Gray spots flared against the backdrop of black behind my eyelids, in time to the pulsing in my brain.
It felt like...like I'd been hit in the head. By...something. A concussion? Those could be...bad. Traumatic brain injury kind of bad.
What happened?
It was a struggle to open my eyes, but I had to see.
My first impression was 'White.' So white I had to squint until I could adjust. Always had sensitive eyes. I wasn't wearing my glasses, but...things were slowly coming into clarity nonetheless. That was weird enough, but...
I almost wished they didn't.
Blurry white soon resolved into shapes.
The shapes were people.
Bound by ropes.
Bouncing along in a wooden horse-drawn wagon following a winding cobblestone trail.
Woodenly, I stared at the man sitting opposite me in the wagon. Shoulder-length dirty blond hair. Blue-brown armor with chain-mail shoulders. To my right, an angry looking man in rich-looking fur robes, gagged with a strip of cloth. In front of him, a dirty looking redheaded man wearing a pair of burlap sacks.
I was also wearing a pair of burlap sacks, and they were very itchy in places.
I wanted to scream in sheer outrage.
Only for a moment, though. Screaming--Shouting--didn't come naturally to me.
It's okay, I told myself. It's okay. Just. Go through a meditative breathing cycle or some shit.
For a handful of moments, I closed my eyes and did nothing but breathe. Waited for my head to stop pounding. When I was certain I wasn't about to try strangling someone or screeching in their faces like a deranged madman, I opened them again.
...Okay then. So this was it. The Skyrim self-insertion had finally happened. After eight years of the game being released. About goddamn time.
"Hey, you. You're finally awake."
Nooo.
I held up a finger on my bound hands to silence the Nord.
Self-insert, I may have been; somewhat anticipated this, I may have done. I still thought it was such bullshit.
"Ralof of Riverwood, this is going to sound pretty crazy, but I'm fairly certain I know what's gonna happen in the next half hour."
It hadn't even been a minute and I was already so out of fucks to give.
My dead, fish-eyed stare pierced straight through the startled man.
I channeled my inner Jojo. "Your next line would have been, 'You were trying to cross the border, right? Walked right into that Imperial ambush, same as us, and that that thief over there.'" I'd had considerable practice mimicking their voices.
I swiveled to a staring horse thief, dropped my voice an octave. "To which you, Lokir of Rorikstead, would have said, 'Damn you Stormcloaks. Skyrim was fine til you came along. Empire was nice and lazy. If they hadn't been looking for you, I could've stolen that horse and been halfway to Hammerfell.'"
Part of me was very much amused by the dropped jaw. The rest of me was rather peeved.
Eyeing Ulfric, I added, "And you got captured somewhere around Darkwater crossing, and surrendered without a fight. Good on you for keeping your men alive."
Leaning back in my seat, I asked, "Now that I've established that I Know Things, would any of you like to have your immediate fortunes told?"
Silence.
"No? Too bad, I don't care."
My dull gaze fell back on Lokir. "Now you? Open your ears and listen very closely. No matter how scared ya are right now, when we get out, don't run. Just don't. Stick around, and you only might die. Run, and you'll definitely die, with a half-dozen arrows in your back before you've made it that many paces. All you have to do is wait. And keep an eye on the sky. Worse comes to worse, just ask the priestess to give you your last rites, it'll buy you time."
Meeting the hard eyes of Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak, I continued. "Once we're past Helgen's gate, you'll see a Thalmor agent you might be familiar with. Elenwen, the bitch who oversaw your interrogation when you were imprisoned during the war. She'll demand custody of you, General Tullius will tell her to fuck off, using politer language I'd imagine."
Better a clean death from a man like him than the tender nonexistent mercies of the Thalmor, eh?
Seeing as he was still gagged, he said nothing, but he grunted something, and his eyes were a bit more intent on me.
Back to Ralof, who seemed noticeably less turbed than he'd been a few moments ago.
"When we get free, at some point, you're going to come face to face with your old friend, Hadvar." I jerked my head to one of the men on horseback bringing up the rear of our caravan. "He seems like a decent man, just like you, so please do me a favor and not try to kill him when the chaos kicks off. I'd rather not see any more friends and brothers killing each other. That's what the Thalmor want, and I, for one, am not going to give those elves a damn thing."
