"Hey! Let him go!"
Rowan was just about to deal with the three thugs in a way they would never forget when an angry voice rang out from behind them.
He turned his head.
A young woman stood there, tall, athletic, and brimming with energy. Pale hair framed a sharp, determined face, and her blue eyes burned with open defiance.
"Camilla," the bald leader sneered. "This doesn't concern you. Walk away."
He tried to sound tough, but the tension in his eyes betrayed him.
"Riverwood's reputation is bad enough without you idiots dragging it through the mud," Camilla shot back. She drew a slim dagger from her belt and stepped in front of Rowan. "I've wanted to deal with you three for a long time."
The leader's expression flickered.
"Tch. Fine. This isn't over."
With that, he turned and left, his two lackeys following closely behind.
They weren't afraid of Camilla herself. She practiced throwing knives by the river, but her skills were… passable at best.
What they feared was everything attached to her.
Her brother owned the town's only trading post. He had influence. Connections. And Camilla had more than a few admirers.
One of them, a wood elf archer named Faendal, used to be an adventurer. Rumor said he could drop all three of them by himself.
Extorting a stranger wasn't worth earning that kind of trouble.
Rowan watched them disappear down the street.
"Yeah," he murmured. "Definitely not the vanilla version of this world."
His gaze lingered briefly on Camilla's outfit.
Not in a crude way.
In an analytical one.
From what he remembered, townsfolk usually dressed conservatively. Long skirts. Simple cuts. Practical designs.
Camilla's clothes were still practical, but tailored in a way that emphasized movement and shape. Shorter hemline. Fitted waist. Exposed legs.
Subtle, but unmistakable.
That sort of aesthetic shift didn't happen by accident.
Which meant one thing.
This world had been… altered.
Expanded.
Modded.
That realization came with both risk and opportunity.
"Are you okay?" Camilla asked, turning toward him.
Rowan smiled politely.
"I'm fine. Thank you for stepping in, Miss Camilla."
She puffed up slightly, clearly pleased.
"Thought so. Still, you shouldn't let people push you around."
She hesitated, then gestured toward the center of town.
"I'd offer to buy you a drink, but I need to talk to my brother. If you're looking for supplies, our trading post has most things."
Always hustling. Respectable.
"I'll keep that in mind," Rowan said.
Camilla waved once and headed off.
Rowan didn't try to stop her. Camilla was widely considered Riverwood's most attractive woman. Lingering too long would only draw unwanted attention.
Besides, he planned to visit the trading post tomorrow anyway.
He headed for the Sleeping Giant Inn.
Inside, warm firelight filled the room. A young Nord man sat near the hearth, strumming a lute and singing while several townsfolk drank and listened.
The atmosphere was relaxed. Familiar. Comfortable.
A sturdy, middle-aged Breton woman approached.
"Food or a room?"
"Both."
The woman nodded and slid a menu across the counter.
Rowan scanned it, ordered a simple meal and a drink, and paid upfront.
Fifty septims.
He took a seat near the wall.
The bard's performance was… decent.
Not legendary.
But honest.
Which counted for something.
As the night went on, more townspeople filtered in. By full dark, the inn was packed. Laughing. Drinking. Arguing about trivial things.
At one point, raised voices nearly turned into a fight between the bard and a local hunter.
Rowan caught fragments of the argument.
Something about Camilla.
Ah.
A love triangle.
Classic.
Eventually, cooler heads prevailed. No blood was spilled.
Near midnight, the crowd thinned. One by one, people headed home.
Rowan retired to his rented room.
He lay down.
Not because he needed sleep.
But because it was easier to let his consciousness drift elsewhere while his body remained still.
By dawn, he was already up.
After a simple breakfast at the inn, Rowan stepped outside and walked toward Riverwood's trading post.