I sprung up in my bed, my heart pounding like a war drum. The familiar wooden beams of the Sleeping Giant Inn's ceiling swam into focus as I gasped for air, phantom pain still ghosting across my throat.

"Fuck," I whispered, the word barely audible even in the pre-dawn quiet.

I sat up slowly, swinging my legs over the side of the bed. The rough planks were cool beneath my bare feet, grounding me in the present. I was alive. I was whole. And I was fucking pissed.

The anger that filled me wasn't the hot, blinding rage I'd felt in those final moments. No, this was something colder, sharper. It settled in my gut like a block of ice, spreading tendrils of frost through my veins.

I wanted those bastards dead. I wanted to watch the light fade from their eyes, to hear them beg for mercy they didn't deserve. But I wasn't stupid. Charging in half-cocked would just get me killed again, and what was the point of that? My newly acquired skill levels didn’t persist through death, so throwing my life away repeatedly was just... pointless. Only pure knowledge seemed to persist, so I couldn’t death-loop my way to victory. Not against that many people, at least.

No, I needed to be smarter about this. I couldn't save Gunnar, Bjorn, and Svog by myself - not yet, anyway. But maybe I could keep them from ever being in danger in the first place?

A plan began to take shape as I dressed, my fingers working the laces of my boots. I'd go hunting again, just like before. But this time, when I came back...

The common room was hushed as I made my way out, with only Orgnar behind the bar, absently polishing mugs. He grunted a greeting, which I returned with a distracted nod.

The forest was still shrouded in early morning mist as I set out, bow in hand. While I went through the motions of hunting and butchering, I rehearsed what I'd say over and over in my head. By the time I made it back to Riverwood, my Marksman skill level increased to 16 once more, I felt ready.

I headed straight for the guard house, knowing that's where I'd find Hoki. Sure enough, there he was, looking as bored as ever while he leaned against the stone wall.

"Hoki," I called out urgently. "I need to talk to you. It's important."

The guard straightened, hand moving instinctively to the hilt of his sword. "What is it? You look like you've seen a frost troll."

I took a deep breath, letting a tremor creep into my words. "I... I saw something while I was out hunting. Bandits. A whole group of them."

Hoki's eyes narrowed. "Bandits? Where?"

"About half an hour's walk from here," I said, gesturing vaguely in the direction of Embershard Mine. "There's some kind of old mine entrance. I saw them going in and out, setting up guards along the road."

I swallowed hard, as if reliving a terrifying moment. "I... I was lucky. Spotted them through some bushes. But Hoki, there were a lot of them. At least fifteen just from what I could see from my position."

The guard's face had grown grim. "This is serious business, Alex. You're sure about what you saw?"

I nodded emphatically. "Absolutely. I wouldn't make something like this up."

Hoki cursed under his breath. "Alright. I'll send word to Whiterun immediately. We'll need reinforcements to deal with a group that size." He fixed me with a stern look. "In the meantime, spread the word. No one goes near that area until we've dealt with this threat, understand?"

"Of course," I agreed quickly. "I'll let Hod know right away. We were supposed to go out that way for lumber soon..."

With that taken care of, I hurried towards the mill. A few villagers were already up and about, tending to chickens or stoking fires. I gave them quick nods as I passed.

Hod was already there, inspecting a stack of freshly cut planks. He looked up as I jogged over, his brow furrowing at my urgent expression.

"Hod!" I called out, slightly out of breath. "Got a minute? It's important."

He set down his ledger, giving me his full attention. "What's the matter, lad?"

I quickly recounted what I'd "seen" during my hunting trip, watching as Hod's face grew more serious with each word. When I finished, he let out a low whistle.

"Bandits, eh? And that close..." He shook his head, stroking his beard. "Good thing you spotted them, Alex. I was about to send some people out that way soon."

"That's why I came straight to you," I said. "Hoki's sending word to Whiterun, but he said to tell everyone. No one should go near that area until it's dealt with."

