AN: 12:58 AM, Jan 21st, 2019: I said I was starting the next one, didn't I?

POV: Russet

'Whoa!' I inhale sharply as I sidestep a powerful swing from a guard wielding a wooden sword. The guard in question, a rather nice man named Avin Greydusk, had offered to help me train one day about a week ago when he noticed me battering a training dummy with a long stick. Since then, he's been helping me "train". Read, trying to hit my while I try to hit him. Thus far, I haven't had much success. But hey, I have another four days before he goes back to Falkrieth, so I still have a chance.

The guard took another swing at me, forcing me to block to blow with the shaft of my makeshift wooden spear, anfling it to let the wooden weapon slide down the shaft. I took advantage of the guards brief moment off guard to change positions and take a stab at his head. In response, he shifted just enough to cause it to glance off his helmet in such a way that even if the "spear" had a sharpened head it would cause no real damage to anything but the paint. Say what you want about the chamber-pot helmets, they offered good protection.

The guard stepped forward suddenly, preventing me from taking swipe with the bladed end of the spear, and forcing me to step back as he advanced. The wisest decision at this moment would be to role, but I lack the agility to do that, and would probably just hurt myself if I tried.

Avin thrust his wooden sword at my chest, causing me to flinch back and suck in my stomach. I quickly put up my spear in a two handed block, catching an overhead followup swing with to part between my hands. The blow from the much stronger nord rattled my arms and nearly made of drop the model spear from the sudden shock to my hands.

I tried to take a further step back, but Avin advanced a final time and struck me with a powerful blow to the chest, knocking me of my feet. As I lay on the ground, huffing and puffing, partly from the workout, partly from the ridiculously hot gambeson suit I was wearing. The cloth armour also doubled as a winter coat, making it murder on a hot day like this.

"Come on, get up." the dev . . . Avin told me, holding out his hand, which I reluctantly took. The nord hauled me to my feet with a casual shift of one arm. No surprises their, he can swing an iron warhammer no problem. Just means I need to work more.

I stood hunched over, hands on my knees for a moment, before straightening up and undoing a few buttons on the cloth armour. I could swear that some steam wafted out. 'At least he's not making we wear the hood up.'

Re-doing the buttons, I leaned down and picked up my spear, taking a basic stance, both hands on the spear, and the blade angled towards the ground. Avin stood across from me, both hands on the handle of his sword, held in a basic guard across his chest.

I lunged, he parried, I slashed at his neck, he stepped back, he stepped forward to slash, I stabbed at his stomach forcing him to back up. I took a swipe at his legs, putting my full weight behind it, he jumped, forcing me to spin with my momentum and throwing me off ballance. When I recovered, I had a sword pressed to my neck. "darn it."

Avin chuckled lightly, leaning his sword on his shoulder. "Mabey you should go back to fighting with nothing but a shield, you actually managed to beat me that way."

"yeah, but actual shields way more than those puny wooden things. I wouldn't be able to manure as well."

"Ever heard of a light shield?"

"Hate the design on those, not pointed edges, and I can't afford a custom one. Best to wait until I have a real one to start really practising with one. I'm just sticking to training for weapons I actually have. Besides I do have a sword."

"Yeah, one of those shoddy iron things no-one with a proper budget would use."

"I don't have a proper budget, I make, like, two septims a day. Besides, I'm just using that iron thing until I can get a proper blade . . . even if that's long way off."

"But why a spear? I know they're the easiest to use, but they're also the hardest to master. You could have an axe, or . . ." I cut him off at this point.

"Because I like the range, and lack the strength for other weapons with the same reach. Don't you use the hammer because you like sweaping away your enemy before they get in striking range?"

"Well, I guess if you put it like that . . . "

"Please, all I had to do was bring up "Gertrude".

"Hey, don't disrespect the hammer."

I snorted and took a swipe at him with a model spear. We have that conversation every few days, since he seems to think of a spear as a poor weapon when put against singular enemy's. I've been trying to prove him wrong, but you can't expect to beat someone with almost a decade of experience after only two weeks practice.

