The character of Nils belongs to (and is being used with the permission of) countess z. The story in which Nils originally appeared is titled Accidental Disciples, and is about the events of Morrowind.

Morndas, 8:37 AM, 14th of Sun's Height, 4E 38

Unknown Cave

The bandits had built up a wooden stockade around the cave's entrance. Not that they had to, very much. It was already nestled deep in the mountainside. But they'd still jammed some pointed logs into the frozen earth, and made a crude gate and watchtower where the path went down below.

It was a well-populated camp. Fifteen bandits were out in the open, mostly visible from the bright glow of the fire at the camp's center. They had a semicircle of tents around it, to trap the heat, and a lean-to hut where they must have been keeping supplies. They all seemed very quiet. Sitting around, not doing much. Waiting.

Eighty feet up the slope, Nils watched from atop an icy ridge. The whole camp was laid out below him, like a map. The bandits had gone to great lengths to defend from the path below, and they'd assumed that no one could mount an attack from any other direction. For a group of any meaningful size, that might've been true. This mountainside wasn't just treacherous, it was impassable. There were no handholds, no routes of access. Nothing but ice-slicked bumpy rock, the whole way down.

This was going to be a little bit tricky.

Honestly, Nils didn't entirely want to be here. This was an ordeal, and it wasn't how he liked to handle his troubles. But these bandits had managed to get his attention for what they'd been up to, and for the safety of the others involved, Nils was obligated to go do something about it. Divines knew the guards had plenty of work cut out for them as it was. He'd just have to handle this on his own, and as quick as he could.

He was well-equipped enough for the job. Steel hauberk, dark gray cloak, glass sword, muffle-enchanted boots, assorted potions. And his right hand. He raised it in front of his face and flexed his fingers slowly, examining the metal sheen in the faint moonlight. He didn't like what the cold did to the mechanisms of this thing. As a half-Dunmer himself, he really preferred his weather warmer, and it seemed his hand agreed. The cold always froze the fingers up a little, made them halt and jerk ever so slightly with their motions, made his hand harder to use for its purpose. But he didn't exactly have a lot of choice. He was stuck with it.

All of that being said, a lot of people would kill to have a hand replaced with one of Kagrenac's tools. This was hardly the time to get sour about it anyway.

Down below, a couple of the bandits had started arguing over something. An Orc, and some man or other. A Nord, maybe. They were getting up in each other's faces, snarling insults, getting everyone's attention. It looked like they were about to attack each other.

Nils hefted the coil of slender rope in his left hand, and picked up the steel piton on one end with his right. He didn't need a hammer to put it in place. He simply located an appropriate fissure in the ice, and used the heel of his right hand to jam it into place. That would do.

Then he tossed down the rope, let it fall as far as it would go, and slid down after it.

It was a quick descent. He kept one hand on the rope and one hand on the rock, but he probably didn't even need that much. He was more sliding than climbing down. The camp descended into view around him. It didn't look like anyone had seen him yet.

The rope stopped about ten feet short of the level ground below. He let go, kicked off the sloped rock, and landed with a smooth, silent roll. This had put him just inside the walls of the camp. In the dark, where no one would see him.

The two bandits had started fighting by now. That was predictable. They'd squared off right in the middle of the semicircle of tents, and the bandits were all watching from the far side of the campfire as they traded blows.

Normally, this would've been a good opportunity to sneak past them all, but Nils wasn't here for that. He'd need to be a little more direct.

The first was the bandit on the watchtower. The tower itself was an open-topped thing, about ten feet up, just by the gates. Far away from everyone else. The bandit was a Redguard woman, all alone up there, with just a torch on a post to keep her company. It looked like she was holding a bow in one hand. Nils bounded silently along the inside of the wall, across the gate, and up the start of the tower's spiraling staircase. But he didn't bother to climb the whole thing. He just planted a foot on the tower's first support beam, launched himself up, and grabbed onto the railing with his right hand. Without even slowing down, he threw himself sideways up over the edge, cloak billowing around him. Just with that one arm's pull. That was all it took.

His left instep slammed into the side of the Redguard's leather helmet. Again, silently. She never had time to react. It was just enough to stagger her, long enough for Nils to complete his landing and let go of the railing. Even if his strikes were silent, this bandit wouldn't be. So before she could recover, he grabbed her by the collar with his left hand, and drove the fingertips of his right into her throat.