"Gerdur!" he called out suddenly, making me jump. "Get over here, woman! We've got trouble brewing!"

I watched as Gerdur came out of a nearby shack, wiping flour-dusted hands on her apron. Her eyes darted between Hod and me, concern etching lines around her mouth.

"What's all this about?" she asked, her voice steady despite the worry clear on her face.

Hod jerked his thumb in my direction. "Alex here's just brought word of bandits setting up shop near old Embershard Mine. Sounds like a right nasty bunch, too."

Gerdur's sharp intake of breath was audible even over the constant rush of the mill's water wheel. "Bandits? So close?" She turned to me, eyes narrowing. "You're certain?"

I nodded, trying to look appropriately distressed. "Saw 'em with my own eyes. Hoki's already sending word to Whiterun for reinforcements."

"Good," Gerdur said firmly. "We'll need all the help we can get if there's as many as you say."

Hod grunted in agreement. "Aye, and in the meantime, we need to spread the word. No one goes near that area 'til it's dealt with." He fixed me with a look that was part gratitude, part concern. "You did good bringing this to us, lad. But it must've been a right scare."

I let out a shaky breath, playing up the rattled survivor act. "Yeah, it... it was pretty intense. I'm just glad I spotted them before they could see me."

Hod and Gerdur exchanged a quick glance, some unspoken communication passing between them. Then Hod clapped me on the shoulder.

"Tell you what," he said, "take the day off. Full pay, mind you. After a shock like that, you deserve some rest."

I blinked, genuinely surprised by the offer. "Are you sure? I mean, I can still work if you need me..."

Gerdur shook her head, a small smile softening her worried expression. "Nonsense. You've done more than enough by bringing us this warning. Go on, get some rest. We'll handle spreading the word from here."

I slowly nodded. "Thanks, I... I appreciate it."

As I turned to go, Hod called out after me. "And Alex? Be careful out there. No more lone hunting trips that way until we've got this bandit situation sorted, you hear?"

"You got it," I promised. The pieces were falling into place, and with any luck, I'd just saved three lives without having to swing a sword.

Now I just had to figure out what to do with my unexpected day off...

oo0ooOoo0oo

My skin tingled pleasantly, the scent of plain soap lingering in the air around me as I stepped out of the bathing room.

The common room was starting to fill up as I made my way through, the early risers of Riverwood chatting about the bandits at the old mine south of town.

Once outside, the crisp morning air nipped at my freshly scrubbed skin. I took a deep breath. Now what? I needed to get stronger, that much was clear. Still stuck at level one, and in a world as dangerous as Skyrim, that wasn't going to cut it for long.

My thoughts wandered to Sven and Faendal, their little love triangle drama. Getting involved in that mess might net me some quick experience from a quest, but at what cost? This was a small town, and word travels fast. Burning bridges this early on didn't seem smart. No, best to leave that particular powder keg alone for now.

It seemed obvious that hunting animals would give me enough experience to level up, but I needed to actually focus on the killing part. If I only took smaller game into my inventory, stuff I could easily fit, I could just leave larger animals behind. Improving my skills at butchering was important, but was it more important than leveling up? No.

Decision made, I set off towards Riverwood's western gate. The guards nodded as I passed, and I found myself wondering if they ever got bored just standing there all day. Probably not the time to ask, though.

I moved as quietly as I could, wincing at every twig that snapped under my boots. For all my efforts, the forest seemed determined to stay empty. Oh, I could hear life all around me – the rustle of leaves, the occasional bird call – but any potential prey remained stubbornly out of sight.

After what felt like hours (but was probably closer to 40 minutes), I found myself at the edge of a steep slope. My breath caught in my throat as I took in the view. Below me, a fork in the road stretched out like a "Y" carved into the landscape. But it wasn't the road that had my heart racing – it was the small camp nestled against the snowy mountainside.

Even from this distance, I could make out the glint of armor on the figures moving about the camp. My mind flashed back to a painful memory, one of those bandits ending my life during my first day here.