Where was this confidence coming from? Being mouthy with a bunch of strangers didn't seem like me. Probably due to the newfound wellspring of spite simmering within me from living out this infernal meme. Or it might be Dragonborn shenanigans. Like, since when did you hear of a cowardly dragon?
Did I have Gamer's Mind? I wasn't seeing any little boxes or health bars. Fuck it, I'd figure it out after I slept on it.
Ugh. Silver lining. With any luck, this would be the last time I ever heard Ralof waking me up in a goddamned wagon. The total loss of the internet and being ripped away from my loved ones more than outweighed whatever minute benefit that could have been drawn from this, but shit, I was a beggar now. Couldn't be picky about my upsides.
I caught a glimpse of our driver giving us some side-eye, and I scowled.
"Eyes front, soldier. Distracted driving kills."
The Imperial stooge hurriedly turned back to the road before us, before jerking a bit when he recalled we were his prisoners.
"S-shut up back there!"
Aw, was someone spooked?
"Yeah, yeah…"
No one quite knew what to say in the face of all that. So we rode in silence for a few minutes. As my blood cooled, I actually began to feel awkward, now that my initial spiteful impulse had been satiated.
"Hah...look. I'm sorry. I'm being rude." My head fell into my bound hands so I could rub it. "I'm...not exactly at my best right now." I swallowed. "My last cognizant memory is going to sleep in my bed last night, at home...and now I'm here, freezing my ass off, and I've got visions of possible futures crammed into my head."
Not the whole truth. But not a lie, either. I mean, I could be wrong on every account. This might even be an alternate universe, but I doubted it. Worse case, I would just look extremely stupid for a moment. Then die when my head gets cut off.
I began subtly stretching my heels, rolling my ankles in preparation for the running we'd be getting up to in a bit.
"I'm a tad stressed right now."
Hesitantly, Ralof said, "You are forgiven, stranger. I...make no claims of understanding how you're so...surprisingly well-informed, but...these are trying times for us all." He smiled suddenly. "Well, Helgen awaits us. We will just have to see if your 'visions' hold water or if you are simply mad."
Done to death memes aside, Ralof always seemed like a decent sort. Hate to see him die here cuz I decided to not give a fuck and run my mouth.
I snorted. "Hah! You say that as if me being correct precludes me being mad."
Awkwardness...not banished, but lessened, we settled in to wait.
Something I found noteworthy was the fact that, unlike in the game, there were more than two carts of about eight beheadee's-to-be, including myself. There were easily double that number of Stormcloaks. A divergence.
Of course Tamriel was a much more detailed place than could reasonably be rendered on the buggy eldritch abomination Bethesda called a source code. This was a world, now--game devs couldn't put every last detail down.
Sure enough, we soon passed through the broad gates of Helgen, and indeed, we saw the yellowed skin of an elf on horseback exchanging heated words with the silver-haired General Tullius. Next to me, Ulfric's nostrils flared and he grunted angrily.
"Don't worry. They'll get what's coming to 'em, soon enough. Fuckin' elf Nazis," I muttered with similar vehemence. This was my life now. Best get hyped for slaying the enemies of mankind. Lord knows--Talos knows I needed to get hyped about something.
Ralof raised a brow, most likely not disagreeing, just questioning.
"Tell you later. If we live. Promise."
He'd seen Elenwen too. Not that he knew who she was, but the presence of a Thalmor agent and Ulfric's reaction gave my words some credence. "So...what should we expect, seer?"
Not sure what to make of the emphasis. I wasn't the greatest at reading normal Americans, let alone rebels/terrorists/freedom fighters from a video game set in a fantasy world.
Eh. Just do as I always did. Live according to whim, not worrying about what yet may come. Derailing things sounded pretty fun.
"There's a network of caverns under the town. When the roaring and the screaming starts, get there, that's your safest bet." A wry half-grin. "Trust me, you won't be able to miss it when it happens. It's not going to be safe to be above ground."
Helgen was...much bigger than it was in the game. And it smelled. What did I once read? The Empire had been on the verge of inventing flush toilets--then the Thalmor invaded. A lack of proper indoor plumbing could be laid at their feet. Yet another reason to wanna kill them.
More concerning was the people. There were dozens of them lining the cobblestone road, watching our procession pass by. Some threw jeers as they saw the rebel leader sitting next to me. This was a border town between Cyrodil and Skyrim, there must have been hundreds of people living here at the very least.
It really sucked that most of them were going to die soon.
