Metalborn in Skyrim

The biting winds of the mountains softened into a gentle breeze as Kael climbed higher. After a while, he spotted something unusual in the distance—a thin plume of smoke curling lazily into the sky. From his perch on a high cliff, he leaned between two boulders, narrowing his eyes to get a better look.

At first, he assumed it was another Forsworn camp. But something about it didn't sit right. The smoke wasn't thick or chaotic, the kind of wild plume he'd come to associate with raiding parties. It was controlled, deliberate. Kael focused, using his tin-enhanced vision to sharpen the scene below. His gaze locked onto a small cluster of simple structures nestled at the base of the mountain. Modest homes with thatched roofs stood surrounded by terraced farms, fields of crops, and grazing livestock.

The sight threw him off. He'd expected Forsworn chaos—evidence of violence, destruction. Instead, he found a quiet, peaceful village, so calm it felt almost unnatural. The people worked steadily in the fields, seemingly unaware of him. Yet, something about this place felt different—disconnected, but not isolated.

Kael's instincts buzzed with caution. His eyes scanned the surroundings for danger, but there were no weapons, no guards patrolling. Still, he couldn't afford to let his guard down. His mission was to locate and eliminate any Forsworn threat, but these people didn't fit the description. He needed to find out more.

Taking a steadying breath, Kael began his descent. With a quiet precision that came from years of experience, he used his steel-pushing ability to make his way down the cliffside, sticking to the shadows to avoid being seen. As he drew closer, new sounds reached his ears: the laughter of children, the murmur of quiet conversation, and the rhythmic clack of a loom. The serenity was almost disarming.

Finally, he stepped into view. The reaction was immediate—people stopped what they were doing, their heads turning toward him. A stillness settled over the village, the hum of activity replaced by wary silence. From the center of the village, a tall woman emerged. Her silver hair was braided tightly down her back, her posture upright and commanding. Dark, piercing eyes studied Kael as she approached with slow, measured steps.

"Who are you?" she asked, her voice calm but firm, carrying authority without harshness.

Kael hesitated before replying. "I'm... a traveler," he said cautiously, his eyes scanning the villagers behind her. They were all watching him now, a mix of curiosity and unease in their faces. "I've been scouting the Reach. I'm looking for the Forsworn."

The woman's expression shifted, recognition flashing across her face before her eyes narrowed slightly. "You've come to the wrong place," she said evenly. "We are not Forsworn. We are Reachmen."

The term struck Kael as unfamiliar. "Reachmen?" he repeated, testing the word. Memories of the Forsworn he had encountered—self-styled victims, vengeful and furious—flashed through his mind.

The woman gave a slow nod. "We are not like the Forsworn. We fled Markarth after the city was taken, choosing exile over bloodshed. We do not seek revenge. We simply want to live."

Kael felt the weight of her words settle over him. He'd prepared himself for another violent confrontation, for the bloodlust and anger that had defined every Forsworn camp he'd encountered. But these people were different. Their homes were simple, their lives quieter, their focus not on war but survival. He saw no altars stained with blood, no weapon racks brimming with blades.

"You fled?" Kael asked, trying to understand. "Why? If you—"

The woman, now standing closer, lifted her chin slightly. "The Forsworn are not us. They are born of rage, shaped by generations of suffering. Yes, we share their history, but we chose a different path. We no longer fight. We only want to live without fear, without bloodshed."

Kael studied her for a long moment. He could feel the conflict pulling at him. His mission was clear: locate Forsworn influence, eliminate the threat, and report back to the Jarls. But the people standing before him weren't the enemy he had prepared for. They were survivors, people who had endured the same horrors but made a different choice.

As though sensing his internal struggle, the woman's gaze softened. "You seem like a man who acts when faced with danger, Kael. But here, you'll find none. No violence. No aggression. We've left all that behind."

Kael's thoughts churned as he considered her words. After a moment, he said, "I'm not here to hurt you. But I need to understand—how have you managed to stay safe? The Forsworn are nearby. How do you keep them from finding you?"

The woman tilted her head slightly, her eyes narrowing as she assessed him. "We survive by staying hidden and avoiding conflict. The Forsworn have no reason to come here. There is nothing we have that feeds their rage or serves their cause. We don't challenge their claim to the Reach. We are not their enemy."

Her words were simple, but there was a quiet weight to them, a confidence born of hard-won survival. After a moment, she added, "And we've been fortunate. The valley's natural barriers make us difficult to find unless someone already knows where to look."

Kael nodded slowly, digesting her explanation. It made sense. The village wasn't fortified, but its location, combined with the people's deliberate effort to live quietly, had kept it hidden. Even so, he couldn't shake the feeling that their safety was fragile, resting on the precarious balance of secrecy and circumstance.

The woman must have seen the lingering doubt in his expression. Her tone softened slightly. "If you're willing to see the truth for yourself, come. Let me show you what we've built here."

Kael hesitated, glancing at the villagers who were still watching from a distance. Their gazes held a mix of caution and curiosity, but no hostility. Slowly, he nodded. "Lead the way."

