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[TESV Skyrim AU] Skeevers Of War, Or The Saga Of An Improbable Commissar New To The Dovahkiin Army
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teslashark
One of the brother site’s janitors
- Location
- Somewhere
Disclaimer: Skyrim is owned by Bethesda. Real world products are owned by their respective trademark holders.
Warning: Contains multiple kinds of extreme political ideologies and satires of such. Contains characters (loosely) based on SB/SVers and/or people from stories told by SB/SVers.
++++++++
Chapter 1: A Place Where The Sky Ends
++++++++
2015; Nanyuan Airport, Beijing, China
A well-aged Y-5 transport biplane taxied slowly on a runway in front of a passenger jet, taking its time to run the full length even though it doesn't need to. The plane behind it is heading for Inner Mongolia, carrying roughly a hundred tourists and business representatives, but the biplane is going to somewhere much weirder with twelve almost-strangers on board. Only three of them are Chinese, which should be a warning sign for most authorities including themselves, but that's the least of the problems.
After about an hour's flight and climb at a crawling pace, finally out of sight from the airport tower, the biplane's pilot pulled out a purple shard of crystal from his shirt pocket then inserted it into a strange device haphazardly wielded onto the dashboard by his side. He spoke into the headphone intercom system the passengers are wearing:
"Don't be alarmed about what you see in a minute outside, our reception lightshow is coming up. A new world awaits!"
A blue ghostly pattern looking like an arch appeared in front of the biplane after a few struggles, and lightened up with ominous sparks and lightning. The plane flew into the arch without much of a fuss, then disappeared along with it without a trace.
++++++++
4E 511; White River hold, Skyrim, Tamriel
The plane emerged from the makeshift Oblivion gate smoothly and began a steady decline towards the east. The day is cloudy, its occupants from the other sphere of existence couldn't tell where they have arrived in simply by looking outside yet.
Beneath is a mass of wheat fields just harvested, but without any signs of farmhands or animals. Unfortunately, any possibility of dramatic silence is overwhelmed by the plane's engine.
The one person among these passengers who knows the least about the journey, yet most confident about its prospects is Red. This is a girl who decides a red hoodie is iconic enough to be her only identifying feature for most of her life, and fine with living with the nickname "Red" for the same duration. She came following the promise of work. A recent biology-sociology double major graduate at the Peking University, she ran into the man who lead her to this trip when senior year started. The pilot for the journey today.
That man's name is Bernt Bryson, an exchange scholar studying Asian history who came from Norway, not much older than her. He has taken part in a few history and political science events on campus, even hosted a few debate saloons where Red was introduced to the other two Chinese passengers. This man is clandestine in his practices, yet not sinister, too amiable and entertaining to be feared. He is looking for some kind of talent among his audience, as Red can tell, though his business doesn't seem to be political sabotage, international crime, or pimping.
On the day of graduation, Bernt gave Red his contacts for the first time, and told her to see him if she ever wants challenging work. Red encountered fierce competition for both employment and grad school in the weeks afterward. She turned to Bernt's proposal of "challenging work" - the man must already have some kind of approval in mind, surely, so why not give it a shot.
It turned out, Bernt is recruiting for a Norwegian disaster aid NGO that would use Red's expertise in both medicine and politics. The two older men he picked from the debates are wanted for similar but different values - they used to be in the Chinese military. Roger Yao, is a second-rate writer but a first rate communication specialist; the other one only known as Lang used to lead a tank platoon. Most of their future co-workers will be European, ranging from journalists to medics and military contractors.
The payments and conditions are reasonably favorable for a NGO or a mercenary outfit. Two years contracted administrative and medic work, extendible and retractable by 3-month increments, payment deposited in a HSBC account in Hongkong plus additional weekly allowance in local currency. Although, use of personal social media is strictly forbidden, to the point that Red has to leave all her appliances at home.
None of this surprised Red or put her off; She figured since the first generation of modern Chinese leadership was forged in a series of wars, she might as well go to Donetsk for a while, if only for the excitement.
"GAAN LAH HAAS."
The voice came from nowhere; it has no buzz from the headphones yet doesn't seem like anyone was shouting inside the cabin either. Red looked around, and saw everyone else doing the same; Lang opposite the aisle was trying to stand up but couldn't muster the force.
She was about to ask Bernt what just happened, yet he spoke first and it didn't sound assuring:
"Keep your heads down for turbulence, everyone, brace for turbulence."
Red bent down on her seat while trying to avoid the people to her side's heads crashing into her. This plane is designed to carry paratroopers with helmets instead of headsets or outside headsets, damn it!