My hand moved, reaching for an arrow. The smooth wooden shaft felt right in my grip as I nocked it, the bow string taut against my cheek. These weren't innocent woodland creatures I was hunting now. These were killers, thieves who preyed on the weak.

I needed to get stronger, yes, but more than that, I needed to make this world a little safer. If the numbers weren't overwhelmingly against me, I wouldn't shy away from fights. I needed to take risks if I wanted to be able to thrive.

One of the bandits sat by a small fire, oblivious to the danger lurking above. I took a deep breath, steadying my aim, and let the arrow fly.

It whistled through the air... and clattered harmlessly against the rocks just above the bandit's head. "Shit," I hissed, ducking behind a nearby boulder as shouts of alarm echoed from below. I reached for another arrow, listening to the crunch of snow under heavy boots.

"There's an archer up there!" one of them yelled.

I pressed myself deeper into the snow, willing my body to melt into the rocky outcropping. The cold seeped through my clothes, but I barely noticed, too focused on staying perfectly still.

Sneak increased to 1

"Spread out and find him!" a gruff voice barked.

I could hear them slowly drawing nearer. I held my breath, not daring to give away my position. Two agonizing minutes ticked by, the bandits' search gradually bringing them closer and closer to my hiding spot.

Sneak increased to 2

A bead of sweat trickled down my temple despite the chill air. Just hiding here, motionless as a statue, was leveling up my sneaking ability. Perhaps I could grind the skill by simply evading these bastards?

I nestled deeper into the snow bank, becoming little more than a lumpy outcropping of rock and ice. The bandits' heavy footfalls reverberated through the ground, sending tiny tremors up my spine.

Sneak increased to 3

Sneak increased to 4

They were just a couple of meters away now. Any second, they'd spot the unnatural shape I made against the mountainside. Muscles taut as bowstrings, I prepared to spring into action at the first sign of discovery.

Sneak increased to 5

"There!"

The shout startled me, and I exploded from my snowy hiding place, chunks of ice and rock spraying in all directions. An arrow hissed past, so close I felt the breeze against my cheek.

Without hesitating, I launched myself over the boulder's edge, sliding down the steep slope in a controlled skid. Shouts and curses echoed from above as I hit level ground in a cloud of powdery snow.

I didn't have time to catch my breath - a bandit wielding a sharp-looking sword was already charging right for me. My own blade appeared in my grip out of thin air.

Steel met steel with a bone-jarring clang as the bandit's overhead chop slammed against my upraised sword. I grunted from the sheer force of the blow, staggering back a step before launching a flurry of slashes at his leather-clad chest.

One strike got through, slicing a burning line across his ribs. The bandit roared, retaliating with vicious hacks and slashes that drove me back towards the boulders.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

My shield sprung up just in time to deflect a skull-cracking blow. The bandit battered against the curved metal, each strike sending shockwaves up my arm. I gritted my teeth, holding my ground even as my shield arm started to go numb from the relentless assault.

An opening presented itself - the bandit overextended on a wild swing. I rushed forward, blade a blur of shining steel. I kept the pressure on, slashing twice more to keep that bastard on the defensive. But he managed to power through, chopping down hard on my shield arm near the shoulder. My arm immediately went numb, the shield clattering uselessly to the ground.

"Argh, you son of a bitch!" I snarled through gritted teeth, refusing to let the searing pain slow me down.

Seizing the split-second opening, I unleashed a vicious flurry of slashes at his face. Can't block this, you piece of filth! My sword found its mark, leaving a trio of deep gashes that oozed blood. The bandit toppled backwards with a gurgling cry, life fading from his eyes even as his body hit the rapidly reddening snow.

One-Handed increased to 21

I had no time to enjoy my small victory. A sudden stinging along my cheekbone reminded me there was still an archer out there, somewhere. Ducking on pure instinct, I barely avoided taking an arrow straight to the face. The projectile zinged past, drawing a thin line of blood.

