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[stormkind]

Elder Scrolls Online.

One of my ESO Characters. Breton - Magicka Templar.

My name is Hercule Flambeau. Captain Flambeau to my men, "that stubborn bastard" to most quartermasters, and, according to one particularly angry Dominion officer, several names I cannot repeat in polite company. I am a soldier of the Daggerfall Covenant, currently engaged in the grand and apparently never-ending effort to convince both the Ebonheart Pact and the Aldmeri Dominion that the Ruby Throne belongs to us. So far, neither alliance has accepted our argument.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/86753186/chapters/229622891

[stormkind]

LAME-ARSE GAME.

Four people with four different personalities are sucked into the game of Elder Scrolls - Skyrim. How did they end up in the game, and how are they going to find a way out? Why do the Greybeards have a secret room that nobody playing the game knows about? Will they survive the game, or will it be game over before they even start?

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

The next few hours drift by in a haze of potions Danica keeps forcing down my throat. Time loses all meaning, just fragments of voices, the cool touch of water, the faint scent of herbs.

When my mind finally clears, I find myself alone, staring at a statue that must be the goddess Kynareth Danica kept mentioning. The soft light from the temple windows paints her face in shades of gold and green, serene and impossibly distant.

How can I be Dragonborn? I’m not from Skyrim. I’m not even from this world. I don’t have dragon blood, and I don’t believe in Akatosh or any of the gods they worship here. None of this makes sense.

I must have slipped into a dreamless sleep, because when I wake, my bed is surrounded by a sea of faces. Josh, Lauren, Bailey, and the Companions who helped us slay the dragon.

Bailey’s smile is wide when I look at her. “Finally, you’re awake. How do you feel?”

“Can someone please explain why you think I’m the Dragonborn?”

Josh drags a chair over. “Man, I’ve never seen anyone move so fast. You shoved Bailey to the ground just as the dragon breathed fire. Then your scream….” He rubs his eyes, grimacing. “I’ve had nightmares about that sound for three days.”

“Three days? How long have I been lying here?”

“Today’s the fourth,” says the redhead Companion. I remember Bailey calling her Aela. Her tone makes it sound like I overslept through an apocalypse.

“Farkas pulled Bailey out from under you,” Josh continues. “She tried to run back, but then… well, it happened. The sound was like a million people clapping at once, and the dragon just lit up. Blue and yellow light, swirling like a storm. Then it shot straight into you. You floated, shouted something in dragon, and passed out cold.”

I blink at him. “So… I basically inhaled a dragon’s soul and yelled in its native language before taking a nap, and now everyone is calling me Dragonborn?”

They all nod at once as if they practiced it for a week.

“All of you out!” Danica snaps, herding them toward the door like misbehaving goats. “Dragonborn needs his potion, and I need to redress the wound on his arm.”

She presses a potion to my lips, her tone softening. “Josh left out one small detail, the call of the Greybeards. All of Whiterun Hold and beyond heard it. You were summoned to High Hrothgar, young man. What an honour.”

I stare at her, potion still on my tongue. Who or what are Greybeards?

“Honouree, my arse,” Josh mutters, squinting at the parchment the steward handed me. “To be honoured as Thane, one must purchase property within the Hold and pay taxes on said property. A Housecarl will be assigned with the understanding that a wage of two hundred Septim per week is payable by the appointed Thane.”

I blink at him. “So basically, it’s a timeshare with a bodyguard.”

The realisation sinks in. How are we supposed to buy property when we can barely afford another week at the inn? Jarl Balgruuf’s face sours like he’s just bitten into a lemon soaked in vinegar when I decline his so-called honour. Guess I’m not joining the Skyrim aristocracy anytime soon.

A week has passed, and I will never pull the strings of a bow again. There is minimal scarring on the right side of my back, running from my shoulder down to below my waist. But who the fuck cares about that if my arm looks like I stole Freddy Krueger’s arm? My fingers look like a wax imprint of a hand, four fingers fused, and I cannot bend them, not even for the simple act of scratching my arse.

Lauren kneels beside me, massaging some potent oil Josh brewed up. It smells like a forest floor mated with a chemical spill. I tease her about being an airhead, but she’s a professional physiotherapist back home. “So,” she says, turning my hand over in hers, “how exactly do these healing potions work?”

Josh glances up from the map he’s marking with dramatic intensity. “You drink it. You heal. That’s the whole concept. Why?”

“Is the healing instantaneous, or does it take a few minutes?”

“Honestly? No idea,” he admits. “Maybe we can ask Danica or Farengar. Assuming the Jarl hasn’t banned us from the castle after Garrett’s little Thane-decline stunt.”

Lauren’s eyes light up with dangerous curiosity. “If we can get hold of a scalpel, or a very thin blade, I think I can repair some of the damage to Garrett’s hand.”

“No!” Bailey interjects, snatching my hand away like Lauren’s about to perform surgery with a butter knife. “You’re not cutting into him. You’re not a surgeon!”

“I’m not planning to cut into him,” Lauren replies, glaring. “I just want to separate the fused skin, maybe loosen the tendons that shrank from the burn.”

“And if it doesn’t work?” Bailey presses, her voice trembling just a little.

Lauren sighs. “I don’t know.”

I gently pull my hand from Bailey’s grip and cup her cheek with my good one. “I want to try. My hand is useless as it is, and that makes us vulnerable. Even if Lauren can save two fingers…” My voice falters. I don’t finish the sentence. Losing archery feels like losing a part of myself, sponsors, tournaments, all of it gone. I could still finish my architecture degree, sure. I don’t need two hands to design a building. But it still hurts to think I’d lose something I love because some cosmic glitch decided to drop us into a modded nightmare.

“Before we start slicing and dicing,” I say, straightening up, “we need a cheaper place to stay and a way to make coin.”

I drop our remaining coins on the table. The pile looks pathetically small. “Enough for another week at the Bannered Mare, maybe two if we share a room and eat like monks. After that, it’s either find work or start looting like professional adventurers.”

Josh leans back, grinning faintly. “So… what you’re saying is we need jobs. In Skyrim. Great. I call dibs on not being the town’s designated rat hunter.”

Lauren groans. “We’re literally in a world full of dragons, magic, and ancient curses, and you’re worried about rats.”

“If all of us were capable fighters, I’d suggest we join the Companions,” Josh says, rubbing his chin like he’s weighing the pros and cons. “We’d have food, shelter, mead, and a steady paycheck from odd jobs.”

“And become werewolves,” Bailey replies flatly, arching a brow.

Josh waves a dismissive hand. “Come on, you know that’s optional. Besides, Vilkas would never let us join after he’s done using that massive sword of his to demonstrate why we suck at combat.”

Lauren, who’s been fussing with her coat, straightens. “I’m going to the temple. I want to talk to Danica about the potion and maybe see if she needs help. With payment, of course.” She tightens the coat around her shoulders. “Honestly, only we would get isekai’d into Skyrim when winter is coming.”

“Wrong franchise,” Josh points out without missing a beat.

“Same trauma,” Lauren fires back, heading for the door.

The moment it closes, Bailey sighs and smirks. “If we ever get back home, I’m scripting a Skyrim mod,  ‘Physiotherapist of Skyrim – Healers of Aching Bones and Sore Backs.’”

Josh tries to keep a straight face but fails spectacularly. “You know she’ll have your head if she hears you say that.”

Bailey’s laugh fills the room, light and infectious.

I can’t help smiling. For a moment, despite the cold wind outside and the fact that we’re broke, scarred, and stuck in a world where dragons are real, it feels like we’re us again.

Josh gestures for Bailey and me to join him at the small desk in the room. "Our primary focus is on Garrett's recovery, and we all need to hone our skills with weapons, including you, Garrett. You can train your left hand to wield a sword. People adapt all the time. Luke lost a hand, and he still managed.”

“Yeah,” I mutter, “but he got a robot hand. I got a puddle of wax… And this is not a movie.”

Josh ignores me and points to the map spread out on the table, now covered in angry X’s and scribbles like a conspiracy board. “We can skip all the guild nonsense. We don’t need to join the Thieves Guild, Dark Brotherhood, or get Daedric weapons. We just need to beat Alduin, not 100% the game. No word walls, no side quests, no collecting twenty Nirnroots for some guy with trust issues.”

"You'll need to journey to High Hrothgar to speak with the Greybeards," Bailey points to a mark on the map. "Ugh! No fast travel, which means we'll have to climb the mountain multiple times." She glances down at the soft leather boots adorning her feet. "It's high time we acquire proper boots and armour, not these flimsy things we're currently wearing."

Josh shrugs. “We know Delphine took the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller, so we can head straight to Riverwood after meeting with the Greybeards. We know where Esbern is hiding," Josh states, drawing a line through the Thalmor Embassy on the map.

Josh folds the map. “We can discuss our next move once we've entered Sky Haven Temple. I want the sword, Dragonbane, and perhaps recruit Blades to assist us, ideally without having to pay them. Or feeding them." He tucks the map away with a flourish. “Now, someone’s gotta tell Lauren that we’re camping for the foreseeable future.”