Then, she noticed the engine buzzing stopped; static running in the headphone only lasted a few more seconds.
"I'll do a glide procedure! Alfhild, keep trying to get the engine back on!"
Bernt shouted at the copilot as he pressed himself back to the seat, using his full body weight to force the control stick and level the plane's wings out.
"FO KRAHDIIN!"
A strong current swept from under the plane, almost tipping it back, and Bernt had to loosen his grip on the wings before it flipped completely backward. No one in the cabin had a full stomach, fortunately, though Red heard a few muffled dry heave.
"KRII LUNAUS."
An invasive nothingness filled Red's mind. There was no fear, not even nervous reactions or rushes of adrenaline, she felt like her cognition has become detached from existence itself. The others - seasoned fighters and strong minded opportunists as they are - seem to have experienced the same.
The plane miraculously leveled itself without its occupants realizing; in a worryingly slow fashion it touched down on the wheat field. With Bernt and Alfhild still immobile, unable to apply brakes, it slid along the terrain and picked up speed in a downhill hurdle until a shallow creek caught its wheels and threw it onto its side.
++++++++
Red regained consciousness and control facing downwards, suspended by seatbelts. Lang and a few others on the opposite side, now the bottom, has already managed to untie themselves and reach up to help.
"Get that shit off, Red! Hurry up before the engine catches fire!"
Red took a deep breath, pulled the buckle open and fell downwards. Lang caught her by her shoulders and threw her towards the exit; indeed, the smell of kerosene is building up around.
She climbed out of the now-upward door stepping on the crossed hands of a British mercenary, and lifted him out in exchange; The Brit in turn hoisted Roger the communication specialist, with some pushing from Lang the muscular and overweight man came out without a scratch.
"Fucking miracle."
Red spat out half a lungful of oily air as she cursed. None of the ten passengers and two crew were seriously injured, thanks to the fact that the plane wasn't shot down by any kind of modern weapon. Thank all that is holy they didn't fall far from civilization, she thought, it won't take long for the local police and firefighters to take notice.
Bernt took a brief look at the crowd after climbing out of the broken cockpit, then went back inside. The copilot Alfhild and a man she called Fritz stood close, almost oblivious to the building fire. Minutes later, a fire extinguisher flew out from the window, followed by Bernt who's carrying another extinguisher and an army shovel.
The crew began spraying away at the engine immediately; Fritz crouched down and shoveled dirt onto the fire. Red couldn't help but get concerned for their bravery.
"Bernt! It's not worth it! Run!"
"I got this, Red!" Bernt coughed and replied her. The fire was easier to put out than Red thought, and once the flames died down Bernt dived back into the fuselage again, this time followed by Alfhild. Fritz began to check up the passengers:
"Who has a broken arm! A broken leg?"
"Well, fuck not bringing phones."
Roger commented as he walked up next to Red, who shrugged as a reply. Lang has some bruises, a British soldier coming together with the one who helped Red has a big cut on his leg, three other passengers might have broken bones though they can still walk. It will either be a long march or a long wait till they see another human.
"All right! Anyone who's not wounded get to help us work!"
Fritz announced as Alfhild emerged again. Help them work? Though, several men actually gleefully walked ahead, despite one of them just announced he had a broken bone a minute ago. Alfhild handed them shovels and recovered baggage, then went back to ransacking the plane again.
Yes, ransacking was the right word: The pilots haphazardly threw various onboard objects outside while Fritz and a few of the men following him pried the cargo section open with shovels and crowbars. Red watched them with even more disbelieve.
In a few minutes, all the valuables onboard was cleaned out, including the strange device in the cockpit and the onboard radio. Bernt took over Fritz's role to issue strange and worrisome commands to everyone:
"Folks, nothing's better than seeing all of your alive. It's our fault that we didn't think of every contingency, but you know we are the best. You are the best! Unfortunately, we have a long walk and have to bury what we can't carry."
Red spoke out.
"What's wrong, Bernt? What's wrong with... Everything? Why?"
"I have to be brief, but ask me later when we're safe."
She nodded for him to continue, and he called out to the crowd:
"Everyone who hadn't worked with me before, listen! The crash was enemy action! We have left China when the lightshow came up. It's a portal, but this isn't Ukraine. This is a place ten times as dangerous but a hundred times more in need of good people like all of you. The enemy is closing in on us as we speak, so we need to move fast."
"What's your plan for hauling ass?"