Gasping curses, I scrambled for the scant cover provided by a cluster of boulders. I hunkered down, fumbling with the cork on my crude stamina potion. My hands were shaking - from the bitter chill or the adrenaline rush, I couldn't say.

Finally getting the damn thing open, I knocked it back in one harsh gulp. The gooey green liquid had an earthy, bitter tang that made me gag, but I could already feel its effects kicking in. My ragged breathing steadied, the heavy weight in my limbs lifting ever so slightly.

A harsh thwack against the rock mere inches from my face made me flinch. Shards of stone peppered my cheek as the archer's next shot glanced off the boulder, scoring a solid hit against my chestplate. The impact drove the air from my lungs in an explosive grunt of pain.

Heavy Armor increased to 22

I clutched at my ribs, wheezing as my lungs fought to recover. That one had done some damage - I could feel the harsh bruise forming beneath my armor. With my shield arm hanging useless, I'd be a sitting duck if I tried taking this fight head-on.

But I had no choice. I'd have to trust in my armor and use whatever cover I could find on the charge. Bracing myself, I peeked around the edge of the boulder, searching for any sign of the archer's position. There - a flash of movement by that fallen tree, almost perfectly camouflaged.

I took a deep breath, gripping my sword tighter. Then, with a feral roar, I burst from cover in a dead sprint, zigzagging between the boulders and trees. An arrow whizzed past, so close I felt the air part against my cheek. I dove behind a thick trunk, bark exploding as another shaft buried itself deep.

"Come on, you coward!" I bellowed, trying to bait out his position. "Face me like a real bandit!"

There - movement again, just fifteen meters away. Not waiting another second, I charged with reckless abandon, bellowing at the top of my lungs. The archer's eyes went wide with panic as he worked another arrow free from his quiver, but it was too late.

My sword came down in a brutal overhand chop, sinking into the top of his skull with a meaty thunk that made my stomach lurch. The bandit crumpled like a rag doll, the life fleeing from his eyes in an instant.

For a long moment, the only sound was my own ragged gasps echoing through the stillness of the forest. I braced my hands on my knees, fighting back a wave of dizziness and nausea as the adrenaline rush faded.

My left arm hung limply at my side, a dull throbbing radiating from the wound. But even as I winced, I felt the faint tingle of healing magic at work, slowly knitting the severed muscles back together.

Restoration increased to 3

So actually taking damage and recovering helped train my Restoration abilities too? That was incredibly useful to know. It had already increased to 2 after regularly casting it, but I’d have to do my best to increase my Restoration skill level, because that would be incredibly important if I wanted to be capable of lasting in fights against multiple opponents.

I started looting my kills, though it was a bit of a hassle with only one working arm. Just as I reached for the archer's corpse, a panel appeared - a handy interface for ransacking the dead, it seemed.

The archer hadn't been carrying much - just a handful of iron arrows that I gladly claimed, along with a few scattered coins and odds and ends. An iron dagger, a couple strips of leather, a faded blue linen mask, and a glass bottle of water. I eyed the wolfskin cloak draped over his shoulders with interest, giving it an experimental tug. The fur was thick and surprisingly soft, clearly meant to ward off the bitter chill.

A quick glance at the item's description made me grin. "Forty warmth rating? Oh, I'll be taking that."

I swapped out my heavy iron armor for the simple linen tunic. The mask went on next, the rough fabric chafing slightly as I adjusted it over my face. Finally, I swept the wolfskin cloak around my shoulders with a dramatic flourish, letting the luxurious pelt envelop me in blissful warmth.

Feeling considerably cozier, I turned my attention to the second bandit - the one whose sword had nearly chopped off my arm. His meager belongings were swiftly added to my growing pile of spoils: a few stray coins, a lone lockpick, another glass bottle of water, and...

"Well, hello there," I murmured, unable to keep the satisfaction from my voice as I inspected the bandit's gear.

His sword was a slight upgrade from my iron blade, having a damage of 58 compared to the 52 of my sword. The boots and gauntlets, while still iron, seemed to be of higher quality too - each one granting a few extra points of armor rating. I didn't even hesitate before stripping the corpse, happily trading up for the superior equipment.