“Don’t look at me,” I say immediately. “She’s your girlfriend, not mine.”

Bailey snorts. “Hard pass. I’d rather fight a frost troll with a spoon. Just tell her and run. She’ll calm down eventually. She always does. She hates camping but has tagged along on every trip, even when she could've stayed home or with friends.”

Lauren comes back clutching a small handful of coins, not much, but enough to buy one pair of proper hard leather boots. One pair down, three to go. Perhaps we should have kept the Imperial armour we buried next to the river outside Riverwood. The comical image of me clad in armour resembling a mini dress springs to mind. We'll manage to scrape together the money somehow, even if it means I wind up sweeping someone’s floors for coin.

"I have more good news," Lauren announces. "I've found us a place to stay. A kind old lady has offered us food and board in exchange for help around the house. That includes collecting and chopping wood, cleaning, and running errands."

Bailey's eyes dart from Lauren to Josh and back. "Lauren, please tell me this kind old lady isn't named Olava."

"Yes, it is. How did you know?" Lauren responds, puzzled.

Josh wraps his arm around Lauren's shoulders and plants a kiss on her head. "Lauren, if there were a mafia in Skyrim, she'd be the Godfather… or should I say, Godmother. She's connected to the assassins, the Dark Brotherhood, and she deals drugs, skooma, for the Khajiit. We can't stay there. We could get dragged into her operations, and before we know it, we'd be fugitives of the law."

Lauren absorbs the news of our upcoming camping during our journey through Skyrim with a vacant stare and clenched fists. There's no shouting, crying, or any of the other reactions we predicted. “If Garrett could get burned alive for Bailey, I can sleep under a tree for a few nights.” She squeezes my hand once, hard enough to mean it.

“Also,” she adds, practical as ever, “where can we buy a scalpel? I need proper tools if I’m going to try anything with Garrett’s hand.”

Josh gives a long-suffering sigh. “Apothecary, blacksmith, or a ruin where they performed who knows what.”

Bailey smirks. “I vote Eorlund Grey-Mane and a Skyforge blade.”

Aela stands beside the old man named Kodlak, who insists he’s not the leader of the Companions but their Harbinger.

What’s the difference? He speaks, they listen, and right now, that’s exactly what’s happening.

Farkas’s brother, Vilkas, the one who looks like he sleeps with his sword out of sheer distrust, tries to argue, but Kodlak silences him with a single look. The kind of look that could probably make dragons apologise for existing. His grey eyes command obedience, and everyone in the hall falls quiet.

“I have decided, Vilkas,” Kodlak says, voice like gravel and wisdom rolled into one. “There are too many empty beds in Jorrvaskr. The Dragonborn and his friends need our help and are welcome to stay with us. We will assist them with training, and they will accompany our shield-brothers and sisters on missions when they are prepared.”

Vilkas’s black eyes flick to me, assessing, calculating, unimpressed. The smirk that follows says he’s already decided I’m not worth the steel it’d take to gut me. I hold his gaze anyway, refusing to blink. Burned hand, useless fingers, and all. I’ve faced worse than his ego.

We all know we weren’t invited out of pity. Nothing in Skyrim comes free, not even hospitality. Sooner or later, payment will be due in coin, blood, or labour.

“Are you ready, Garrett?”

I glance between the two women in front of me. Lauren stands steady, holding the thin Skyforge steel blade Eorlund Gray-Mane forged himself. Danica, priestess of Kynareth, grips a bottle of healing potion in one hand and the faint shimmer of a calming spell in the other.

No anaesthetic. No sterile lights. Just me, a piece of wood between my teeth, a table scrubbed down with brandy, a knife sterilized by fire and said brandy, and a prayer that I don’t wake up missing more than I started with.

Things can only improve from here, right?

The room is packed with Companions. Do they not have bandits to decapitate or sabre cats to punch to death? Something to tear apart with their wolf claws. Apparently, watching me get my hand sliced open counts as premium entertainment.

"The Dragonborn is a milk-drinker, afraid of some bactri or whatever you call it. I could have enjoyed the brandy the lady used," Torvar slurs, swinging his mug of mead around. How can one person consume so much alcohol? His liver must be as big as a bus.

Bailey gently removes the stick from my mouth and presses a soft kiss to my lips. “For saving my life,” she murmurs.

I can’t help myself. “Is your life worth only one soft kiss?”

She blushes, rolls her eyes, and shoves the stick back between my teeth. Fair enough. Grinning around it, I probably look like a dog that’s just discovered fetch.

I meet Lauren’s steady gaze, calm and professional, then close my eyes and nod.

The first cut burns white-hot, a sound like tearing parchment mixed with my own muffled scream. The world fractures.

The five decaying bandits from Bleak Falls dance on my grave. Their flesh, shedding like wet parchment. Their eyes are hollow, their smiles too wide. I reach out, desperate for forgiveness, but they sway just out of reach, moving to some macabre rhythm only they can hear.

Then, a hand on my shoulder. I turn, and standing behind me is a figure with two faces, one human, one dragon. His voice is the crack of thunder over a dying world.

“Dreh ni faas. Hi kos fin hun do Keizaal. Hi kos Dovahkiin.” (1)

 Do not fear. You are the hero of Skyrim. You are Dragonborn

[stormkind]

LAME-ARSE GAME.

Four people with four different personalities are sucked into the game of Elder Scrolls - Skyrim. How did they end up in the game, and how are they going to find a way out? Why do the Greybeards have a secret room that nobody playing the game knows about? Will they survive the game, or will it be game over before they even start?

https://archiveofourown.org/works/38522203/chapters/137367808

Chapter 4: WHEN A DRAGON COMES KNOCKING

Alvor folds his arms. “You will have to take your loot to Whiterun,” he says, nodding toward the road out of town. “We don’t get many visitors in Riverwood, and as you can see, I haven’t sold even one of the weapons I bought from you yesterday.”

His gaze lingers on the bow slung over my shoulder, the fancy Elven, and the other, more gruesome Draugr relic hanging beside it. “Tell you what,” he adds, scratching his beard, “I’ll trade you the Elven bow for a good leather quiver and belt.”

I look at Josh, who nods while browsing through a crate of leather belts and sheaths.

Josh places the golden dragon claw on the counter with a dramatic flair that would make Indiana Jones proud.

Lucan’s face lights up. “My claw! Oh, thank the Divines….”

Josh cuts him off, waving away the offered coins. “Keep the gold, my man. We’ll take health potions instead.”

I blink and whisper. “You don’t want gold?”

“Nope,” Josh replies. “In the game, potions are everywhere, ruins, tombs, caves, but in this version of reality? Not so much. And honestly, even if we did find any, I’m not about to drink something that’s been sitting in a crypt for hundreds of years."

Lucan rummages through his storeroom, muttering about “strange travelers with no sense of economy.”

"Can't you mix potions for us, Josh? You're in your third year of chemistry and already know which ingredients to use."

“That… is actually a brilliant idea,” he says, eyes lighting up with mad-scientist glee. “I didn’t think of that! I’ll need someone to show me how these alchemy tables work, though.”

Josh places the Dragonstone on the counter before Orgnar. "We need to speak to Delphine.”

Orgnar glances at the stone, then back at us. "She left right after your two women and Faendal left this morning. And don't ask me where she went or for how long. She never says."

Upon learning that Whiterun is a day's travel from Riverwood, not two hours as in the game, Josh curses under his breath. "It seems Skyrim is far larger than in the game. There are other differences as well. We can no longer rely on my and Bailey's knowledge of the game."

We decide to stay overnight in Riverwood.  I wake, drenched in sweat from the nightmare where five dead bandits dance on my grave. If we are going to survive this, I will have to man up. Three people are depending on me to shoot my arrows straight.

Josh leaves the road as soon as we top the hill and Whiterun comes into view. We walk through farmland that stretches from the foot of the mountain to the road leading to the city. Josh murmurs something about too many farms, but the giant trampling a cornfield deserves more attention. Giants, dragons, bandits, and Draugr. How many enemies are there in this game? I have seen Josh play games about war, past and future, and there was always only one type of enemy, the opposition.

Josh wants to rush forward and help the three people battling with the giant, but I hold him back. My eyes stay on the redhead firing arrows. She is good. Really good.

The giant collapses after a brutal display of teamwork. Slashed hamstring, then a headshot, and down he goes like a felled tree. I whistle. “Impressive.”

The redhead eyes me, unimpressed. “Can you use that bow on your back, or is it just an accessory?”

I raise an eyebrow. “You handled it. I didn’t want to steal your thunder.”

The big dark-haired guy next to her chuckles. She promptly smacks him in the back of the head. “Ice brain,” she says, striding toward Whiterun.

“Friendly bunch,” I murmur.

Josh grins. “That was Aela, Ria, and Farkas. Companions. Think ‘Nordic Avengers’ with a side of fur problem.”

“Fur problem?”

“Werewolves,” he says casually.

I stare at him. “Of course they are. Because apparently, Skyrim has a ‘collect one of every monster’ policy.”