Roger asked, and Bernt reached into the pile of valuables to pull up a pair of PPS-43 submachineguns, to everyone's shock including the former's. Bernt handed one to the stunned Roger before answering:
"We'll go east, as fast as we can. Friendly territory is six hours' walk at least, judging from the pings before we crashed. Ten at most, but either way be better split half of it into tomorrow in case of fatigue. I can fix all of you up before we set off, but we can't carry everything and keep watch." Then, he walked up to the British man who hasn't been wounded and handed him the other gun, "We aren't burning them because the enemy will have air recon looking for smoke. Besides we might come back."
"Boss! The radio still works, we're buzzing the command."
Red saw Fritz holding more weapons in his arms walking towards them, and Alfhild giving an "okay" gesture. This seem to have brightened everyone's mood. Red was the first to take over a spare shovel and start digging; Lang and the rest followed suit soon. In the end, they buried most of the clothing, some cases of documents, the radio and the flight record device without complain or hesitation.
Warning: Contains multiple kinds of extreme political ideologies and satires of such. Contains characters (loosely) based on SB/SVers and/or people from stories told by SB/SVers.
++++++++
Chapter 1: A Place Where The Sky Ends
++++++++
2015; Nanyuan Airport, Beijing, China
A well-aged Y-5 transport biplane taxied slowly on a runway in front of a passenger jet, taking its time to run the full length even though it doesn't need to. The plane behind it is heading for Inner Mongolia, carrying roughly a hundred tourists and business representatives, but the biplane is going to somewhere much weirder with twelve almost-strangers on board. Only three of them are Chinese, which should be a warning sign for most authorities including themselves, but that's the least of the problems.
After about an hour's flight and climb at a crawling pace, finally out of sight from the airport tower, the biplane's pilot pulled out a purple shard of crystal from his shirt pocket then inserted it into a strange device haphazardly wielded onto the dashboard by his side. He spoke into the headphone intercom system the passengers are wearing:
"Don't be alarmed about what you see in a minute outside, our reception lightshow is coming up. A new world awaits!"
A blue ghostly pattern looking like an arch appeared in front of the biplane after a few struggles, and lightened up with ominous sparks and lightning. The plane flew into the arch without much of a fuss, then disappeared along with it without a trace.
++++++++
4E 511; White River hold, Skyrim, Tamriel
The plane emerged from the makeshift Oblivion gate smoothly and began a steady decline towards the east. The day is cloudy, its occupants from the other sphere of existence couldn't tell where they have arrived in simply by looking outside yet.
Beneath is a mass of wheat fields just harvested, but without any signs of farmhands or animals. Unfortunately, any possibility of dramatic silence is overwhelmed by the plane's engine.
The one person among these passengers who knows the least about the journey, yet most confident about its prospects is Red. This is a girl who decides a red hoodie is iconic enough to be her only identifying feature for most of her life, and fine with living with the nickname "Red" for the same duration. She came following the promise of work. A recent biology-sociology double major graduate at the Peking University, she ran into the man who lead her to this trip when senior year started. The pilot for the journey today.
That man's name is Bernt Bryson, an exchange scholar studying Asian history who came from Norway, not much older than her. He has taken part in a few history and political science events on campus, even hosted a few debate saloons where Red was introduced to the other two Chinese passengers. This man is clandestine in his practices, yet not sinister, too amiable and entertaining to be feared. He is looking for some kind of talent among his audience, as Red can tell, though his business doesn't seem to be political sabotage, international crime, or pimping.
On the day of graduation, Bernt gave Red his contacts for the first time, and told her to see him if she ever wants challenging work. Red encountered fierce competition for both employment and grad school in the weeks afterward. She turned to Bernt's proposal of "challenging work" - the man must already have some kind of approval in mind, surely, so why not give it a shot.
It turned out, Bernt is recruiting for a Norwegian disaster aid NGO that would use Red's expertise in both medicine and politics. The two older men he picked from the debates are wanted for similar but different values - they used to be in the Chinese military. Roger Yao, is a second-rate writer but a first rate communication specialist; the other one only known as Lang used to lead a tank platoon. Most of their future co-workers will be European, ranging from journalists to medics and military contractors.
The payments and conditions are reasonably favorable for a NGO or a mercenary outfit. Two years contracted administrative and medic work, extendible and retractable by 3-month increments, payment deposited in a HSBC account in Hongkong plus additional weekly allowance in local currency. Although, use of personal social media is strictly forbidden, to the point that Red has to leave all her appliances at home.
None of this surprised Red or put her off; She figured since the first generation of modern Chinese leadership was forged in a series of wars, she might as well go to Donetsk for a while, if only for the excitement.
"GAAN LAH HAAS."