Once I'd gotten my fill of plundering the dead, I gave their near-naked bodies disdainful kicks, sending them tumbling into a nearby thicket. Let the scavengers take care of them - I had bigger concerns.

My gaze swept over the small camp nestled against the mountainside - a few barrels, a wooden chest, and a fire pit with the charred remains of some massive rat, a skeever, roasting on a spit.

The stench of burned fur and roasting meat hit my nostrils, and I grimaced. At least the bastards had been eating well for themselves out here. My eyes narrowed as I noticed something glinting atop one of the barrels - a small pile of septims, along with what looked like a gemstone.

Sheathing my bloodied sword, I walked over and scooped up the modest treasure. Fourteen septims. As for the gem, I turned it over in my palm, watching the pale blue stone catch the sunlight. The panel helpfully identified it as an aquamarine, and a flawless one at that.

"Well, I'll be damned," I muttered, hardly able to believe my luck. According to the value listed, this little thing was worth over three hundred septims! I doubted Lucien back in Riverwood would give me even half that for it, but it was still an incredible find. I’d prefer to keep it in hand till I reached a jeweler or something like that to get the full value out of the gem, but I’d check with the Riverwood Trader to be sure.

Pocketing the valuable gemstone, I set about searching the rest of the camp. The first barrel I pried open revealed a small cache of green apples - not the most exciting haul, but fresh food was fresh food. I snatched up the nine fruits.

The second barrel held a couple of sturdy-looking logs, and I grabbed those too with a grunt of effort. Wood was always useful to have on hand for a campfire.

Finally, I turned my attention to the wooden chest sitting in the corner. My heart skipped a beat as the lid creaked open to reveal its contents - a small pile of 47 septims, 4 iron lockpicks, a gleaming silver ingot, and...

"Wow," I breathed, carefully lifting out what the panel identified as an enchanted iron war axe head.

It was just the blade itself, not the full weapon, but I could see the faint glow surrounding it. Enchanted gear like this didn't just fall off trees. With some luck, I could probably find someone to reforge it into a full axe, or maybe use it to upgrade a mundane weapon.

Either way, between the gemstone, coin, and enchanted axe head, this little detour had turned into one hell of a profitable venture.

I turned to leave the ransacked bandit camp, but something made me pause and do one last sweep of the area. I'm glad I did, because tucked away behind a barrel, I spotted the corner of a book poking out.

I reached down and pulled it free. The leather binding was worn and the pages looked yellowed with age. I brushed some dirt off the cover, squinting to make out the faded title: The Life of Eslaf Erol. Part III: Warrior.

"Well now, what have we here?" I thought aloud, flipping the book open. The musty scent of old parchment wafted up, transporting me back to childhood memories of libraries.

My left arm still hung loosely, the severed muscles slowly knitting back together thanks to the healing aura. Seemed like the perfect opportunity to get a little light reading in while I recovered from that fight with the bandits.

Glancing around, I walked over to the chair next to the fire. A few quick swipes cleared the dust and grime from the seat. I settled into the surprisingly sturdy chair, propping one booted foot up on a nearby crate.

The book rested comfortably in my lap as I leaned back. For a moment, I just enjoyed the quiet stillness, a big difference to the frantic fight for my life mere minutes ago.

When I felt sufficiently relaxed, I opened the book.

This is the third book in a four-book series. If you have not read the first two books. ‘Beggar’ and 'Thief’, you would be well advised to do so.

Suoibud Erol did not know much of his past, nor did he care to.

As a child, he had lived in Erolgard, but the hold was very poor and taxes were as a result very high. He was too young to manage his abundant inheritance, but his servants, fearing that their master would be ruined, moved him to Jallenheim. No one knew why that location was picked. Some old maid, long dead now, had thought it was a good place to raise a child. No one else had a better idea.

