smart for now, build up some coin and supplies. But the ultimate goal was to strike out on my own, to grow in power and experience all this world had to offer.

My grip tightened around the fishing rod slung over my shoulder. Yes, I'd make the most of this humble start in Riverwood. But it was just that - a start. I needed to focus on a couple things first - secure multiple income streams, build up my combat skills, you know, not dying again. There would be time for dangerous quests later, once I was fully prepared.

Perhaps I can start hunting some rabbits, elk or even wolves in the forests for extra septims? I had a decent skill of 25 in Smithing too, but I didn't think that number truly represented my actual abilities. The very first perk, Craftsmanship, promised to give me a basic understanding of craftmanship, allowing me to craft and enhance a variety of common goods and work with basic materials like iron and steel.

It might be a smart move to invest my first perk point there once I leveled up. I'd have to mull it over. For now though, it was time for me to start my shift at the lumber mill.