It's been almost five weeks since I got to Hans-mill, and I've made some progress with my magic training, and had decided to move on the something more physical. I finally got over my problem with alteration when it occurred to me that the entire world's physics are technically dictated by the higher beings, and that alteration, at its core, is not about changing the world through physics, it's about changing the laws of physics themselves. That got me over my alteration problems.

Still can't do any illusion though, lack the focus for the visible ones to look and I don't think chickens are a good test of how well my calm spells work.

I walk over to a nearby tree, picking up a wooden sword. "Let's move on."

POV: Russet

I limped back towards the inn, sore all over. I've already used restoration magic, but I've found that the phantom pains don't go away that easily. I also made it worse by sitting lotus while practising magic afterwards. But hey, I'll probably be fine after dinner.

I glanced at the horizon. For the amount of light combined with the time of year, I'd say that it's almost nine. My stomach agrees, if the roars are any sign.

I walked into the Inn, noting that Gretta the grey herself was sitting at the front counter. That's rare. The woman is older than the town itself, at ninety five, and seems to prefer being asleep by now. I walked up to the elderly woman.

"Do you have any Stew without potatos?" I asked calmly.

"No, I don't make garbage." she responded in a rough, dismissive tone.

"Then why do you use potatoes?" for reference, I hate any potatoes that hasn't been deep fried.

"Brat." I ignored that.

"Have any leg of goat?"

"Yes."

"Tomatoes?"

"Yes yes, here's the salt, now give me seven gold." I handed the woman her gold as she went off the get my food. Upon receiving my food, I walked over to the table closest to my room (the inn has eight round tables large enough to sit three) and sit down, pondering my situation. Not that I haven't done this before, but I'm need something to take my mind off of my failure to get the second word of become ethereal(yes, second, I can become a ghost now).

Since my arrival, I have made about, on average, two septims a day(not counting my first five days in town before I started working). That means I've made a grand total of sixty septims since I started. That's a full two pounds of metal. When combined with the gold left over from my bag(before you ask, it was in the very bottom in a hidden pocket) I had 76 gold all together.

I want to get out of this town soon. Not that it isn't a nice place and all, but I don't even know what year it is. For all I know Alduin could show up tomorrow. Well, no, Alduin breaks out of his time rift on the seventeenth of last seed, it's the eighteenth of second seed, so even if the year is 4e 201, I'd have roughly three months, but you get the point.

That's not the point though. The point is I'm stuck in the middle of nowhere (Falkrieth) with no idea whats happening. Sure, I've heard no talk of Ulfric, but we are in the middle of nowhere, and I doubt that he would be that big a deal before the start of the ga . . . the Helgen incident. I mean, they hadn't executed Roggvir until after ulfric was captured, and I can't see them holding him for more than a few months, so Ulfics "murder" of High King Torygg probably happened the same year.

But that's assuming that the year is anywhere near the time of the last dragonborn. So far all I have to go off of is that I've overheard conversations about "the empire" and one older man talking about Talos, so all I have is that it's the third era at the earliest.

I sighed. 'I have the find a way to find out what year it is without making anyone question how I don't know that already. But how?' maybe I should just wait till I get the city of Falkrieth(why can't it have its own name?). I've been considering walking their with Avins group when the next set of guards get here in four days. I'll have to talk it over with him tomorrow.

As I thought that, I stuffed half of a tomato into my mount, the top frosted with a layer of salt, before tearing a large chunk of of my leg of goat. Theirs a wash basin two steps from me, so I'm not all that concerned with being a neat eater at the moment. I take another bite, and notice that the bell in the top of the tower is going off. "Hmm?"

"BANDIT RAID! THEIR HEADING FOR THE TOWN TREASURY!" the roar of the man in the loft echoes throughout the building, and within seconds, several of the rooms inn the inn burst open as the town guards who normally do early morning shift burst out, already armored, and surge out the door, and the villagers leap up and begin grabbing the weapons off of the display racks around the room to follow them.

My mind catching up with me, I desert my dinner and dash into my room, and grab the sword I got from one of the mill workers, who felt it was only taking up space(Read: he got a shiny new steel one and gave me his garbage), strap it to my side, the pull and the spear I traded the sparks tomb for(I think I got ripped of, but what the heck) out from under the bed, before dashing out the door after them.