Taking in the crowd, ignoring Lokir's muttered prayers, I sighed a bit.
"Take a good, long look, fellas. This is probably the last time you'll see Helgen full of life."
Lokir's praying intensified at that.
I wanted to shout, say something, warn them. But I was just a prisoner. If I raised a ruckus, no matter what I said I'd just be another yellow-bellied coward trying to delay his execution.
To Ralof, I said, "That girl from here you were sweet on, once upon a time? I'd pray she's long gone from these parts."
"Why?" he demanded in a hushed whisper. "What you're saying… What could possibly destroy a town such as this so quickly? With a force of Legion soldiers manning the walls?"
I kept my eyes sad and my gaze downcast; being flippant wouldn't earn me any points over a topic this weighty. "There's nothing we can do about it. It's going to happen no matter what we do. And by the time they realize they should be running, it'll already be too late. They won't evacuate at the words of dead men walking."
Easy to dismiss a town full of people dying in a game. That's just standard fare.
Children weren't immortal NPCs in real life, though.
After several minutes of trundling along, the carts finally came to a stop.
I kicked Lokir's shin to get his attention. "Remember. Don't. Run."
Then we were all bundled out of the cart. Hadvar had already dismounted and was now waiting for us with a quill and a clipboard in hand.
Fuuuck, that's right, I needed to invent pens ASAP. Like hell I was gonna write The Alluring Khajiit Servant or The Bodacious Orc Bodyguard using a goddamned quill.
What? A man needed goals for the future, don'tcha know? Tawdry porn parodies? I could do that.
One by one, my comrades-in-bonds were called forth. Ulfric went without a word; probably cuz of the gag, heh, but I couldn't tell what was going on in that guy's head.
With one last worried look back at me, Ralof went forth as well.
Lokir feebly protested his innocence, but, surprise surprise, meekly bowed his head and didn't run.
Huh. Look at that. I just saved a life. Life of a petty horse thief, but still a life.
"You there. Step forward."
That's my cue!
"Who are you, elder?"
"Geh- Wha- Elder? I'm only twenty-three!" I sputtered indignantly.
I wish I could say that took me by surprise, but by this point, it really didn't. I just looked old to some people. Especially when stressed or after pulling all-nighters. Think the bags under my eyes were permanent facial features at this point.
He snorted, chagrinned. "Sorry. The question stands."
I shrugged. "Still trying to figure that out myself, to be honest. Think I might be a mutt."
A mutt with British/Scottish ancestry, but I guessed I was blond enough to be mistaken for a Nord. An old Nord. FML. "My name's Archie. Archie Davison."
Hadvar pressed his lips into a grim expression. "Looks like you picked a bad time to come home, kinsman."
He squinted at me, then at his clipboard, before turning to his superior.
"Captain, what should we do? He's not on the list."
"Forget the list. He goes to the block," said the overworked and underpaid grunt officer who was no doubt sick and tired of this Stormcloak business. 'Off with their heads ASAP so we can all get on with our lives!' right?
Fuck her. See if I left her a 5-star review on Yelp.
"My most sincere thanks for the summary unlawful execution, Captain. You reflect great credit upon the impeccable moral righteousness of the Empire." I beamed cheerily. Exhaled and emptied my lungs.
Two quick steps and I was bent over the fist she planted in my diaphragm.
"Oof."
Eh. Few better opportunities for sass.
"I would say no regrets but I carry some regrets," I wheezed as she walked off without a word.
Hadvar glared reproachfully at her back, before sighing and looking back at me.
"I'm sorry. At least you'll die here, in your homeland."
I shook my head. "I appreciate the sentiment, friend, but I'm not from here."
"Still…"
"It's alright. Try not to die, Hadvar." I smiled mysteriously as I took my place next to Ralof among the men awaiting execution. Listened to General Tullius accusing Ulfric of being the usurper that he was.
That's when I heard it. Him. A fell Voice on the wind. The roar of an apex predator. A hungry god about to do some smiting on the impudent mortals.
So. I wasn't full of shit, and it was all actually going to happen. Big gulp.
There was a general shifting among the crowd, heads craning to look around, ears pricking as chills ran down our spines, though most knew not why.
Hundreds of people. Men. Women. Children. All of them were about to be burned to a crisp. Don't think about it.
"Here he comes," I said, not bothering to keep my voice down.
"Who?" Ralof asked hoarsely.