“Welcome to the extended universe,” Josh says, smirking as he hefts the Dragonstone again. “Now let’s deliver this thing to the wizard before I pull a muscle.”

The mage turns the stone from side to side, his brow furrowed in concentration. "I haven't come across any literature detailing how the stone is supposed to reveal those with dragon blood. This side appears to be a map, with an inscription in dragon script on the other," he explains, holding the stone out for us to see. To me, the script resembles nothing more than chicken scratchings.

"Here lie our fallen lords until the power of Alduin revives," Josh recites, voice all solemn and dramatic. He shrugs when I stare at him. "Fandom site, folks. Bailey happens to be fluent in the dragon tongue as well."

Farengar wears a puzzled expression. "Could you please explain what a fandom sight is? And are both of you seers?"

"On cue," Bailey remarks as a commotion erupts outside the mage's office.

A Dunmer woman comes rushing toward us. "Farengar! Farengar, you need to come at once. A dragon has been sighted nearby. You four, follow me."

Farengar lights up like it’s Christmas. "A dragon! How thrilling! Where was it seen? What was it doing?"

The Dunmer shoots him a glare sharp enough to cut through steel. "I would take this a bit more seriously if I were you. If a dragon decides to attack Whiterun, I do not know if we can stop it. Let us go."

She leads us to a flight of stairs, and we trail behind her to the second floor. It appears to be a war room, evident from the map adorning the wall and the table decorated with coloured flags.

The conversation behind me fades into murmurs while I study the map before me. How will we find the Dragonborn? What if we never find them? What if we never get home?

Lauren looks like a lost child when we leave her on the steps leading to the inn. I suggest Bailey stay as well, but she refuses, "You go and meet Irileth at the gate. I'm going to rouse the Companions from their mead hall to help."

We join Irileth and the soldiers just in time to catch the tail end of her speech. "Could you call yourselves Nords if you run from this monster? Are you going to let me face this thing alone?"

A few guards remain silent, but others answer resolutely, "No!"

She turns her head toward Josh and me before finishing her speech. "But it is more than our honour at stake here. Think of it, the first dragon seen in Skyrim since the last age. The glory of killing it is ours if you're with me! Now, what do you say? Shall we go kill us a dragon?"

Josh and I receive strange looks from the soldiers when our “Booyah!” mixes with their cry of war.

Smoke curls over the ruined watchtower as we arrive. A guard, face streaked with soot, waves us back. The dragon has slain two guards and taken flight to the south.

Josh points in the direction of the mountain, and a dark shape can be seen soaring over the arches of Bleak Fall Barrow. "There it is. Get ready," he advises.

I glance down as Bailey touches my arm, her voice steady. "Aim for the eyes, big guy," she instructs. The trio of Companions who vanquished the giant stands behind her.

"I hope you can dispatch a dragon as easily as you did a giant," Josh remarks, his gaze fixed on the approaching shape.

Then hell opens when the dragon roars. A sound that feels like it’s vibrating the marrow out of my bones. The agonizing screams of the archers, consumed by dragon fire, reverberate in my mind long after their charred bodies fall silent. I close my eyes briefly, inhaling deeply and exhaling slowly, trying to steady my trembling hands.

As the dragon turns and circles back, flying low, lightning flashing from the Dunmer’s hands, slowing it just enough for me to draw my bow and release two arrows aimed directly at its eyes. The dragon bellows in agony, confirming that at least one arrow has found its mark. Despite its immense power, the dragon is gradually succumbing to our relentless assault.

The beast crashes down hard, dust and heat rolling off it in waves. The dragon starts speaking, guttural and ancient words that sound like they’re aimed straight at my soul.

“Bailey, watch out!” I shout as it rears its head. Fire blossoms in its throat. I shove her down, covering her as the world turns white-hot.

The pain is instant, absolute. The smell of burning leather, the scream of my own lungs fighting fire. My skin feels like it’s being peeled away by the sun itself.

Bailey’s scream pierces through it all. Then, nothing. Just black.

Someone nearby is crying, and an instinct to comfort them tugs at me, but I can’t move. Memories of the dragon’s onslaught, the searing heat, the blinding fire, trickle back into my mind. Strangely, I feel no pain. Am I dead?

“Nahlaas, hi los nahlaas. (1)”

I struggle to open my eyes, searching for the source of the words, and find Bailey weeping by my bedside. Josh sits slumped in a chair, asleep, with Lauren curled in his lap.

“Bailey?” My voice sounds like the rasping of something ancient and half-dead.

“Garrett! Josh, Lauren! Garrett’s awake!”

Lauren almost tumbles from Josh’s lap when he jolts upright. He kneels beside the bed, eyes shining with tears he’s too proud to shed. I want to tease him, but I know if our positions were reversed, I’d be just as close to breaking.

“We almost lost you,” Josh says, running a hand through his hair. “If it weren’t for your quick thinking, Bailey might not be here. I’ve never seen you move that fast in my life.”

“The dragon?” My voice remains rough, and Lauren gently lifts my head to offer a glass of water.

“The last arrow you fired pierced its brain,” she explains softly. “Its eyes were like pincushions. I counted eleven of your arrows before it burned.”

Bailey’s indigo eyes are red from crying, yet she manages a trembling smile. I can’t help imagining the feel of my lips on her dimpled cheek. What the hell is wrong with me? Why am I suddenly feeling this way about someone I’ve known since childhood?

“I want to kiss you for saving my life,” she says, her voice thick with emotion, “and I want to kick your arse for risking yours for mine.”

“I’ll gladly take the kiss. I don’t think my body can handle a kick right now,” I manage with a grin.

Bailey blushes, and warmth floods through me, but I push the thought aside. No. Don’t go there.

A woman steps forward, gently nudging Josh aside. “I am Danica, priestess of Kynareth. Young man, it is an honour to have you in the temple, though I wish it were under better circumstances.” Her hand brushes over my hair. “The burn on your face is healing remarkably fast, and you’ll have minimal scarring on your back, but….. She sounds as if she is close to tears.

Before I can respond, she kisses my cheek. I feel the heat rise in my face. What is wrong with this woman?

“Who’s going to tell him?” Josh asks, glancing at Lauren.

“You or Bailey,” she replies. “I still don’t understand what’s happening.”

My gaze shifts between them. “Tell me what?”

“You may do the honours, Josh,” Bailey says quietly. “You knew it first.”

Josh takes a deep breath, eyes filled with something between awe and disbelief.

“Garrett,” he says slowly, “the reason you didn’t die is because, when the dragon fell, you absorbed its soul, its strength.” He lets out a shaky laugh. “Garrett, my man, my buddy, my friend... You are Dragonborn.”

 Alive, you are alive.

[stormkind]

Solitude: City of Music, Elisif the Fair, and the pompous General Tallius.

[stormkind]

LAME-ARSE GAME.

Four people with four different personalities are sucked into the game of Elder Scrolls - Skyrim. How did they end up in the game, and how are they going to find a way out? Why do the Greybeards have a secret room that nobody playing the game knows about? Will they survive the game, or will it be game over before they even start?

https://archiveofourown.org/works/38522203/chapters/137211619

CHAPTER 3: THE WALKING DEAD AND ONE BIG ARSED FREAK

Alvor’s eyes widen when we dump the pile of weapons and armour onto his table. “Where did you get this? Did you steal it? I don’t buy stolen goods.”

“We didn’t steal it,” Josh says quickly, handing him the letter from Hadvar like it’s a hall pass. “Your nephew sends his regards.”

“You know Hadvar?” Alvor snorts. “Has he come to his senses yet?”

When he sees the Imperial armour and weapons, Alvor practically hisses. “Bury the lot. Far away from Riverwood. If the Legion catches you with it, your heads will decorate their spikes.”

Lauren crosses her arms when he lays out a set of leather armor. “I have you three for the fighting. I am not wearing those ugly things.”

I can shoot a bow, but I’m no fighter. Neither are Josh and Bailey. We’ll need something stronger than T-shirts and wishful thinking. I open my mouth to argue, but Josh gives me a small shake of the head. Not worth it.

He grins, weighing the bag of coins Alvor handed him before tossing it my way. “Your turn to barter, Robin Hood.”

I hesitate. Haggling in a place where I don’t even know the currency ratio feels like volunteering for a math exam. Instead, I grab Bailey’s hand and drag her away from the mutt she’s busy cooing over.

“Don’t be rude, Garrett,” she scolds. “This handsome boy’s name is Stump. And this is his friend, Frodnar.”

Frodnar tilts his head. “Wow, you’re taller than Uncle Ralof. Are you a Stormcloak?”

I shake my head. “No, kid. I’m not a Stormcloak or an…” Bailey mouths the word Imperial behind his back. “…Imperial. I’m just borrowing your dog lover for a bit.”

We’re several steps away when the boy shouts after me, “You should go to Windhelm and join the Stormcloaks, warrior!”

“Sure thing, kid,” I mutter. “Right after I figure out where the hell Windhelm is.”

The sound of an argument greets us before we reach the Riverwood Trader.

"Well, one of us has to do something!"