What followed was a quiet walk through the heart of the village. The path was a well-worn slope, lined with terraced fields where crops of wheat and vegetables grew in neat, orderly rows. The golden stalks swayed gently in the breeze, and Kael noted how the valley's natural warmth seemed to create a haven, far removed from the cold winds of the higher elevations. It was hard to believe a place like this could exist in such rugged terrain.

As they walked, the woman—Maelra, as she introduced herself—gestured to the fields. "The land isn't easy to work, but we've learned to adapt. The soil is rich enough, and the valley shields us from the worst of the mountain's temper."

Kael watched as villagers tended their fields with quiet determination. Their faces, weathered from hard work, carried traces of something rare: contentment. They smiled at one another as they passed, their movements purposeful but unhurried. A few paused to nod respectfully at Maelra, their eyes darting curiously to Kael.

"This doesn't look like a village preparing for war," Kael remarked.

"That's because we're not," Maelra said simply. "We plant, we harvest, we teach our children. We live."

Further along, they came across a small group of children playing in the dirt, their laughter bright and uninhibited. They chased each other in wild circles, weaving through the legs of a goat that bleated its protest. Kael couldn't help the faint smile tugging at his lips. One of the children—a young girl no older than seven—stopped mid-step when she saw him, her wide eyes locking onto his face.

Maelra crouched beside the girl, speaking softly. "He's a friend, just passing through."

The girl's gaze flicked back to Kael, and after a hesitant moment, she smiled shyly. "Hello," Kael said gently, crouching slightly to meet her eye level. "What's your name?"

"Fayra," she whispered.

Kael nodded. "Nice to meet you, Fayra."

She giggled before darting back to her friends, their game resuming with renewed energy. Kael straightened, watching them for a moment. "They don't look like they're afraid of anything," he said.

"They're not," Maelra replied. "Not here. That's what we've worked so hard to create—a place where fear doesn't have to exist."

Kael nodded silently, a quiet respect forming in his mind for what these people had built.

Maelra led Kael further into the village, where a large communal space opened up. The ground was flat and packed down, bordered by long wooden tables. Several villagers sat together, sharing a modest meal of bread, cheese, and roasted vegetables. The warm aroma reached Kael, and despite himself, his stomach growled faintly.

"This is where we gather," Maelra explained, gesturing toward the tables. "We share our meals, hold our meetings, and celebrate the seasons."

Kael's eyes wandered to a corner where a group of older villagers worked steadily, weaving baskets and repairing tools. Their conversation was subdued, punctuated by the occasional laugh. It was a simple life, but there was a sense of quiet satisfaction that Kael found striking.

"You've built something self-sufficient here," Kael remarked. "You don't rely on anyone from the outside?"

"Not entirely," Maelra admitted. "We trade when it's necessary, but we avoid the cities. It's safer that way."

Kael nodded, his thoughts churning. This place was nothing like what he'd expected. The Forsworn camps he'd encountered before were filled with bloodlust, driven by hatred and a need for vengeance. But these Reachmen had chosen a different path—a quieter, harder one. It wasn't without its risks, though. He could feel how fragile their safety was, dependent on secrecy and the goodwill of fortune.

As the sun dipped lower in the sky, long shadows stretched across the valley. Kael and Maelra walked back toward the edge of the village, stopping to gaze over the terraced fields and homes nestled against the mountainside. For a moment, neither of them spoke, the silence between them heavy with unspoken understanding.

"I've seen a lot since I came to Skyrim," Kael said finally, his voice low but steady. "But this... this is something different. You've built something worth protecting here."

Maelra turned to him, her expression thoughtful. "That's all we want—to protect what we've built. But the world outside doesn't always understand. To the Jarls, we're no different from the Forsworn. They won't see the difference unless someone shows them."

Kael met her gaze, her words settling heavily in his chest. He had come here expecting a threat, another battle to fight. Instead, he'd found a community, a people who had suffered and yet chosen peace in the face of their pain. He wasn't sure how the Jarls—or anyone else, for that matter—would react to what he'd discovered here. But one thing was clear: this village deserved to stay hidden unless absolutely necessary.

"I'll keep your secret," Kael said, his tone firm and unwavering. "I won't tell the Jarls about this place—not unless I know I can trust them to understand what you've built here. If the wrong people find out, it could destroy everything."

Maelra's eyes softened, and she gave him a small nod of gratitude. "Thank you," she said quietly. "We've sacrificed so much to create this home. The fewer who know, the safer we are."

Kael nodded, his resolve unshakable. "This place is a sanctuary. I'll make sure it stays that way."

As he turned to leave, Kael couldn't help but glance back one last time. The sound of children's laughter, the sight of crops swaying gently in the breeze, and the warmth of the villagers lingered in his mind. This was no Forsworn camp. It was something rare, something precious—something worth preserving.

For the first time in what felt like ages, Kael felt a quiet sense of peace. More importantly, he felt like he was finally making the right choice.