How to answer that?
It came to me. That first line of text, from the first loading screen. "'And the Scrolls have foretold, of black wings in the cold, that when brothers wage war come unfurled. Alduin, bane of Kings, ancient shadow unbound, with a hunger to swallow the world.' Never thought I'd see a prophecy being fulfilled in my lifetime."
Very nice, very poetic. All too real now.
"You...can't mean…"
The priestess started giving us our rites, and one fed up Nord boldly went to his death, full of fire. And, as it turned out when his head rolled into a box, blood.
I'd seen some of the beheading videos circling the net. Who hadn't? And I'd been in the military, so I'd considered it rather relevant.
Somehow, it felt a little different, here. Being close enough to hear the blood squirting from the stump and splattering on the ground. The whole 'gorge rising in my throat' thing would probably happen when I had my head forced onto the chopping block and had to stare into that bold Nord's dead eyes.
The roar came again. Much closer. Next to me, I could see Ralof's breathing quicken. Was this what building terror looked like? Don't think I've ever had cause to fear for my life like that. Still felt somewhat detached, but that was probably the concussion and the emotional numbness.
"Next, the bald Nord in the rags."
Ignore the dig at my hair situation. I was balding, not bald.
I curled my lip as I passed Tullius.
"When you see the dragon, I'd strongly recommend running for your lives."
There. Needed to be able to say I told you so.
He said nothing. Just empty words from a dead man, yeah?
White noise was playing in my brain, louder than thought. I was forced to kneel, my neck forced onto the bloodstained stone. Yep, there was the rising gorge. I was being coated in dead person juices.
The black armored and cowled headsman took his stance; he smelled rank. Should probably shower. The weirdest thoughts struck you on the precipice of death.
I didn't wanna die a virgin.
Time slowed as I turned my head to stare up, past his head. And I saw him.
With one last roar that felt like it was heard round the world, Alduin the World-Eater swooped past a mountain and landed atop a tower with a thunderous crash. It felt like he was staring right at me.
"DRAGON!" shouted a Stormcloak, and the dragon Shouted back.
The dragon was louder.
The sky split open and fire rained from the sky. An apocalypse called forth with Words writ on reality. The shockwave struck me like a blow, sending me rolling.
My ears were ringing.
Why wasn't I moving? Why wasn't I fleeing?
Someone was yelling at me--"Get up, seer! The gods won't give us another chance!"--but I could barely hear them. A hand seized the back of my burlap sack of a shirt, hauled me to my feet--Ralof, he'd gotten free--and we were running for cover.
I snapped out of the fugue once we were in motion, once my blood got pumping. We bolted into the tower, slammed the wooden door shut behind us.
I almost died. I wasn't. Ignore it. Push through. Don't stop.
The game had started.
What was next? What was next? The Stormcloak on the stairs, he was going to die! Move move move!
I dug deep. My hands were bound but my feet were quick. I bounded up the stairs, four at a time, legs pumping like pistons. A fellow former prisoner was digging through rubble. Alduin was about to Kool-Aid Man us.
No time to think, just movement. My hands seized the scruff of his chainmail shirt, my feet planted on the rubble he was trying to push past--why was he trying to dig up, freedom was down and away--and I kicked, hurling the both of us back down right as the dragon smashed his head through the tower's stone walls.
"YOL TOOR SHUL!"
Our skin blistered from the inferno's proximity, and we both yelled in pain as we fell down the steps, crashing into Ralof on the way. Loose rubble tumbled down with us, clattering around the tangle of limbs we'd become at the bottom of the stairs.
Somehow, someway, we failed to dash our brains out against the wall or floor. I only had bruises. Either that or I was swimming in so much adrenaline I wouldn't feel the loss of a limb.
We helped each other to our feet. I felt jittery. Needed to keep moving.
"That dragon just opened up a hole for us. Remember what I told you, get underground," I urged rapidly, before immediately jumping back up the stairs. Gods, I'd be feeling the crash from this rush later.
Hot-footing around the molten stone, I gauged the distance, broke into a sprint, and jumped like the adrenaline junky of a lunatic I was.
"I have got to be THE BIGGEST DUMB!" I screeched as I leapt from the hole, falling easily thirty feet into a burning inn.
I landed hard and crumpled onto my side, but, again, somehow miraculously without further concussing myself or breaking anything. Nothing sharp I could use to cut my hands free, that'd have to happen later. A quick dash across the room, shattered by magic meteorites, and I could drop to the ground floor, just in time to see Hadvar dragging a child away from his wounded father.