"I said no! No adventures, no theatrics, no thief-chasing!"

"Well, what are you going to do then, huh? Let's hear it! Are you going to do nothing while the thief gets away with your precious claw?" The woman's frustration is palpable.

I push the door open and stand aside for Bailey to pass.

"We are done talking about this!" The man behind the counter clears his throat mid-argument. "Sorry, you had to hear that. We were robbed last night, and my dear sister wants to chase the thief."

Bailey is already browsing the racks. “What was stolen?” she asks, stacking clothes for us and Lauren. “We can’t wear armor twenty-four-seven, right?”

Lucan sighs. “The Golden Claw. A priceless ornament.”

Camilla rolls her eyes. “More like his overpriced paperweight.”

Bailey gestures at some small bottles in the case. “We’ll take a few of those too.”

As she pays, Bailey adds casually, “Did a Dunmer come through here? Traveled with Ralof?”

Camilla nods. “He’s at the Sleeping Giant Inn. Ralof asked him to warn Jarl Balgruuf about Helgen, but he hasn’t left yet.”

Bailey’s face darkens. She grabs the bag of supplies and storms off. I trail after her, my arms full of clothes and bread.

Inside the inn, chaos. Bailey is shouting in a language that sounds like a cross between Klingon and someone gargling rocks.

“Velsua iru, s'wit.  Ohuhl -adur as Dragonborn, ohuhl hari de hava de Whiterun. (1)”

Bailey’s face is red in anger, and we can only stare at her, shouting at the grey-blue-skinned Elf.  

The Dunmer she is yelling at is slumped over a tankard, looking equal parts drunk and unimpressed. “B’vek! Ohuhl -adur dishmak. Os -e bahr hava de Whiterun de venshik as khan.  Asuhn tried erufid lo.  As Aka -nich mola Skyrim sut hadik os ihasmir.  Os -e hava bivi de Morrowind. (2)”

Josh whistles between his teeth. “She can speak Dunmeri? Bailey, can you speak Aldmeri and Bosmeri as well?”

Bailey glares at Josh with eyes that spit indigo fire. I put my hand on her shoulder, trying to calm her down. “We can go to Whiterun and warn this Jarl Balgruuf.”

“You don’t understand, Garrett,” she says through gritted teeth. “It has to be the Dragonborn who does it. The Dragonborn retrieves the Dragonstone. The Dragonborn kills the dragon outside Whiterun. Everything revolves around the Dragonborn.”

A woman, who has clearly been eavesdropping the entire time, pushes herself off the wall she has been leaning against. Bailey notices first, and her eyes go wide. “Delphine,” she breathes.

The woman, in her fifties, blonde hair pulled tight and a scar running down one cheek, strides toward us with all the authority of someone who’s absolutely done with everyone else’s nonsense. Her blue eyes lock on Bailey like she’s about to interrogate her for national secrets.

“How do you know all these things about the Dragonborn, young lady?” she demands.

Josh steps between Bailey and Skyrim’s resident angry mom. “Our friend is a seer,” he says smoothly. “She, uh… dreamt of the one she calls Dragonborn.”

Delphine gives him the same look teachers give when you claim your dog ate your homework. Then she physically moves him aside like he’s an inconvenient piece of furniture. “And you think this Dark Elf is the Dragonborn? Why?”

“The Dragonborn survived the dragon attack in Helgen, and he…” Bailey gestures to the Dunmer slumped over his ale, “…survived the attack.”

"More than one person survived the attack. As I heard the tale, two people from this town, Ralof and Hadvar, survived. Jarl Ulfric survived, as did Tullius and the Altmer Emesary, Elenwen. Does that make them all Dragonborn?" Delphine challenges.

Josh mutters, “Please not Elenwen. That’d be like if Voldemort got chosen by the Sorting Hat.”

Bailey folds her arms. “No, of course not. There can only be one Dragonborn. And this drunk Dunmer is the one.”

Delphine exhales through her nose."I am not arguing with a seer, but you have some facts wrong. Wait here," Delphine responds before disappearing into a room.

When Delphine returns, she’s holding an old book so fragile it looks like it might disintegrate if anyone breathes wrong. She places it on the table with reverence.

“If you are truly a seer, you would know who and what I am,” she challenges.

Bailey doesn’t even blink. “You’re Delphine, one of the last Blades in Skyrim.”

Delphine corrects her automatically. “The last Blade.”

Bailey smirks. “Not quite. Esbern is hiding in Riften. He’s been studying the return of the dragons for years.”

Delphine’s icy demeanor cracks for a moment. “Esbern? Alive?” Her tone and face soften. “I thought the Thalmor must have got to him years ago. That crazy old man…” She shakes her head. “Figures the Thalmor would be on his trail.”

“She’s got that look, like someone who’s been disappointed by the world one too many times,” I whisper close to Josh’s ear.

Josh elbows me. “Dude. Focus. She’s like… Skyrim’s version of Sarah Connor.”

Delphine opens the book and taps an illustration. “Whether there can be more than one Dragonborn at a time is something the Blades have researched thoroughly. We believe there can be when they are needed. Do you think Akatosh would entrust his blood to only one person? What if that person dies, or turns away from their destiny… like this Dark Elf seems determined to do?”

Bailey leans closer, squinting at the page. “That’s the Dragonstone.”

“Correct. Even though it dates back to the Merethic Era, it can still reveal who has been blessed with dragon blood. Farengar, the court wizard in Whiterun, knows its location. Find the stone, and you’ll find your Dragonborn.”

She snaps the book shut, gives us one last look, and vanishes back into her room.

We wait. And wait. The awkward silence stretches on until the man behind the counter clears his throat.

“You do realise she’s not coming back,” he says.

Josh exhales, rubbing his temples. “Great. First dragon attacks, now we’ve been ghosted by Skyrim’s secret service.”

Bailey groans. “Welcome to the main questline, everyone.”

“I need a bath, a toothbrush, and my make-up. “My skin feels like sandpaper. I can feel pores I didn’t know existed.” Lauren touches her cheek and shivers. It's our second day without the luxury of a bath, and we resorted to chewing on lavender and the blue flowers Bailey picked to keep our mouths fresh. I grin at the memory of Lauren's face when she needed to use the outhouse at the keep for the first time.

Orgnar arrives with food and mugs of mead. “There’s a bathing area in the cellar. Pump for clean water, fire’s still warm, towels in the cupboard. Since you rented two rooms, I’ll only charge you ten Septims for four baths.”

Josh follows Lauren down the steps to the bathing area, and I order another round of mead. It is too sweet, but I haven't tried anything else.

I swirl the mug. "Tell me more about Skyrim and the people living here. I've seen the Dunmer, but Delphine called him a Dark Elf. I take it there are other races of Elves as well," I inquire.

Bailey leans in, eyes bright. “Oh, there are plenty. High Elves, Wood Elves, and Snow Elves turned into Falmer by the Dwemer. She continues to explain the lore behind the game, and I'm surprised to hear that it's part of a series called Elder Scrolls. The developers put serious work into it, crafting intricate backstories. It's like a whole universe with its own history.

Orgnar sets down a small goblet filled with amber liquid. “Brandy. On the house. I’m going to bed. Your friends left the bath hours ago, so if you want hot water, best hurry. I’m not stoking that fire again until tomorrow.”

He disappears down the stairs.

I take a cautious sip of the brandy. It tastes like liquid campfire

Bailey catches my expression and laughs, dimples flashing. For some reason, I want to touch that dimple. Maybe it’s the brandy, or maybe it’s the fact that we’re apparently stuck in a medieval death-simulator. I have known Bailey since her father married Lauren’s mother, and to be honest, I had a crush on the girl with indigo eyes for a year or more, but it is the first time we spent so much time together as adults, and I must admit I find her fascinating.

We decide to split up, Josh and I will go after the Dragonstone before speaking with the Farengar guy. Bailey and Lauren will head to Whiterun to warn the Jarl.

We have enough money left to hire someone to accompany the two women. After asking around, we end up with a Bosmer named Faendal, pointy ears, and a sharp jawline. He looks like he could handle himself against a wolf or two, maybe even a bear if he’s having a good day.

Lauren doesn’t seem convinced. “He looks like Legolas’s wet-behind-the-ears cousin,” she mutters.

Bailey grins. “He is a Bosmer and can shoot a running rabbit through the eye.”

Lauren only shrugs, still not convinced.

After we say our farewells, with Lauren hugging Josh like we’re going off to Mordor, we start the climb toward Bleak Falls Barrow.

I stare at the huge structure looming before us. “Bleak Falls Barrow. Who came up with these names?”

Josh laughs, shifting his pack higher on his shoulder. “Hey, it’s Skyrim. Everything’s either Bleak or Forsaken. It’s part of the charm.”

I’ve never killed a person in my life. Not even in a game. I never saw the appeal of sitting in front of a screen, pretending to murder people while eating snacks. Now here I am, holding a real bow, aiming at a real bandit sprinting at me with a real axe, and I miss completely.

“Focus, Garrett. No warning shots. Shoot to kill,” Josh barks, his voice weirdly calm. “Remember, no respawning if we die.”