He felt the bandit's windpipe crush in on itself under the impact. The weight on his arm suddenly increased a whole lot. She was staring wildly at him, eyes wide with shock, her mouth open silently. Nils lowered her gently to the tower floor, and wrenched the bow out of her hand.

Then he crouched down beneath the railing, and spent a moment in thought. The fight was still going on, out there. They hadn't noticed him yet. But they had to notice something, at some point. And it couldn't be him, or else he'd end up with ten bandits on him at once. He wasn't in the mood to try and deal with that.

First, he retrieved the quiver of arrows from the bandit's back, and slung it over his own shoulder. Then he picked up the torch from its post, and laid it on the floor opposite the bandit. Then, to speed things up, he lit up a fire spell in his free hand, and bathed the torch in a steady stream of flames. He kept it up just long enough for the fire to catch and start spreading, and then sprung up and jumped back over the railing.

Nils landed on the hard rocky earth on the far side of the gates, rolling smoothly over his side to absorb the impact. Even now, the bandits hadn't noticed him. And for good reason—he was silent, colored mostly the same as these rocks, and in the dark. If he continued forward, he would come up behind the semicircle of tents, which might put him in inadvertent view of everyone spectating the fight. So maybe it was best to stay here for now.

He drew an arrow from his quiver with two metallic fingers, and nocked it without looking. Just to test the draw strength, he tried aiming at the bandits and pulling back on the string. Easily manageable. He let the bow slacken again, and crept forwards slowly.

One of the bandits pointed and cried out, "Fire! There's a fire!" And he was right. The top of the tower was already blazing with a huge column of flame, even bigger than the campfire they had going. Nils could hear it crackling even from here.

All of the bandits sprung into action immediately. Meanwhile, Nils continued forwards steadily, receding back into the shadows. If he stayed around, he'd probably end up being illuminated by the burning tower's glow.

Naturally, the bandits were mostly just racing up towards the tower, to try and put it out. It wasn't even clear how they planned on doing that. One of them had the presence of mind, at least, to ready a frost spell. A few stragglers were standing back by the campfire and watching, wide-eyed, as the spectacle unfolded. Probably more interesting than those two brawlers going at it before.

Nils came up between two of the tents, still in the dark. There were three bandits still by the campfire. The rest were clamoring away over by the tower. These ones had to go first. Three bandits, three arrows. That was fine.

Once again, he drew the bowstring, taking his time lining up the arrow—and this time he let fly. His arrow hit the nearest bandit in the head. That was his carefully aimed shot done. The rest would have to be quick.

His second arrow hit the next bandit in the chest, before he could even react to the first. The third bandit got as far as drawing his sword, and then Nils put an arrow in his torso too—except that he was wearing a crude iron breastplate, and it barely even got through. The bandit just cried out and staggered back a little. Nils had to follow it up with another arrow to the face.

There was his element of surprise gone, then. He heard the clamor die down instantly. The Orc's voice shouted, "We're under attack! Spread out! Find them!"

Nils didn't bother with darkness this time. He came right out into the open, by the fire, with his bow in hand. Naturally, the remaining seven bandits charged at him all at once, drawing their weapons on the way.

He only had time for one more arrow. He used it on the one with the frost spells readied. An elf, by the looks of it. A Bosmer, maybe, in light leather armor. His arrow hit her right beneath the eye. Her spells winked out before she even fell to her knees.

Nils cast the bow aside and drew his sword. Six bandits, with the Orc coming up first, a good couple seconds ahead of the others. He was a big fellow, wearing heavy steel armor. The most expensively equipped of this group, for sure. In his hands was a great big battle-axe, Dwemer in make. He had it held back as he ran, all charged up for a huge, obvious horizontal swing.

The swing never happened. Nils darted in just as the Orc came close, and grabbed the haft of the axe in his right hand as it began to come around. The impact barely even registered against his arm. He ignored it and brought his sword down on the Orc's leather-clad hand, just below the steel bracer.

His blade cut through the whole thing in one stroke. The hand came right off its wrist in a shower of blood. The Orc began to scream, and then Nils' sword was in his throat. This was the problem with heavy armor. It offered great protection, where it covered the wearer's body. Where it didn't, it was worse than useless. It only slowed the wearer down. Made those points easier to access.