Catching me out of the corner of his mildly panicked eyes, the Imperial soldier shot me a look.
"You're still alive, prisoner?" he asked sharply. "Keep close to me if you want to stay that way."
"Yeah, sure thing!"
The dragon was back. It landed just before the weakly moaning man--"Torolf!" Hadvar called desperately--and drew in a breath I could feel tugging at me over twenty feet away. Not wanting to die, I slammed my back against the wall next to Hadvar, the kid, and an old man, as the son of the dragon god engaged in a moment of petty cruelty to immolate the poor man with another Shout of flame.
The kid started crying through the hands clapped over his mouth, and the old man had a tight grip on his shoulder. You could find the kid later, I vaguely recalled. A survivor from this nightmare. Poor little guy.
Petty cruelty indulged, Alduin took off to go be someone else's problem for a time. That was Hadvar and I's cue to run.
I was still trying not to think too hard about the horror of my surroundings. About how every pass of the dragon heralded the deaths of dozens of citizens. Oh yes, tried very hard not to think about that.
So we just ran through a town on fire, soaking in the lovely aroma of soot, death, and cooked flesh.
Smelled like charred bacon, to be honest. Pretty appetizing, actually. And no, surprisingly, I wasn't feeling that put off by the thought of eating meat. It'd take more than a bit of carnage to spoil my endless carnivorous appetite.
But seeing all the flame-broiled corpses along our mad sprint from cover point to cover point made it a very close thing. There were a lot of them, y'see?
Soon enough, Hadvar linked up with his general for his new marching orders, a cadre of mages slinging lightning bolts and fireballs like they were going out of style to ward Alduin away.
"Get to the keep, Hadvar, we're leaving! Move, soldier!"
No amount of wartime experience could have prepared someone for this.
"Told you!" I bit out as I bolted past. Bite me, you ornery cuss.
Catching up to Hadvar, I found him angrily squaring off with a newly armed Ralof, who looked at me.
"It seems you were right, seer, about everything. And I have a thousand questions as to the how, but that can wait. Now come with me if you want to live!"
"Don't listen to this damn traitor, prisoner! Stick with me and we'll get out alive!"
"No, no, NO! We are not having this bitchfit right here and now!" I thundered as I stood between them.
I threw my hands in the general direction of the great scaly flap-flap wrecking the town. "In case you haven't noticed, Skyrim is about to have a much bigger problem than a civil war! The dragons have returned, Alduin the World-Eater is literally right there, and the Imperials and the Stormcloaks need to work together! At least until they're dead and gone!"
I looked between the childhood friends turned bitter enemies.
"Can we do that? Just for today?"
It took a second, but the dragon was really good at encouraging haste.
"Aye… I think we can," said Hadvar.
Ralof snorted. "Think I can go a day without killing you, at least."
"Gucci! Now let's go, fuckin' hell!"
Hardheaded Nords. They were gonna be the death of me.
-.-.-
So. Ya boi's playing Skyrim again. In case you couldn't tell. It's time for A D V E N T U R E, lads and ladies!
Not exactly happy with the quality, but that's nothing new. I hate everything I write! Please, flagellate me with your words! Gib feedback!
Let's see how far I can take this, and how hard I can derail stuff! 'Ere we go, 'ere we go, 'ere we gooo!
Neat!
I'm imagining all sorts of butterflies...
shame you're still in your old body though...nobody ever seems to Insert as a different race....
Mods are good...
Hmm...
Better vampires, Dark Brotherhood+Thieves guild for good guys....havent played skyrim since it kept crashing on me....
Unlimited summons+reanimated thralls? few mods for that and thats bound to be useful...
...speaking of summons and thralls...arent summons kinda sapient? wonder if you can get them to like you, and therefore work better?
I wonder what mods you'll implement into the story, if any. Please let us know? Or give us a link to it when/if it pops up in story? I'm not really big into modding so I'd have to read a quick descriptor about it...
I have to say, though, what'll happen when he misremembers something? Or when he simply can't remember something? It'll be interesting to see both the fallout from it and the internal-panic he'll have once he realizes that his memory is fallible.