The voice came from nowhere; it has no buzz from the headphones yet doesn't seem like anyone was shouting inside the cabin either. Red looked around, and saw everyone else doing the same; Lang opposite the aisle was trying to stand up but couldn't muster the force.
She was about to ask Bernt what just happened, yet he spoke first and it didn't sound assuring:
"Keep your heads down for turbulence, everyone, brace for turbulence."
Red bent down on her seat while trying to avoid the people to her side's heads crashing into her. This plane is designed to carry paratroopers with helmets instead of headsets or outside headsets, damn it!
Then, she noticed the engine buzzing stopped; static running in the headphone only lasted a few more seconds.
"I'll do a glide procedure! Alfhild, keep trying to get the engine back on!"
Bernt shouted at the copilot as he pressed himself back to the seat, using his full body weight to force the control stick and level the plane's wings out.
"FO KRAHDIIN!"
A strong current swept from under the plane, almost tipping it back, and Bernt had to loosen his grip on the wings before it flipped completely backward. No one in the cabin had a full stomach, fortunately, though Red heard a few muffled dry heave.
"KRII LUNAUS."
An invasive nothingness filled Red's mind. There was no fear, not even nervous reactions or rushes of adrenaline, she felt like her cognition has become detached from existence itself. The others - seasoned fighters and strong minded opportunists as they are - seem to have experienced the same.
The plane miraculously leveled itself without its occupants realizing; in a worryingly slow fashion it touched down on the wheat field. With Bernt and Alfhild still immobile, unable to apply brakes, it slid along the terrain and picked up speed in a downhill hurdle until a shallow creek caught its wheels and threw it onto its side.
++++++++
Red regained consciousness and control facing downwards, suspended by seatbelts. Lang and a few others on the opposite side, now the bottom, has already managed to untie themselves and reach up to help.
"Get that shit off, Red! Hurry up before the engine catches fire!"
Red took a deep breath, pulled the buckle open and fell downwards. Lang caught her by her shoulders and threw her towards the exit; indeed, the smell of kerosene is building up around.
She climbed out of the now-upward door stepping on the crossed hands of a British mercenary, and lifted him out in exchange; The Brit in turn hoisted Roger the communication specialist, with some pushing from Lang the muscular and overweight man came out without a scratch.
"Fucking miracle."
Red spat out half a lungful of oily air as she cursed. None of the ten passengers and two crew were seriously injured, thanks to the fact that the plane wasn't shot down by any kind of modern weapon. Thank all that is holy they didn't fall far from civilization, she thought, it won't take long for the local police and firefighters to take notice.
Bernt took a brief look at the crowd after climbing out of the broken cockpit, then went back inside. The copilot Alfhild and a man she called Fritz stood close, almost oblivious to the building fire. Minutes later, a fire extinguisher flew out from the window, followed by Bernt who's carrying another extinguisher and an army shovel.
The crew began spraying away at the engine immediately; Fritz crouched down and shoveled dirt onto the fire. Red couldn't help but get concerned for their bravery.
"Bernt! It's not worth it! Run!"
"I got this, Red!" Bernt coughed and replied her. The fire was easier to put out than Red thought, and once the flames died down Bernt dived back into the fuselage again, this time followed by Alfhild. Fritz began to check up the passengers:
"Who has a broken arm! A broken leg?"
"Well, fuck not bringing phones."
Roger commented as he walked up next to Red, who shrugged as a reply. Lang has some bruises, a British soldier coming together with the one who helped Red has a big cut on his leg, three other passengers might have broken bones though they can still walk. It will either be a long march or a long wait till they see another human.
"All right! Anyone who's not wounded get to help us work!"
Fritz announced as Alfhild emerged again. Help them work? Though, several men actually gleefully walked ahead, despite one of them just announced he had a broken bone a minute ago. Alfhild handed them shovels and recovered baggage, then went back to ransacking the plane again.
Yes, ransacking was the right word: The pilots haphazardly threw various onboard objects outside while Fritz and a few of the men following him pried the cargo section open with shovels and crowbars. Red watched them with even more disbelieve.
In a few minutes, all the valuables onboard was cleaned out, including the strange device in the cockpit and the onboard radio. Bernt took over Fritz's role to issue strange and worrisome commands to everyone:
"Folks, nothing's better than seeing all of your alive. It's our fault that we didn't think of every contingency, but you know we are the best. You are the best! Unfortunately, we have a long walk and have to bury what we can't carry."
Red spoke out.
"What's wrong, Bernt? What's wrong with... Everything? Why?"
"I have to be brief, but ask me later when we're safe."