The next few seconds are chaos and adrenaline. I manage to take down the three bandits patrolling outside the Barrow. The last one drops, and suddenly I’m not a hero. I’m just a guy about to vomit up the cheese and two apples I ate on the way.

Josh looks at me with sympathy in his eyes. "In the game, there are another two inside, arguing, and later there are two more. One will die when hit by poisoned darts, and the other will spring a trap, and Draugr will finish him off."

“Draugr? As in… mummified zombies?”

“Pretty much.”

Okay, zombies. I can handle zombies. Movies prepared me for this. I sling my quiver forward and count the arrows.

“You remember how many there are?” I ask.

Josh blinks. "You must be joking. You think I counted them? I kill them and move on.”

“I’m just saying, if there are more than thirteen, we’ve got a problem. I’ve got fifteen arrows.”

“I can subtract, Garrett. Most of the Draugr have bows and arrows. We can pick up more as we go," Josh reassures me.

Draugr wielding swords sounded not so bad, but them using bows is going to complicate things. I inhale and exhale slowly before pushing the huge doors of the Barrow open.

Killing the two unarmed bandits, one of them a woman, made me feel like crying. I am going to have nightmares, I know it. Then there are the rats from a horror movie, a spider, and a troll Josh forgot to mention.

By the time we reach the last chamber, I almost believe we’ve made it. Sunlight filters through a hole in the ceiling, and a flowing river, surrounded by plants.

Peaceful, until the huge Draugr steps from his stone resting place.

Big. Ancient. Growls like he’s gargling rocks. And he shouts.

I turn to Josh. “You forgot about the zombie with shout powers?” How do you forget this? He’s literally trying to kill us with his voice!”

“Garrett, can you hear me?”

Josh is kneeling in front of me, holding the sword and axe he looted from the Draugr earlier. Both weapons shimmer faintly, green and purple, like an oil slick under torchlight.

“Enchanted,” he’d said when I asked. Because of course they are.

My skull feels like it’s hosting a live concert. Rick Allen is pounding away on one side, Travis Barker trying to outdo him on the other, pounding my brain to liquid.

I groan, the echo vibrating somewhere deep inside my teeth. The last image before everything went black flashes back in painful clarity. The Draugr’s voice exploded against the cavern walls, my body flying like a ragdoll, the world going white.

I scramble upright, heart hammering. “Where is the fucking Draugr? And how could you forget to mention it?”

“Calm down,” Josh says, way too casually for someone who just fought an undead Viking. He leads me to the river that winds through the cavern like a silver snake, then points.

The Draugr is there, or what’s left of it, half-submerged, its ancient armor glinting under the weak light. One arm flails uselessly, scraping at the stone as it tries to drag itself from the water.

“I cut his legs out while he was busy shouting you into a wall,” Josh explains casually. “Then his arm holding you in the air, followed. After that, I rolled his big undead ass into the pool.”

The Draugr gurgles, mouth opening in what might be another attempt at a shout, but instead of that deathly roar, it just swallows water. Bubbles rise. The silence that follows feels like victory, absurdly small and fragile.

"Suck my…” He pauses mid-sentence, grinning. “On second thought, don’t," Josh laughs and holds one of the small bottles Bailey bought in Riverwood to me. “Here. Health potion. You can thank me later for saving your sorry ass.”

“Right,” I mutter, pulling the cork and swallowing. The taste is metallic and sweet, like cherry syrup poured over iron. “Next time, maybe a little heads-up about a shouting corpse would be nice.”

Josh chuckles, wiping his sword clean on the Draugr’s tattered cloak. “Where’s the fun in that?”

The echo of his laugh bounces through the cavern. Hollow, nervous, and just a little too human.

(1)Listen here, moron.  You are the Dragonborn, you have to go to Whiterun

(2)B’vek! You are loud. I am not going to Whiterun to warn the Jarl(leader). They tried to kill me. The dragon can burn Skyrim for all I care. I am going back to Morrowind

[tsalala]

any time there’s a lion injury reported from the maasai mara, everyone salivates for the chance to blame faceless maasai people for it. i’ve breadtrailed my own feelings about human-wildlife conflict on this blog for the last two years and i don’t want to say anything more cohesive because it’s hard. i can only say it’s getting predictable, the performative indignation and self-righteousness this community is full of.

it’s almost like they’re excited. they use the concept and existence of human-wildlife conflict so they can feel superior behind the screen, thousands of miles away from the savannah, and clutching their pearls. but how many of these people can even name their local wildlife? how many of them can say they don’t live in a city or a town that exists because the years since the industrial revolution has cleared its way for urban-only living?

[stormkind]

LAME-ARSE GAME.

Four people with four different personalities are sucked into the game of Elder Scrolls - Skyrim. How did they end up in the game, and how are they going to find a way out? Why do the Greybeards have a secret room that nobody playing the game knows about? Will they survive the game, or will it be game over before they even start?

https://archiveofourown.org/works/38522203/chapters/137091850

CHAPTER 2: DOWN THE RABBIT HOLE

Why is Rick Allen playing the drums in my brain?

I groan, roll over, and instantly regret it. My skull feels like it’s hosting a Metallica concert, and my tongue tastes like regret and beer. Three beers. That’s it. Three. No weed, nothing adventurous, unless you count mixing cider and lager. The universe never did appreciate moderation.

A bird chirps nearby, loud, chipper, and disrespectful of my hangover. I squint at the triangular wooden structure enclosing me, animal skin and fur draped over the frame.

A tent.

What the…?

I sit up too fast, and my brain immediately files a complaint. Voices murmur outside, and I crawl toward the tent flap like a man approaching his own execution. The moment I open it, blinding sunlight smacks me in the face.

Three pairs of eyes turn my way.

Bailey rushes over, looping an arm around my waist. “Easy, big guy. You hit your head when we landed.”

“Landed?” I repeat dumbly. “Landed where? The Twilight Zone?”

She helps me slump against a fallen log. The scenery hits me all at once. Snow-capped mountains in the distance, tall pines swaying in the breeze, air so clean it almost hurts to breathe.

Lauren brushes an ant off her leg with surgical disgust. She’s in her pink satin nightdress and fuzzy slippers that look like cotton candy had a shoe deal. If my skull weren’t vibrating, I’d laugh.

We’re all still wearing what we had on last night. Josh in boxers and a vest, Bailey in shorts and a T-shirt, and me, shirtless in jeans, which is not an outfit built for arctic vibes.

Bailey notices me looking down at our bare feet and wiggles her toes, nails painted electric blue.

“Where… are we?” I manage, rubbing my temples.

Josh grins like a man who’s waited his whole life for this moment. “According to Lauren, we’re in her nightmare. According to Bailey, we’re in Skyrim. And according to me…” He spreads his arms grandly. “She might be right. This campsite is one of the alternative start options for the game.”

Lauren groans. “You and Bailey and that lame-arse game. I told you this would happen. Video games rot your brain, and now look, we’re living in one!”

As if on cue, a francolin explodes from a nearby bush, making her scream.

“Can we not panic?” Josh says, trying to sound calm and failing. “Lauren, pinch yourself. If it’s a dream, you’ll wake up.”

Lauren pinches her arm. Hard. “You all do it!” she insists. “Bailey, you know I hate camping!”

Bailey crosses her arms. “This isn’t my dream. In my dream, I have better shoes and Garrett’s not rocking a man bun.”

Josh laughs. “Oh, come on. Admit it, if it were your dream, Garrett would totally look like that.”

“First of all,” Bailey shoots back, “no. Second, I don’t do guys with longer hair than me. Or facial tattoos. Or whatever’s happening there.”

All eyes turn to me.

Josh smirks. “You might want to check, Garrett.”

I lift a hand to my face and freeze. Beard. Definitely beard. My fingers drift up to my head, and sure enough… a man bun. My life just became an indie fantasy trailer.

“Bailey,” I say slowly, “are you saying we got sucked into Skyrim? Like, actually in the game?”

She nods grimly. “That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

Lauren rounds on Josh. “This is all your fault! You and your dumb mirror stunt!”

“Hey,” Josh snaps, “don’t blame me, Sweetheart. It was your freaky-ass mirror that decided to eat us!”

He looks around, scanning the wilderness. “If we’re really in Skyrim, we need to stick together. This isn’t like the game. No pause button, no respawn. We die, we die.”

That thought kills the laughter fast.

We all glance around. We are almost surrounded by snow-peaked mountains, with pine trees towering overhead. The grass under our feet is soft and green, and clusters of purple and pink flowers grow beneath the trees. Camping, we can handle. However, surviving unknown territory with unknown threats won't be as easy, especially dressed like this.

“Okay,” I say finally. “You two are the experts. What’s the first step? Because unless that tent comes with central heating and a chest filled with clothes, we’re not surviving the night.”

Josh straightens. “Right. Priority one. Find a town. Closest one should be Helgen.”

“Helgen?” Lauren repeats. “Is that the one with the dragon?”

Josh hesitates. “Used to be. Dragon… kind of burned it down.”