He yanked his sword free just in time to meet the next two bandits. Nords, both of them. One of them might have been the other brawler from before. They came at him from both left and right, one with a greatsword, one with a mace. Nils went for the one with the mace. The man was charging up for a swing—these weapons were all so slow! It left him wide open for a counterattack. Nils only needed one strike, a neat stab right through the man's leather armor, up under the ribcage. If he didn't hit the heart, he'd just gone through enough lung for it not to matter.

By now, the other Nord had gotten directly behind him, and begun an attack of his own. Nils saw it coming out of the corner of his eye. Another horizontal strike, just around head level, coming in from the right. It was meant to decapitate him.

He casually reached up with his right hand, like he was going to wave hello, and turned in the strike's direction. The blade met the metal ridge of his hand at full speed—and instantly stopped. He hardly felt the impact from this strike, either.

The Nord stared at him in shock. Then Nils knocked the sword away, closed his hand into a fist, and lunged and slammed it into the man's face. Bone broke under his knuckles. The man fell down on his back and didn't get up again.

More attacks were coming in. There were still three of these bandits left. Nils jumped forward and turned around in one motion, appraising his remaining attackers all at once. Three attackers remained, which meant he had to defend from three—no, four weapons. The rightmost bandit had two daggers.

To keep them from getting any closer, Nils lit up his fire spell again and sent a jet of flame out in a sweeping left-to-right arc. The bandits all jumped back at once, like they'd been physically shoved. The dagger-wielder was wearing fur armor, and its lower portion promptly caught fire. That would distract him for a second, at least.

Nils didn't wait for them to recover. He jumped in at the leftmost one, another Bosmer woman, this one with a pitted old iron sword. That was a little sad. Nils had had a sword like that, once. It hadn't been much good for anything but scaring people in the dark.

The middle bandit was approaching him from the side, with another sword. Better metal on this one, at least. He kicked her hard in the kneecap to give her something to think about while he dealt with this.

The delay meant that he ended up swinging at the Bosmer at the same time that the Bosmer swung at him. Their swords met—and Nils' glass blade clove straight through the incoming iron one. There was enough force left over to slice open the bandit's sword arm. He followed it up with a deft outward stroke along the side of the neck. It was messy, to say the least.

To her credit, the middle bandit didn't stop for long. She fell down on her knee, hissing hard through her teeth, struggling with the pain from that kick, but her eyes stayed on Nils. And just as he was finishing with the Bosmer, she lashed out at the back of his legs with the sword once again. It wasn't the strongest attack, with most of her body locked up by her kneeling pose, but it still could've hurt. Might've taken out a tendon, if it hit in the right spot.

Nils brought his own weapon down past his side to block the blow. Then, practically in the same motion, he spun around and kicked the bandit under the chin. The instep of his boot connected with lips and teeth, and went on through like they weren't even there. The bandit's body catapulted up and backward like she'd been grabbed and thrown. A thin spatter of blood trailed through the air from her mouth. Nils could already tell her neck had been broken by the impact. He didn't even wait for her to land before he shifted his attention to the remaining targets.

But actually, it was a singular target. There was one last bandit still standing. The dagger-wielder. A Dunmer, like himself. He'd just succeeded in extinguishing his armor. He looked around at all his dead peers on the ground, then at Nils, standing there perfectly uninjured with a bloodstained glass sword at his side.

Nils said, "If you yield, I won't hurt you."

"Go rot in Oblivion," the bandit spat, and lunged in at him with both daggers out.

In a way, daggers were more dangerous than bigger weapons. They were quicker to strike with, easier to maneuver with. Fights involving daggers tended to end up with a lot of bad cuts, a lot of profuse bleeding. Even for someone with healing spells at their disposal, that was potentially a real danger.

Nils didn't wait to see what this bandit was planning. He jumped straight into the lunge, his right fist outstretched. And sure enough, one of the bandit's daggers jammed hard into the wrist joint on the way. Against a living hand in a gauntlet, that would've gone right through to the skin, and probably pierced into some important things beneath.

There was no living hand in there. Nils' entire right hand and forearm were nothing but Dwemer machinery, encased inside a legendary magical artifact of the same make. He didn't even feel the dagger as his fist went on into the bandit's chest.