I mean, I don't have to help, but if all the town "civilians" are going then I feel obligated to go help. They're nice people!

So, I charged out the door, just behind the last of the townsfolk. 'the town treasury is the big building across from the mill by the river right?' in a town with only twenty buildings it's hard to not know where everything is. 'Not that I need to', I think as I absently cast oakskin on myself, feeling the odd sensation of my skin's metamorphosis. Now if only I hadn't taken off the gambeson after I spared with Avin, but hindsight's 20/20.

I heard the sound of combat just ahead of me, and cast a magelight to get a better view. I then re cast oak-skin, just to be sure. I Look around nervously, both hands on my spear. I say a small prayer thanking that the handle is smooth enough to not give me splinters.

I hear a sound off to my side(left) and turn in time to duck under an arrow. Around the curve of the building is a bearded man in thick furs, with a hundting bow. I charge the man, zig zaging as I run to avoid being hit. I reached him in four seconds and take a stab at his chest using my spear, putting as much weight as I dar into it, not wanting to end up unbalanced.

The man takes a step back and suckes in his stomach, barely avoiding the stab. He drops his bow, grabbing a mace off of his side, snapping the leather strap holding it in his haste. He tries to step into my range, so as to keep to close for me to use my spear, but Avin's done that so many times over the last week it's almost boring.

I cut a hasty retreat, making sure to keep the spear point between me and the bandit. The man lunges forward and tries to grab the spear shaft, but I jump back and stab at his arm, forcing him to back up. In response I take a slash at his throat while he's still to off balance from his lunge to attack, but he blocks with his mace.

I suddenly shift my spear in front of me horizontal hold, and charge him. I slam the haft into his chest before he can couter, knocking him off of his feet. I jump up and use my falling momentum to slam my spear into his chest. I rip my spear out with a harsh tug and back away quickly. I stare at him for a few seconds before turning around and heading back after the others. That was desterbingly . . . easy.

I dash towards the sound of fighting, re casting oak-flesh, just to be sure. The fighting now seemed to have lead off into the darkness of the forest beside the village, a trail of bodies leading from the treasury building.

I hestantly followed the sounds into the forest, nervous that I would miss something . . . then realise my light had gone out and re cast that as well.

'How many bandits are their?' I ask myself. Over the last few weeks I've heard stories of bandit groups as large as two hundred, but I somehow doubt that a group that large would be here. Still, I've seen something like twenty five bodies so far. Not that I looked to closly, scared of seeing a face I reconised.

As I get past a tree, I look down to see a body, and to my own mounting horror, recognize it as Denniel. The combination of the small form and the hunting outfit is unmistakable. His bow, a elven bow of the same design seen is skyrim that had been smeared with something to remove the shine, lay on the ground covered in blood.

Dropping my spear, I crounched down on the ground next to the elf and nervously checked for a pulse. I aduibly sighed in relief when I flet the pulse. Thank God, he's alive. I carfully roll him over, only for the elf to cinvulse in pain, in turn making me real back in shock and a little fear. I shudder on horror as I see the reason that his bow had som much blood on it.

His left arm, the one he held the bow with, was only still conencted to his body by a small string of flesh, that was conected at the bottom of his ribcage. Someone had taken of his arm and shoulder in one swing. Blood was rapidly dripping from the dirt covered gap, most likely only held back by how it was pressed into the ground. Seeing all that blood, I panicked slightly, before a more logical part of my mind screamed at me stop as the elf was dying and I was hyperventilating.

I got my breathing under control, and prepared to cast a spell, before pausing. 'Should I burn it closed or try to heal it? If I just heal it he may have an infection, but cauterization also increses the risk, should I freeze it? . . . Dear God, let this work.' Deciding that the best option was to just try and rap the wound, I carefully coated the bleading gap in the elf body in a layer of ice, before imediatly melting it with the fire, hoping that would clean the wound.