Lauren’s eyes widen. “What?”

Bailey sighs. “Relax. If the dragon destroyed the town, it’s long gone. We’ll just… scavenge. Food, clothes, weapons.”

Josh nods. “And if we see wagons with soldiers wearing blue sashes…. we should run,” Josh warns.

“Run where, Josh?”

“As far as possible,” he replies solemnly.

The trek through nature and then a narrow cobblestone road was its own special kind of nightmare. By the time we reached the town, our feet looked like props from a zombie movie, and Lauren was crying, partly from pain, partly because her cotton-candy slippers now resembled two drowned, diseased chickens.

Helgen, if that’s really where we are, was very on fire. Smoke billowed from the ruins, the smell of scorched flesh thick enough to taste.

“Is it wrong that I’m kind of excited?” Josh asks, picking up a soot-blackened glass bottle like a kid who’s just found buried treasure. He squints at the label. “Vilod’s Mead with juniper berries. Limited edition!”

He holds it up like Mufasa presenting Simba.

Lauren eyes him. “Josh, there are corpses everywhere.”

“Yeah,” he says, turning the bottle in his hand. “But also, mead.”

“Do you think one of us is the Dragonborn?” Bailey asks, chewing a piece of bread she found on a charred table.

“It’s possible,” Josh says, giving me a once-over. “But my money is on Garrett. He’s the only one who woke up looking like a Viking thirst trap.”

“Excuse me?” I shoot him a look. “What’s a Dragonborn?”

“You know,” he waves vaguely, “chosen one, born with dragon powers, shouts things to death. Skyrim’s big deal. You probably absorbed a soul or two while we were passed out.”

I glance down at the burned remains around us. “Great. Sounds wholesome.”

Lauren and I stop scavenging when the two self-proclaimed adventurers start running around like caffeinated ferrets, stuffing armor and swords into a pile. I hand Lauren a piece of bread and a bottle labeled Black-Briar Mead.

“The bread tastes fresh,” I say, even though I’m doing my best not to think about who baked it.

I collapse onto one of the cots, hoping for sleep, but Josh and Bailey’s excited voices echo through the barracks like over-enthusiastic streamers. “Ooh, iron gauntlets!” “No, that’s a Nordic greatsword, don’t just chuck it!”

Bailey eventually drops down next to me, leaning against the cot frame. “I know this isn’t a game,” she says quietly. “Those people out there were real. They… burned alive.”

Her voice cracks. I slide down beside her, pull her close, and let her cry. “You and Josh have seen this before, even if it was a game,” I murmur. “You know what’s coming. Lauren and I don’t.”

Earlier, Josh pulled a bow from beneath a half-burned corpse. “Elven craftsmanship,” he’d said, grinning like he’d just looted Legolas. The string, however, was toast….literally.

While I search for a replacement, we stumble across what used to be a training area, now more horror film than gym. Bodies are stacked in the corner under a tarp.

Josh notices me staring. “Bailey insisted. Said we shouldn’t leave them out.”

I nod, string the bow, and draw it back. The weapon hums faintly. Not as good as my bow at home, but in this world, it’ll have to do.

We decide to stay the night in the barracks, sorting through the ever-growing loot pile. “Thank the Divines for beds,” Lauren sighs, collapsing onto one like it’s a five-star mattress.

I sling the backpack over my shoulders and pick up the tied bundle of swords from the table. We’ll carry as much as possible to a town called Riverwood, where, according to Josh and Bailey, we can sell most of the gear to buy “proper” armour. I found a leather jacket and pants that fit like a glove, but Josh and Bailey refuse to wear Imperial armor for even one day.

“We’ll be walking targets for the Stormcloaks,” they argue.

Lauren, on the other hand, is dressed in a robe and boots looted from a dead man in a cage. “What Lauren doesn’t know can’t hurt her,” Josh mutters. I give him a look that says it absolutely will if she finds out. Knowing Lauren, Josh will end up the next corpse in a cage.

Bailey opens the door a crack, then immediately slides the bolt shut. “Bandits. In the courtyard.”

Lauren’s eyes widen. “How are we supposed to get out?”

Josh squeezes her hand. “There’s another way, but there’ll be spiders. Huge ones, bigger than that ugly mutt of your neighbour.”

Lauren blanches. “No. Nope. Absolutely not.”

He shrugs. “Then we can stay here with the bandits. Maybe we’ll start a band.”

Luckily, someone had already gone full Arachnid Slayer through the tunnel. When we reach the cave, there are only carcasses left. Massive, fanged, and covered in enough webbing to qualify as a Halloween warehouse. Josh wasn’t kidding about the size.

“Hadvar,” Josh whispers suddenly, spotting two figures sitting near a fire. One is a broad-shouldered man with reddish hair. The other, a wiry guy with the general vibe of someone who’d rather be home reading. “Please tell me that’s not the Dragonborn sitting there. He’s so... small. Or maybe he is a she just having a bad hair day?”

The men leap to their feet when they see us. “Who are you?” the smaller one demands.

The red-haired man spits on the ground and grabs for his sword. “Scavengers,” he growls.

I raise my bow and shake my head. “Don’t. An arrow flies faster than you can move, friend.”

Bailey pushes my arm down before this escalates into a medieval John Wick situation. “We’re not scavengers. The dragon destroyed our carriage and killed our horses. We lost everything.”

The lie rolls off her tongue like she’s done this before.

Hadvar’s hand relaxes. “Where did you come from? Your accent is strange.”

“We’re merchants from Anvil,” Josh says smoothly. “Here to trade. If we’d known there were dragons, we’d have stayed home watching Netflix.”

“There’s also a war,” Hadvar says grimly. “People have no money for fancy wares from Cyrodiil.”

I drop the pile of swords and armour with a thud. “We’ll leave the weapons. But we’re taking the food.”

Hadvar gestures toward the pile. “Take it. If not you, someone else will. The war’s made scavengers of all of us. Where are you heading?”

“Riverwood,” Josh replies. “After that, we’ll see. Maybe home, if that’s still possible.”

Hadvar sighs, rubbing his face. “The General ordered the borders closed after the dragon attack. You’ll need his permission to leave Skyrim, and he’s gone to Solitude.” His voice wavers. “He left while the rest of us died like rats. Brucos and I will follow soon. We waited to give Ulfric, Ralof, and the rest a chance to escape. I sometimes wonder if I did not make a mistake joining the Legion."

“Was there an unnamed prisoner with the Stormcloaks?” Bailey asks.

Hadvar frowns. “Yes, a Dunmer. One of your friends?”

Bailey just nods.

“He went with Ralof. Don’t know why the captain thought a dark elf was one of them.”

When we finally step outside, the air is crisp and bright, the sky unnervingly blue. Josh and Bailey talk quietly about the Dragonborn being a Dunmer.

Lauren and I exchange a look. Neither of us has a clue what a “Dunmer” is. Could be a bird, could be a lizard, could be a dude with a really bad sunburn. For now, all we know is that we’re stuck in a medieval world with bandits, dragons, and apparently giant spiders.

And there’s no Wi-Fi.

[stormkind]

LAME-ARSE GAME.

Four people with four different personalities are sucked into the game of Elder Scrolls - Skyrim. How did they end up in the game, and how are they going to find a way out? Why do the Greybeards have a secret room that nobody playing the game knows about? Will they survive the game, or will it be game over before they even start?

https://archiveofourown.org/works/38522203/chapters/96282652

CHAPTER 1: WHEN LIGHTNING STRIKES

The lights above us stutter, shadows pooling in the corners as electricity skitters through the wires. For a moment, everything feels stretched thin, then a bolt of lightning claws the sky, the air outside splitting open with a teeth-rattling crack. The room jolts as if we're all puppets on invisible strings. My heart hammers against my ribs, and the hairs on my arms prickle at the charged silence that follows. Through the window, the world is overexposed to a silver flash, then the darkness swallows it whole, leaving behind only the metallic tang of ozone and damp earth.

"Perfect. Bloody perfect," I mutter. My bike waits somewhere out in that storm, but the thought of braving it makes my stomach clench. I should've left ages ago, before the evening turned, before Josh decided to play Gandalf with his weed stash, offering it around like he was distributing pipeweed to the Fellowship.

My gaze drifts toward Bailey, Lauren’s stepsister, curled up in one of the armchairs. The blue streaks in her black hair shimmer against the lamplight, lightning making them glow like the edge of a storm cloud. She’s not usually one to join the crowd, which makes me wonder what brought her down from her room upstairs. She’s got her legs tucked beneath her and her nose buried in a book, completely unfazed by the chaos of the stoned, the drunk, and the rhythmically challenged currently occupying the living room.

A few shrieks pierce the air as another lightning bolt hits even closer. I’m pretty sure a couple of those screams belong to the guys. Outside, the storm goes full ‘Apocalypse Now’, rain turning the world into a smudged grey void. I catch a fleeting glimpse of my reflection in the window, oddly distorted, as if I’m someone else for a heartbeat. Bailey glances up, her eyes flickering toward the warped glass, unimpressed, then back to her book.