There may have been children with a more pampered, more spoiled existence than young Suoibud, but that is doubtful. As he grew, he understood that he was rich, but he had nothing else. No family, no social position, no security at all. Loyalty, he found out on more than one occasion, cannot truly be bought. Knowing that he had but one asset, a vast fortune, he was determined to protect it, and, if possible, increase it.

Some otherwise perfectly nice people are greedy, but Suoibud was that rare accident of nature or breeding who has no other interest but acquiring and hoarding gold. He was willing to do anything to increase his fortune. Most recently, he had begun secretly hiring mercenaries to attack desirable properties, and then buying them when no one wanted to live there any more. The attacks would then, of course, cease, and Suoibud would have profitable land which he had purchased for a song. It had begun small with a few farms, but recently he had begun a more ambitious campaign.

In north-central Skyrim, there is an area called The Aalto, which is of unique geographical interest. It is a dormant volcanic valley surrounded on all sides by glaciers, so the earth is hot from the volcano, but the constant water drizzle and air is frigid. A grape called Jazbay grows there comfortably, and everywhere else in Tamriel it withers and dies. The strange vineyard is privately owned, and the wine produced from it is thus rare and extremely expensive. It is said that the Emperor needs the permission of the Imperial Council to have a glass of it once a year.

In order to harass the owner of The Aalto into selling his land cheap, Suoibud had to hire more than a few mercenaries. He had to hire the finest private army in Skyrim.

Suoibud did not like spending money, but he had agreed to pay the general of the army, a woman called Laicifitra, a gem the size of an apple. He had not given it to her yet - payment was to be delivered on the success of the mission - but he had trouble sleeping knowing that he was going to giving up such a prize. He always slept during the day so he could watch his storehouse by night, when he knew thieves were about.

That brings us up to this moment when, after a fitful sleep, Suoibud woke up at about noon, and surprised a thief in his bedroom. The thief was Eslaf.

Eslaf had been contemplating a leap from the window, a hundred feet down, into the branches of a tree beyond the walls of the fortified palace, and a tumble into a stack of hay. Anyone who has ever attempted such a feat will testify that it takes some concentration and nerve to do such a thing. When he saw that the rich man sleeping in the room had awakened, both left him, and Eslaf slipped behind a tall ornamental shield on display to wait for Suoibud to go back to sleep.

Suoibud did not go back to sleep. He had heard nothing, but could feel someone in the room with him. He stood up and began pacing the room. Suoibud paced and paced, and gradually decided that he was imagining things. No one was there. His fortune was safe and secure.

He was returning to his bed when he heard a clunk. Turning around, he saw the gem, the one he was to give to Laicifitra on the floor by the Atmoran cavalry shield. A hand reached out from behind the shield and grabbed it up.

“Thief!” Suoibud cried out, grabbing a jeweled Akaviri katana from the wall and lunging at the shield. The 'fight' between Eslaf and Suoibud will not go down in the annals of great duels. Suoibud did not know how to use a sword, and Eslaf was no expert at blocking with a shield. It was clumsy, it was awkward. Suoibud was furious, but was psychologically incapable of using the sword in any way that could damage its fine filigree, reducing its market value. Eslaf kept moving, dragging the shield with him, trying to keep it between him and the blade, which is, after all, the most essential part of any block.

Suoibud screamed in frustration as he struck at the shield, bumping its way across the room. He even tried negotiating with the thief, explaining that the gem was promised to a great warrior named Laicifitra, and if he would give it back, Suoibud would happily give him something else in return. Eslaf was not a genius, but he did not believe that.

By the time Suoibud's guards came to the bedroom in response to their master's calls, he had succeeded in backing the shield into a window.

They fell on the shield, having considerable more expertise with their swords than Suoibud did, but they discovered that there was no one behind it. Eslaf had leapt out the window and escaped.

As he ran heavily through the streets of Jallenheim, making jingling noises from the gold coins in his pockets, and feeling the huge gem chafe where he had hidden it, Eslaf did not know where he should go next. He knew only that be could never go back to that town, and he must avoid this warrior named Laicifitra who had claims on the jewel.