Also, if you don't mind, cutting back a little on the trollishness and assholery? Unless it's integral to his character. Because while it's understandable right now (extenuating circumstances of a Dragon Attacking) too much can make the reader begin to root against the main character. Because for an SI, these might just be game characters to play around with as desired, but to the denizens of Skyrim, they're all real people and act like real people, so the readers are going to read them as real people. And nothing says "you need a double dose of fist-in-the-face and 20cc's of humbling" like being a carelessly cruel asshole to everyone you meet.
As he is now, I give him a month before a village blacksmith hears him being anything less than polite to a villager (like a certain Whiterun kid, or a village elder) and volunteering to dispense with the aforementioned humbling. After all, small communities (especially in older times, like the setting of skyrim) stick together.
"That might be a shitty, annoying kid, but that's our shitty, annoying kid and we'll die before we let some stranger wander in and try to say things that he knows nothing about!" or "Oooh, so you're the dragonborn, eh? Well I don't care if you're Talos himself come to rid us of the Thalmor. You apologize to that poor girl, or I'm going to teach ya some manners and then you'll apologize to her. 'Cept through fewer teeth."
Chapter 2 is like 95% done. Gonna sleep on it, finish it, and hope Dorian doesn't knock out the power before I post it.
As always, please be sure to gib lots of feedback! I love it more than anything when my readers engage in polite debates concerning relevant lore and facts.
Finally. Fucking finally. A moment for breathing, not running.
We'd entered what must have been a barracks for the soldiers. The beds with fur blankets were looking more than a little appealing. But taking a nap with all the screaming and roaring was a dodgy prospect. And I likely wouldn't wake up again if I slept here. Not that I could have anyway; enemies being near and all that.
Hadvar fell into a chair, gasping for breath, as Ralof slumped against a wall to do the same. Me, I kept moving, limbs twitching and spasming. Stopping suddenly or bending over wouldn't help. I cooled off better when still in motion.
I took stock of my injuries. Seemed to be nothing but bruises and singed eyebrows. Which was weird. After a fall like that, I was surprised that my knee wasn't giving me shit.
After a few moments to calm down, Hadvar gestured to me with his still-drawn sword. "Come here, let me get those bindings off you."
A jerk and a slice, and I was unbound.
"Thanks, man," I said gratefully as I rubbed my wrists. I'd escaped Alduin with both hands tied in front of my back; now that I had all my limbs free, I'd be unstoppable!
"Take a look around, maybe we can find you some armor, or a weapon," he encouraged.
"Yeah, hah, this sackcloth is itchy."
"Pity we can't find something in better colors," Ralof muttered.
As I paced around the room, I checked the chests at the foot of the beds. Some were locked, but if I knew anything about military men, it was that there was always one lazy chucklefuck-
Bingo.
-who didn't bother. I would know, as I'd been one on occasion. All to my benefit.
A padded leather helmet that protected the back of the neck, some fur-lined boots with armored shinguards, and a set of light armor, Imperial standard issue. Looked something like a kilt. Never worn a kilt. Wasn't exactly a flak vest, but it'd have to do.
Loot acquired, I went back to the two, who seemed to be glaring at each other in silence. Better than killing each other, at least. "Uh...mind giving me a hand with this? Never worn armor like this, and it doesn't seem like we have time for me to puzzle it out."
Like everything, stubborn pride and foolishness had a time and a place, but it wasn't now or here.
Two minutes later, and I was the spitting image of an Imperial soldier, with a humble iron sword sheathed at my waist and everything. There was a bit of a draft on my thighs, but I could deal.
Yes, Ralof did grumble a bit, but it wasn't like we had a spare set of Stormcloak armor lying around. Not that I'd wear it if we had it, but it seemed rude to clarify that part.
"We better keep moving, before that dragon brings the keep down on top of us," said Hadvar as a sprinkling of dust fell from the ceiling at another roar.
"Yes, about that," piped up Ralof. "Dragon. Care to enlighten us as to how you knew it was coming, seer?"
"Long story. We can walk and talk."
We set off, deeper into the keep.
"The shortest, easiest to understand, and somewhat misleading version is, everything I've learned? I learned through the Elder Scrolls." The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, to be specific.
Speaking of that...
I was in a video game. Or a character in a story. Or both. I both was and was not real, a dream within the dream within the dream of a sleeping god. But I was still me, still a person, yadda yadda yadda, this whole existential crisis thing was nothing new, I had those when I had nothing better to do.