“What are you reading?” I sink into the armchair beside her, and she furrows her brow at me before raising the book slightly so I can see the title.

“Fear Nothing. Dean Koontz. And here I thought you were reading something nerdy.”

The furrow between her indigo eyebrows deepens. “What exactly makes a book nerdy?” she retorts.

I shrug. “I don’t know… maybe an autobiography of Einstein? Or something by George Orwell?”

She gives me that almost-smile that threatens to turn into a real one. “And how exactly is George Orwell nerdy?”

“I’ve read a few of his books,” I reply.

Her mock-shock is theatrical, but beneath it, I sense the genuine surprise. “The great Garrett Osmond, Olympic bronze medalist, national hero, destroyer of targets, is secretly a book nerd? I bet your adoring fans have no idea.” She gestures vaguely toward the dancing crowd, where someone is attempting a move that looks like a cross between twerking and a seizure.

I glance over.  They are Josh and Lauren’s friends. I was only invited because Josh is my best friend for as long as I can remember.

When I turn back, her expression has softened. “They’re not your friends, are they?”

We lose track of time, our conversation tumbling through books, films, and big questions like world hunger, climate change, the things that make us feel small and human. Bailey laughs when I feign offence at being called a slacker. “Relax, I’m joking,” she says, her grin quick and bright. “You get paid to shoot arrows at bullseyes, and I get paid to shoot digital zombies. Same vibe, different range. At least we both get to do what we love, not everyone gets that.”

Outside, the storm rages harder, thunder booming so close it rattles the windowpanes. The room empties, leaving only Lauren and Josh, swaying in each other’s arms to music only they can hear.

Bailey looks out at the rain curtain. “No way you’re driving home in that. There’s a couch in my study, it’s comfy, I swear.”

I follow her down the corridor. The lights flicker again, and for a heartbeat, Bailey’s silhouette seems to double, shifting in the half-light. She pauses, turning just long enough to press her lips against my cheek before leaving me in the middle of the room, arms full of blankets and thoughts I’ll definitely overanalyse later.

The crack of thunder jolts me awake so violently that I almost headbutt the small table next to the sofa. Lightning flashes, turning the room into a whitewashed blur. The air tastes sharp, electric, tinged with the earthy smell of rain and something older, stranger. I stumble to the window and stare out at the downpour. I’ve never seen weather like this before. It’s like Thor and Zeus are having a battle in the heavens above.

The window acts as a warped mirror, and for a second, I think my half-asleep brain is pranking me. The reflection staring back is me… but not me. My hair’s longer, brushing my shoulders, and a dark tattoo snakes down my left cheek, disappearing under what looks suspiciously like leather armor.

My hand instinctively reaches up to my face, half-expecting to feel a beard. "I must be dreaming," I murmur, turning just as the door behind me creaks open.

“Garrett, you have to see this,” Josh says. His voice wobbles, and that alone tells me something’s seriously wrong. Josh doesn’t wobble.

“At first, I thought I was just really stoned,” he adds as we hurry down the hall.

He pushes open Lauren’s bedroom door, and the scene inside is straight out of Stranger Things. Lauren and Bailey are perched on the bed, wide-eyed, looking like they’ve just seen Vecna crawl out of the closet.

Bailey nods toward the tall mirror on the wall. I step closer and freeze.

Four figures stare back. Us, and yet, definitely not us. I see my reflection again. The same long hair, the tattoo, the leather gear. Josh, Lauren, and Bailey stand beside me, dressed in attire out of a medieval movie.

“What the fuck?”

“You can say that again, my friend. What is happening? Why do you look like you just respawned in Assassin’s Creed?”

He reaches toward the mirror, and his fingers slide through it.

“Josh, don’t…!” Lauren shouts, but it’s too late. The reflection starts to ripple, the four of us blurring together in a swirl of light and colour.

Lightning strikes the roof, and Bailey screams.

The world explodes in sound and motion. The floor drops out. My stomach lurches, my insides twisting like yogurt through a straw that’s way too narrow.

Everything goes black.

My last coherent thought before the void swallows me whole. This is the weirdest dream of my life…

[stormkind]

Child of Akatosh

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

A snippet from the chapter

Kaidan wakes with a grunt as something soft smacks him in the face. He pushes it away, blinking up at a grinning Signe.

“What the fu….”

“Come on, enough sleeping.”

He groans, running a hand over his face. It feels like he only just closed his eyes and maybe he did. That nagging sense of being watched last night had kept him alert half the night. With Signe in another room, he’d lain awake, listening to every footstep, every shift in the building.

“What time is it?” he mutters.

Signe tilts her head, studying him. “Are you all right? You look like you didn’t sleep well.”

“I slept fine,” he says, wiping a hand across his face.

Signe grabs the edge of the bedding and tugs. “Come on, we’re going hunting.”

The blanket is halfway down his body before Kaidan grips it, stopping her from pulling it any further. “Wait in the dining area.”

She smirks but obeys, slipping out of the room.

Kaidan rakes a hand through his hair and exhales slowly. If he’d been any slower, she would’ve seen exactly why he wasn’t ready to face her yet, that his dream, before being rudely awakened, had been of her. Of his hands gliding over her body.

Kaidan stops short as they reach the small camp by the breaking waves. His eyes narrow. “Horker? We’re hunting horker?”

Signe nods, grinning. “And I am going to sell a carcass or two to Thoring.”

Kaidan exhales, shaking his head with a half-smile. “You are something else.”

Signe chuckles, adjusting the bow slung over her shoulder. “What? I figured since you love horker sandwiches so much, you might as well make a little profit off your obsession.”

Kaidan groans, rubbing a hand over his face. “You’re never going to let this go, are you?”

“Not a chance.” She nudges him with her elbow. “Now come on, or are you afraid you’ll start another stampede?”

Kaidan narrows his eyes but can’t hide the smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You know, I could just not help you.”

Signe feigns shock. “You’d leave me to hunt a horker alone?”

She gives him a playful shove before heading toward the rocky shore.

Kaidan follows, watching her from the corner of his eye. The cold paints her cheeks pink, and there’s a lightness to her step that he rarely sees. He exhales, pushing aside the memory of his dream, the way his hands had roamed over her, how she had…..

He clenches his jaw and focuses on the task at hand. Hunting horker. Definitely not thinking about Signe naked.

He watches her draw the bowstring back, and despite himself, he finds himself thinking, ‘gods, I am in so much trouble’.

[stormkind]

Air Balloons in Skyrim

[stormkind]

Child of Akatosh

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

A snippet from the chapter

Signe looks up from where she’s packing provisions into a backpack. “Enjoy your sparring session?” He only nods. “You’re packing. Where are we going?” “Dawnstar.” Kaidan groans. “Shit, do we have to?” Signe frowns. “What’s wrong with Dawnstar?” “I don’t care much for that place. It’s not very hospitable.” Signe scoffs. “The Horker capital of Skyrim, and you don’t care for it?” Kaidan shrugs. “Don’t mention horker to me right now. You’ll turn my stomach.” She shakes her head. “You’re being weird. And Aunt Fralia invited us for her famous horker stew tonight. I’ll let her know you’re afraid it might upset your delicate tummy.” She closes the backpack and leans it next to the door. “That means you’ll be making dinner instead.”

Kaidan huffs, crossing his arms. “Forget it. Horker stew for dinner it is.” He eyes her. “But why are we going to Dawnstar?” Signe gestures toward a letter on the table. “Time to pay Brynjolf for his information about Esbern.” Kaidan scans the writing. “Why you? Why not send one of his own people?”

“Ravam Verethi knows every Thieves Guild member because his captain buys and sells… goods from them. He tried to kill his captain twice, but without evidence, he can’t be arrested.” She clasps her hands together. “You get to be the mercenary Ravam hired to kill Captain Wayfinder. Once he pays me and puts his request into words, Commander Frorkmar Banner-Torn can arrest him.”

Kaidan raises a brow. “Sounds easy enough.” He pulls her cloak from the hook by the door. “I think I can smell Fralia’s stew.” Signe grins, patting his stomach. “Just be careful it doesn’t upset your tummy.”

The wind howls through their camp, tugging at the tent, making it shudder and ripple like a living thing. Ropes creak under the strain, the fabric snapping sharply with each powerful gust. A sudden gust scatters embers into the air, glowing flecks of orange and red swirling like fireflies against the dark sky. Some fade into the night, while others land on damp earth, hissing softly before vanishing into the cold. The flames flicker and bend, struggling against the wind’s relentless pull.

The wind continues to whistle through the trees, rustling the tent as Kaidan tilts his head back, eyes narrowing at the shifting clouds overhead. “Looks like an early snowfall. Maybe we should kill the fire and find shelter in the tent.” Signe tugs her coat tighter around her shoulders and nods. “I’ll cover the horses with the pelts.”

Kaidan watches her move in the firelight, her silhouette flickering against the darkening woods. In the tent, he lies back on his bedroll, arms folded behind his head, staring at the canvas ceiling as the wind pulls at its edges. A soft rustling of pages catches his attention. He peeks over, finding Signe sitting cross-legged, her eyes scanning the worn parchment in the glow of the lamp.