Eslaf Erol's story is continued in the book 'King’.

I closed the book with a soft thud, my mind still swimming with images of clumsy sword fights and daring escapes. A faint tingling sensation filled me, and I blinked in surprise as a notification popped into view:

Block increased to 21

"Hmm…” I ran my fingers down the leather cover. "A skill book, just like in the game." I chuckled. Here I was, sitting in a ransacked bandit camp, learning how to block better by reading about some fictional thief's misadventures.

Just as I was about to set the book aside, another notification flashed before my eyes:

Level increased to 2

My heart skipped a beat. Finally! I'd been stuck at level one for what felt like ages, and now... I grinned, feeling excited as I called up my skill menu.

The choices stared back at me: Magicka, Health, or Stamina. My fingers itched to select Magicka – the allure of more spellcasting power was strong. But as I absently rubbed at the spot where the bandit's sword had nearly taken my arm off, practicality won out. Sighing, I tapped Health, increasing it by 5 to a base of 125.

"Sorry, magic," I said. "You'll have to wait your turn."

Now came the real dilemma – where to spend my hard-earned perk point? My eyes scanned the perk tree, lingering on the enticing magical options. Destruction, Alteration... hell, even Conjuration had its appeal. The thought of hurling fireballs or summoning otherworldly creatures made my fingers tingle with anticipation. But something more practical, more foundational, kept drawing my attention.

Smithing. Craftsmanship. It wasn't flashy, sure, but there was a certain appeal to mastering the basics. I closed my eyes, weighing my options. On one hand, the raw power of magic... on the other, the ability to craft and improve my own gear, to work with my hands and create.

"Ah, screw it," I muttered, opening my eyes. "Let's build a foundation."

Craftsmanship: You understand basic craftsmanship, allowing you to craft and improve a wide variety of common goods and equipment. You can work with iron, steel, and other basic materials.

I focused my will, selecting the Craftsmanship perk. For a moment, nothing happened. Then...

It hit me like a tidal wave. Knowledge flooded my mind, images and sensations overwhelming my senses. I saw rough hands working iron, felt the heat of the forge on my face. The rhythmic clang of hammer on anvil echoed in my ears.

I watched nimble fingers weaving delicate chains for necklaces, then the same hands roughly tanning leather hides. The acrid smell of chemicals used in glassmaking filled my nostrils, followed by the earthy scent of freshly cut wood.

Techniques for crafting arrows, bows, armor, and weapons flashed through my mind in rapid succession. I saw myself working a tanning rack, adjusting a grindstone, pumping bellows to stoke a roaring forge. The particulars of lockpick creation danced before my eyes, followed by the careful assembly of lanterns.

It was dizzying, exhilarating, and slightly terrifying all at once. When the flood of information finally subsided, I found myself gasping for breath, hands gripping the sides of the chair so tightly my knuckles had gone white.

"Holy shit," I whispered, blinking rapidly as my vision cleared. My head throbbed, but beneath the discomfort, I felt... different. More capable. Like I'd just downloaded a crash course in medieval craftsmanship directly into my brain. I flexed my fingers, half-expecting to see calluses that weren't there before.

"Well, this changes things," I said, a grin tugging at my lips.

I stood up, stretching my newly healed arm. It felt good as new, like I'd never been in that fight at all. Alvor, the village blacksmith... maybe it was time to pay him a visit. Show off these newfound skills burning a hole in my brain.

I’d bet he'd pay more for skilled labor than Hod does for log-hauling. But how to explain this sudden expertise?

I grimaced, leaning against the rock wall. "Dad was a blacksmith," I muttered, trying the lie on for size. "Trained me up good before I left home. Wanted to see the world, try my hand at other trades..."

It sounded flimsy even to my own ears, but it might be enough to satisfy idle curiosity. And if not... well, results speak louder than words, right?

I sighed, shouldering my fur backpack. One more day at the mill, I decided. Hod deserved that much after giving me those 80 septims.