She nodded for him to continue, and he called out to the crowd:
"Everyone who hadn't worked with me before, listen! The crash was enemy action! We have left China when the lightshow came up. It's a portal, but this isn't Ukraine. This is a place ten times as dangerous but a hundred times more in need of good people like all of you. The enemy is closing in on us as we speak, so we need to move fast."
"What's your plan for hauling ass?"
Roger asked, and Bernt reached into the pile of valuables to pull up a pair of PPS-43 submachineguns, to everyone's shock including the former's. Bernt handed one to the stunned Roger before answering:
"We'll go east, as fast as we can. Friendly territory is six hours' walk at least, judging from the pings before we crashed. Ten at most, but either way be better split half of it into tomorrow in case of fatigue. I can fix all of you up before we set off, but we can't carry everything and keep watch." Then, he walked up to the British man who hasn't been wounded and handed him the other gun, "We aren't burning them because the enemy will have air recon looking for smoke. Besides we might come back."
"Boss! The radio still works, we're buzzing the command."
Red saw Fritz holding more weapons in his arms walking towards them, and Alfhild giving an "okay" gesture. This seem to have brightened everyone's mood. Red was the first to take over a spare shovel and start digging; Lang and the rest followed suit soon. In the end, they buried most of the clothing, some cases of documents, the radio and the flight record device without complain or hesitation.
Scholar of Time
Master of Lurking
- Location
- Born of Sands, Raised in Shadow
I have no fucking clue what this is about, other than a few dragonshouts. It reads like an original novel's intro. More context, please - why is Brent suddenly involved in Skyrim? Why is no one freaking out about a portal? Just in general, WTF? That said, great grammar, good writing....just more elucidation, and a bit less Quentin-Tarantino-like choppiness.
teslashark
One of the brother site’s janitors
- Location
- Somewhere
Thanks for reading!
Bernt actually came from Nirn along with Alfhild and Fritz, about half of his employees have visited Nirn for some duration before. The new recruits weren't freaking out about the portal when it showed up because it wasn't very visible inside the plane; they are mostly staring at each other or trying not to. For reference, this is what the cabin looks like:
Scholar of Time
Master of Lurking
- Location
- Born of Sands, Raised in Shadow
This is more of an example of what I was talking about - I get that you have the story in your head, but this guy Roger? He's the only one you describe individually reacting, and all I get in the next sentence is 'shock', after which everyone promptly goes to work without fuss. That's....not natural. We need to see through your mind's eye, not glimpse the snapshot of you describing it as an 'unreliable witness'.
teslashark
One of the brother site’s janitors
- Location
- Somewhere
You're right, I'll put some more work into it.
Scholar of Time
Master of Lurking
- Location
- Born of Sands, Raised in Shadow
BRENT: All that shit I said about colleges? Lolnope portal dragon Skyrim bitches!
ROGER: ..bitch, are you high? Magic ain't real, and we were just in a crash - before I get cell service back and call the cops, Imma whup your ass.
BRENT: Why arent you getting to work, the enemy is coming?!
ROGER: Bitch is your name Gandalf? Do I look like a motherfucking hobbit? You high-ass norwegian fucker, did you think the pilot was the fucking Great Necromancer over here?
BRENT: *cocks gun*...get to work, you.
ROGER: Shit, all you had to say was "Shut up and work".....ain't got to pull a gun on a motherfucker.
ROGER: ..bitch, are you high? Magic ain't real, and we were just in a crash - before I get cell service back and call the cops, Imma whup your ass.
BRENT: Why arent you getting to work, the enemy is coming?!
ROGER: Bitch is your name Gandalf? Do I look like a motherfucking hobbit? You high-ass norwegian fucker, did you think the pilot was the fucking Great Necromancer over here?
BRENT: *cocks gun*...get to work, you.
ROGER: Shit, all you had to say was "Shut up and work".....ain't got to pull a gun on a motherfucker.
Last edited:
Scholar of Time
Master of Lurking
- Location
- Born of Sands, Raised in Shadow
Your work is great - just needs more detail, obviously you've got the goods.
teslashark
One of the brother site’s janitors
- Location
- Somewhere
Thanks! Actually you're not the first person to say what I wrote looks like they have been told by unreliable narrators, I think it's a problem that I have been imagining scenes like storyboards.
Scholar of Time
Master of Lurking
- Location
- Born of Sands, Raised in Shadow
Don't storyboard then - pretend you're each character, and remember that even if you choose not to share them 'in scene', each one has some perspective to communicate. The guy stuck in the toilet during the plane ride, the pilot, the squirrel in the tree watching the metal bird fall...Be the squirrel, Tesla - Be the squirrel.