“What are you reading?” She lifts the book, letting him see the cover. “A Dance in Fire, Book I.” Kaidan hums in curiosity. “What’s it about?” “The exploits of a man named Decumus Scotti during the war between Valenwood and Elsweyr.” “Sounds interesting. Maybe I should read it as well.” He smirks, shifting onto his side and pulling her bedroll closer to his. With a casual stretch, he leans over, reaching for the lamp. “Or you can read it to me.”

Signe doesn’t protest. Without a word, she settles into the crook of his arm, adjusting the book so they both can see. The warmth of her body seeps into his side, a quiet comfort against the cold creeping in from outside. Kaidan turns his head slightly, breathing her in. Vilkas says she smells like sunshine and honey, but to him, it’s the familiar, clean scent of the soap she uses. Tonight, it’s floral and made from the flowers of Elsweyr.

Her voice is steady, a quiet melody weaving through the night, and he slips into sleep. In his dreams, Signe dances in a field overgrown with flowers, her laughter carried by the wind.

[stormkind]

Child of Akatosh

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

A snippet from the chapter

Signe stands before the door, memories flashing through her mind. How could she have forgotten this place? Forgotten the path that led here? The hateful door she once passed through so many times.

“You have to concentrate, Signe. Deep down, you remember the answer,” Kaidan says, his voice calm but firm.

The stone beneath Signe’s fingertips hums as the door vibrates. A whisper slithers from the wood, curling around her like a ghost from the past.

“What is the music of life?”

Signe closes her eyes, inhaling slowly. The memories are there, buried deep, shadows of a life she tried to forget. Her voice is steady when she finally speaks.

“Silence, my brother.”

The door groans as it slides open, revealing the dark abyss beyond.

“Welcome home.”

She presses a hand against Kaidan’s arm, holding him back.

“Stay outside,” she whispers.

Kaidan frowns. “No. Where you go, I go.”

Her fingers tighten against the fabric of his sleeve, but she doesn’t meet his eyes. “If I step through that door… it won’t be me. It will still be me, but Dark Sister will take over. The fear, the hatred…..”

Kaidan lifts her chin, forcing her to look at him. His voice is unshakable.

“Why do you think I’d abandon you?” His gaze is steady, unwavering. “This darkness inside you, it’s part of you. And I care about you, all of you. Even when the darkness takes hold, I’ll be here. We will bring you back to the light.”

One by one, they slip inside.

Vilkas grips Kaidan’s shoulder just as he moves to take his place beside Signe. His voice is low but firm.

“If you want to come with us, stay behind her. Protect her from anything coming from behind.”

Kaidan clenches his jaw but nods. He understands what Vilkas isn’t saying, if she loses control, you won’t stop her.

Farkas watches Signe with wary eyes. He had seen her fight once before when the darkness inside her took over and it was only the beast inside him that truly understood the carnage a single person could unleash. “Trust me,” he murmurs. “You don’t want to be in her way if she slips into the darkness.”

Inside, the air is thick with the scent of damp stone and burning incense.

A figure waits near the door, scales glinting faintly in the dim torchlight. The Argonian tilts his head, his slit-pupiled eyes narrowing as he studies the woman before him. A sneer curls his lips, but his voice is soft, almost resigned.

“Are you going to kill me, Deek-beeko?”

Signe’s face is unreadable, her eyes shine with an orange light, but something dark is slowly leaking into them. Her fingers flex at her sides.

“I might have spared your life, Veezara, if not for the warning you left in my home.” Her voice is quiet, but the weight of her words hangs heavy between them. “I thought you were my friend. But friends don’t leave threats. Not even in the name of Sithis.”

Veezara exhales, his tail flicking once against the stone floor. “Xhu (yes). It was a warning, but not from Sithis. It was for you, to be on guard.” His gaze rests on Kaidan for a second. “To watch those, you trust.” He takes a step closer, unafraid. “You will always be my friend, even if you kill me today.”

A flicker of hesitation passes through Signe’s dark eyes. Slowly, the black bleeds into molten orange, her grip on the abyss loosening.

She exhales sharply. “Go, Vee.” She jerks her chin toward the door. “Go back home and never return to Skyrim.”

Veezara nods and in a final show of trust, lays his sword at her feet.

“Maybe we will meet again, sihlaak (sister).”

Then, without another word, he vanishes into the night.

[stormkind]

Butterflies of Skyrim

[stormkind]

Child of Akatosh

https://archiveofourown.org/works/34044901/chapters/161823916

A snippet from the chapter

“Why can’t we travel by day?”

Vilkas scoffs. “Maybe because the people of Skyrim aren’t ready to see werewolves running around with a man on a horse.” He dumps the remains of Kaidan’s mug onto the fire. “And I can track Signe’s scent better as a beast.”

Kaidan shrugs. He wouldn’t have slept anyway, he only made camp to give Kiai a break and cook something for himself. Rolling up his bedroll, he secures it to the back of the saddle before fastening the twins’ backpacks.

From his perch atop the horse, he smirks down at the naked twins. Lightly patting Kiai’s neck, he mutters, “Hope you’re ready to run with dogs, Kiai.”

The two men shift into their beast forms, and Vilkas slowly approaches the horse. She shies away at first, but when he lightly touches her neck, trailing his paw down to her shoulder, she snorts and leans into the touch.

Kaidan’s eyes widen. “I’ll be damned. The horse likes you.”

“Animals can smell the human inside the beast,” Vilkas replies.

Farkas growls. “Are we discussing animal behaviour, or are we finding Signe?”

Kaidan snorts. “All right, all right. Let’s get moving before you start pissing on trees to mark the way.”

Farkas huffs, his lupine form shaking as if ridding himself of irritation. Without another word, he bolts ahead, a streak of muscle and fur disappearing into the night.

Vilkas lingers a moment longer, his glowing eyes catching Kaidan’s in the darkness.

“We’ll find her.” His voice is rough, a promise, not just to Kaidan, but to himself.

Then he, too, vanishes into the underbrush.

Kaidan tightens his grip on the reins and urges Kiai forward. Signe is out there, and he won’t stop until he finds her.

[stormkind]

When you test your new Solitude Dock mod (redoing my mod list), and forgot to run Nemesis

[stormkind]

Child of Akatosh

https://archiveofourown.org/works/34044901/chapters/161661886

A snippet from the chapter

The air thickens with the scent of damp earth and decay, the crisp bite of mountain cold fading into something heavy and cloying. Ahead, twisted trees rise from the mire, their gnarled roots half-drowned in murky pools. The rocky terrain gives way to sucking mud, reeds swaying in the stagnant water like grasping fingers.

Drajkmyr Marsh. The name forms on Signe’s lips, muffled behind the muzzle. How many days had they travelled? How many times had they pressed the phial against her face, forcing her to inhale their poison?

Astrid curses as the carriage jolts, one wheel sinking deep into the muck. She snaps the reins, but the horses snort in protest, their hooves struggling for purchase.

Festus exhales sharply and crouches to cut the ropes binding Signe’s ankles. His grip is firm as he hauls her up. “Try to run, and I’ll drop you with a lightning bolt.”

He waits, eyes sharp beneath bushy brows, and Signe nods lightly. Where would she run? With her hands still bound, she’d be easy prey for the creatures lurking in the marsh, the spiders, the leeches…

Her breath catches as a memory flash through her mind. Kaidan and his damned slime monsters.

She swallows hard, pushing it away. Now isn’t the time for memories.

The mud clings, thick and unyielding, dragging at their feet as if the marsh itself seeks to swallow them whole. Each step is a battle, boots sinking deep into the sludge, the waterlogged earth sucking at their movements. Shallow pools of stagnant water stretch between gnarled roots and tangled reeds, their surfaces rippling with unseen life.

A skittering sound breaks the uneasy silence. A spider, its bloated body glistening in the dim light, creeps closer, assessing whether they are prey.

Before it can lunge, a crackling bolt of lightning arcs from Festus’ hand, striking the creature mid-step. It convulses, twitching as charred limbs curl inward.

The lifeless husk tumbles into a pool, sending ripples across the dark surface. For a moment, all is still. Then, the water stirs. Something black and sinewy slithers beneath, wrapping around the spider’s remains.

With a sickening pull, the corpse vanishes beneath the surface. A few more bubbles rise, then silence.

Through the thick fog, the outline of a wooden hut emerges, and Astrid exhales in relief.

Festus nudges Signe toward the door. “Finally. I was starting to think we were lost in this muck.” He shakes his boots, trying to rid them of the thick, clinging mud.

Astrid shoves Signe inside and ties her to a chair before settling into a seat across from her. “That little Aretino boy was searching for the Dark Brotherhood. Grelod the Kind was, by all rights, one of our contracts, a kill you stole. Or was that a desperate attempt to earn our forgiveness? A plea for us to take you back?”

[stormkind]

Singing in Skyrim

Dragonborn and Vilkas are entertaining the citizens of Solitude during a festival.