Taking off my tunic, I take out the sword and tear at it. Once I had it in a shape I hoped would hold when I wrapped it around the wound. I carefully use the sword to cut off the last flap of skin holding the elf's arm onto his body. Afterwards, I cut several strips from my shirt, and set to work

The elf shuddered in pain, blinking blearinly and seemingly trying to pull himself up even as I began to wrap the wound. He moaned as I pulled a large square of my shirt over the lost area, and began to tie said square on with the strips.

I felt Denniel's body shift, and noticed how he inhaled sharply, before begining to hypervientilate. I looked up, and saw that he was looking at his left arm laying on the ground a few feet from him. Not knowing If I should say anything, I remained silent and finished tying the wound closed. 'I need to get medical lessons . . . '

The wood elf began to struggle slighty, seemingly weak. I grabbed him by the neck and right arm and held him steady, looking him in the eye until he calmed down slightly, and said in a firm, no nonesense tone of voice, "Breath." after he finally calmed down, I tenatively began to send short burst's of healing energy into the wound, nervous I may be doing damage but driven by the stressful need to do something.

Suddenly Denniel begins to try to move, make a gasping sound like he was having trouble speaking . . .

POV: 3D Person

Russet looked up and noticed that his wounded friend was staring over his shoulder, and noticing a sound behind him, lept to his feet while casting oak-flesh with one hand. The choice to cast the spell imediatly saved his life, as a iron greatsword slammed into his side a second latter, cutting deep into his ribs and carrying him of his feet.

He hit the ground rolling, and came to a stop sove ten feet from his original spot, clutching his side and weezing. He looked up to see a man wearing full steel plate armor directly above him, weapon raised overhead for a chop.

Thinking fast, the young man raised the hand not clutching his left side to the probably-a-bandits face, blasting a fire spell. The volatile explosion that emerged imediatly on his slopy attempt stagering the man back and blinding him slightly, if the way he covered his eyes for a second afterwards was any indication.

Taking advantage of his asailants distraction, Russet began to imediatly bombard his side with healing magic, trying to close the wound. After only two seconds the bandit was up again, forcing Russet to break the stream of golden energy, shifting to a stream of frost right into the bandits face, trying to seal the eye holes of the helmet, but the bandit blocked with his left arm, which gained a heavy looking layer of icy spikes . . . meaning he was no longer holding his sword with both hands.

Launching a stream of lightning at the bandits arm with one hand, he took a degree of satisfaction with the way the man dropped his sword and began clutching his wrinst, and shot another shot of frost into his face, forcing the bandit to block the frost with his still numb right arm, as he, rather than trying to retreve his sword, charged russet and appeared to want to take off his head barehanded.

Russet stagered back as a steel coated cloaked fist wizzed by his head, missing by mear inches. In resonse, he formed another explosion, this one setting portions of the forest around him on fire even as it drove back the bandit. Backing back constantly, the young mage began to try to hit the bandit with sparks, even as the armored mand advanced constantly through the stream, repeating the phrase "Dear God" over and over like a mantera.

The bandit reached Russet and punched him in the jaw so hard that he hit the ground and rolled, coming up dazed, jaw at an off angle. However, before the bandit could go further, a trio of town guards emerged from the forest, and swarmed the man, who went down ina flury of war hammers and axes. The dazed Canadian stared at the sceane with a dazed expression, slured out "Dank ou od." and promptly passed out.

AN: 3:14 AM January 25th, 2019. Well, this took longer than I expected. The "in between" chapters I don't really have any plan for are always the hardest.

Well, anyway, the pole is closed as of . . . well, when the chapter is published in a few minutes, so heres the results.

Option D. 5 Votes.

Option B. 4 Votes.

Option C. 4 Votes.

Option A. 3 Votes.

Honestly, I'm exited for this. I mean, I figured option D would win since the second day after the first chapter, so I've put the most thought into it, so . . . yeah. I'll have a new pole up next time I have a major dicisipn to make, like say, the nerevarine's race and gender . . . and playstyle, can't forget that. Well, until next time!

PS, please point out any spelling mistakes I made, my spell-check is on the fritz.(Did I spell fritz right?)