Fuck me, this actually simplified things for me. This cosmology actually had rules to know.
Oh yeah.
CHIM when, please and thank you?
...
I wasn't feeling very CHIMy. It seemed like something that would be noticeable.
Eh. Fine. Better than suffering rapid-onset critical existence failure.
Back in meatspace, having taken the lead, I felt more than saw the double-take behind me. The double double-take.
"You've read an Elder Scroll?" asked an incredulous Hadvar.
Not looking back, I waved my free hand. "Kinda sorta? Yes and no? Mmm...how to put it… Mm. Before I woke up on that wagon, thanks to Reasons I'm not comfortable discussing at the moment, I was possessed of a particularrr...perspective, shall we say. One that allowed me to understand the contents of the Elder Scrolls without being driven mad or blind as is usual."
Close thing, though. Remember kids: don't stay up playing Skyrim until 3am on school nights. Otherwise you might end up with mediocre grades and permanent racoon eyes, like a certain unnameable someone.
"And once I experienced the knowledge contained in the Elder Scrolls...well. I, uh, knew the future. Not all of it, of course, that'd just be crazy, heh, but a significant portion of important events to follow in theee"--weeks? months? years? Time was fuuucky--"months? To come? Events such as Alduin the World-Eater showing up, burning down the town, and fuckin' off to go resurrect all his dead dragon buddies."
"And you couldn't have warned someone?" Hadvar demanded. "Tried to avert this?"
"Flippant answer? I'm here, aren't I? Serious answer? No, I had no choice in this. Again: From my perspective, I fell asleep in my bed, and woke up in the wagon."
I let out a huff of air through my nose. "And that really bothers me. How did I end up wearing those rags, tied up and tossed into the same wagon as Ulfric Stormcloak? In fact...hang on a tic." My brow furrowed as I turned to Ralof. "The Imperials ambushed you at Darkwater Crossing, yeah? And I was found, allegedly, crossing the border from Cyrodiil. How did we end up on the same wagon to Helgen?"
Honest idle curiosity here.
"From what I recall...the original plan was to cart you all the way back to the capital for a proper sentencing, but General Tullius changed his mind," Hadvar offered hesitantly. "He was worried about possible breakouts, or a rescue attempt, so he took you to the closest Imperial-controlled town to prevent that, while still having a legitimate execution."
Ralof scoffed derisively.
"So my execution was legitimate, you say," I said lightly. The soldier flushed.
"You shouldn't have been tangled up in this. It was a mistake putting you on that block, an injustice. The Legion has done you wrong."
I waved it off. "Eh, not your fault. And it turned out well, so I can't get too mad."
Not for the dude before me, though. Sucks to be that guy. Nothing I could have done for him without drawing undue attention to myself. His response was practically guaranteed after that priestess failed to say Nine.
The low sense of self-worth had its advantages at times. Being super-chill about almost being murdered was one of them.
Turning to Ralof, I asked, "You got anything to add?"
The blond Nord said, "As far as you're concerned, I could have sworn I saw you take a shield to the head back when we were ambushed. You seemed very confused, then very unconscious right afterwards." Ralof chuckled, and I couldn't help but gigglesnort. Jokes at my expense tended to be the ones I laughed hardest at.
...This was a longer hallway than I anticipated, we'd been walking for a bit. Right, bigger world, bigger fort.
What was the next encounter? Oh, the first fight, intro to combat. If he was chosen as your starter friend, Hadvar tried to talk things out, but got nowhere, whereas Ralof didn't bother; not that that bitch of a captain would have been amenable to a truce.
"Ah, pause one moment." We stopped. Boy, it sure was nice to have people listen when you told them to do things. "There's most likely going to be either a pair of Stormcloaks in the next room, or a pair of Imperial soldiers. And whichever they are…"
I looked meaningfully at their different uniforms. "...Will not likely take kindly to the continued breathing of their opposites. How are we going to avoid any unnecessary bloodshed?"
Both men seemed troubled. Their truce would definitely fall apart if their comrades were being attacked in front of them.
"Maybe I should've stayed in the rags. Might've bought me time to talk things out before they jump for the violent solution," I mused aloud as I rubbed my scruffy chin.
"We could try reasoning with them," suggested Hadvar, reasonably. His was the cooler head of the boys from Riverwood.
"We'll just have to tell them what you told us," declared Ralof. "We can go back to killing each other once we don't have to worry about the dragon."