The fur armor absorbed the worst of the blow. But it was still more than enough to send the bandit right onto his back. Nils followed it up with a sword strike to the same spot. Just a simple downward stab, before the bandit could recover enough to respond. His glass blade went through the fur just as easily as the flesh beneath.

And just like that, the fight was over. Nils took a slow, careful look around the camp, then produced a cloth from his belt pouch, wiped his sword clean, and sheathed it once again. He might have been a little less endangered right now, but this was still a bandit camp. He didn't want to waste time.

The tents didn't seem to have anything of interest in them. Just bedrolls and bottles, by the look of it. The lean-to, meanwhile, was a little more interesting. There were a couple of barrels on their sides, and a lot of sacks full of various food items. These bandits had been raiding quite a few farms lately, going by all the different fresh produce. Nils went through it all, just for thoroughness' sake, unfastening every sack, opening every crate, checking each container's contents as best as he could manage.

The third crate he opened had no food inside. Instead, it was filled with Dwemer machinery. Assorted bits of scrap, some simple, some complex. Some were unmistakably parts of automatons.

Nils swallowed involuntarily. This had just gotten a lot more complicated. All he'd expected from that cave entrance was a mine of some sort. Maybe some old abandoned tomb or something. But there was only one reason for the bandits to have a stockpile of parts like this, and that would be if they were gathering them as loot. There had to be a Dwemer settlement nearby.

That didn't make sense. They were in the middle of the Jerall Mountains, due southwest of Falkreath. The nearest Dwemer ruin was Arkngthamz, and that was in a different hold of Skyrim. There was supposed to be nothing here.

There was only one thing to do at this point. Slowly, keeping his sword drawn, Nils started walking in the direction of the cave entrance.

The entrance was a narrow, crooked passage, just barely wide enough to walk through without brushing his arms on the walls. The bandits had put a few torches in here, high up above head level so they wouldn't get in the way. Nils walked along over solid gray rock lit up with dim shadowy orange. The noise of the campfire receded behind him. Soon, it was just him and these cramped cave walls.

He held onto his sword tightly. This was one cave like hundreds of others. He'd been in quite a few at this point. But he didn't know what to expect ahead, and in his experience, that often had a less than happy ending.

After half a minute or so of walking, there was a short, steep slope down to a wider, more spacious chamber. Nils hopped down with his sword on guard, ready to take on whatever was down here … and found no enemies. The chamber was about the size of a small indoor room, with a few more torches around the corners. And to his total lack of surprise, there was also a great big Dwemer double door set in the far wall, made of their signature metal, set in a carved stone frame. Besides that, the only thing in here was a blue bundle of cloth, piled up on the floor by the doorframe's left side.

Then the bundle of cloth moved, and made a low, groaning noise. Nils jolted suddenly. This was a person. How had he not realized that?

The person was an elf. An Altmer male, going by height and build. The blue cloth was the elf's robes. They concealed his body well enough that it took Nils a moment to realize that the elf's hands and feet were restrained by rope bonds. His face was swollen and bloodied, and his slow, labored movements suggested additional, unseen injuries.

Upon seeing Nils standing there, the elf made an inarticulate noise of shock, his eyes widening suddenly. He started to shuffle backward on the ground, putting himself up against the wall.

"It's all right," Nils said, holding up his empty right hand in a staying gesture. "I'm not going to hurt you. I've taken care of the bandits outside."

"W…" The Altmer's voice came as a thin, reedy rasp. "Pardon me, sir… do you have any water?"

"Oh! Yes, of course." Immediately, Nils unslung his backpack and retrieved his waterskin, then knelt in front of the elf to help administer its contents. After a few seconds of that, he stopped to use his sword to cut the elf's bonds. In hindsight, he probably should have done that first, but he didn't quite care right then.

"Thank you," the Altmer said, in a much more normal voice, before lighting up a restoration aura in both hands and casting a healing spell on himself. The open wounds on his face immediately sealed themselves and vanished from sight, leaving only some accumulated dried blood in their place. The elf used a splash of water from the skin, then some judicious wiping from his sleeves, to get rid of that.

Nils asked, "What's your name?"

The Altmer blinked a couple times, frowning at nothing in particular, before looking back at Nils and answering.

"My name is Sinderion. What's yours?"