Fuck it. Sounded like a plan. Hell, might even work.
While I typically joined the Legion in my playthroughs, I trusted the Stormcloaks more, oddly enough. They seemed to live up to the noble warrior tropes they constantly espoused, more often than not. It'd be easier to deal with if it was them.
I just brokered this treaty, I didn't want it to be broken so soon. I'd get sad if one of these two died. Sadder, anyway.
We heard them before we saw them.
"We need to get moving. That dragon is tearing up the keep."
"Give me a minute, I'm out of breath."
Waving the others back, I crept up to the gate to take a peek. Confirmed what the words suggested in my memories. Two warriors in blue, a man and a woman.
I made eye contact with Ralof and jerked my head forward. "Stormcloaks," I whispered. "You'll have to take the lead. They'll respond better to a friendly face."
He nodded resolutely, and stepped into the light. As a precaution for mine and Hadvar's sakes, we kept the iron-barred gate shut and locked.
"Froda? Hjoing? Is that you? You've made it!"
"Ralof!"
"You lived!"
The two rushed to meet their comrade through the gate. I could see their relieved expressions from here.
"What of Jarl Ulfric? Is he…" The woman trailed off, fearing the worst.
"I do not know for certain, we were separated in the confusion. But if anyone could make it out of this mess alive, it'd be Ulfric Stormcloak," Ralof said firmly.
"Damn right you are!" agreed the man. "Well, what are we waiting for? Open the gate, and come with us!"
Ralof turned to look back at us. "Yes… There's been a complication."
"We've made a truce, just for today," Hadvar said gravely, coming into view, me beside him.
"Hullo!" I greeted with a smile and a wave. "Nice to meet you!"
Predictably, their first instinct was to jerk away from the gate and grip their weapons.
"Ralof, what is the meaning of this?! You're working with the Imperials?" demanded the woman.
I raised a finger. "Slight correction, not an Imperial. Just needed the armor. More comfy than itchy prisoner's rags." I pointed at Hadvar. "He is, though. But yeah, I asked these two for a truce. In case you haven't noticed, dragon. Outside. Currently killing everyone. Huge, black, and scaly, ya couldn't have missed him. He's kind of a big problem, ya see?"
The two shared a look.
"I'm not working with them, we're just not killing each other. And only for today," Ralof pressed, stepping forward to grip the bars of the gate. "As soon we're free and clear of this place, we can all go back to the way things were. But first our people must be warned. The dragons have returned, the holds will be completely defenseless!"
Hadvar stepped up alongside Ralof. "I am willing to keep my blade in its sheathe if you are willing to extend the same courtesy to me. I cannot speak for the Legion...but after what's happened here, General Tullius might be amenable to a temporary truce, at least until the dragons are dealt with. And according to our friend here..." He eyed me appraisingly. "There's going to be more than that one to worry about."
The blond looked at his Imperial counterpart, and said, "I may not like him...but I know Hadvar. He's a man of his word. So if he says he's not going to stab us in the back, I'm inclined to believe him."
"And just in case you need further incentive…" Hadvar fished a key from a pocket and dangled it before them, smirking. "I have the key to that door behind you."
I choked down a gigglesnort as the Stormcloaks' expressions soured.
-.-.-
We were a sullen, surly, silent, group as we trekked deeper into the keep, full of suspicious glares and fingers wrapped around weapon hafts.
Well, they were. I tried to be a good sport about things, happily answering the questions Ralof or Hadvar fielded.
"So, if you can really see the future, who wins the war?" asked Hadvar. Hjoing and Froda seemed content to follow our lead. I could feel their curiosity. Or that feeling was just their eyes boring holes into the back of my head, but that was just a long-winded way way to say curiosity.
"It's not set in stone yet. Uh, to clarify, I saw multiple different possible futures. And I'm no longer seeing them, mind you, I'm going off of memory at this point--and my memory can be a very imperfect thing."
Note to self: Acquire pen and paper. Er. Ink, quills, and paper. Make notes.
I wasn't smart enough to pull a major uplift, but a damn pen? That I could do.
"So, to answer your question, I've seen victory play out for both sides. Jarl Ulfric will drive out the Legion, be crowned High-King, and make Jarl Elisif bend the knee, or he'll die in the Palace of Kings, and Skyrim will be brought back into compliance by General Tullius. It all depends on the right people making the right decisions and acting at the right times--and what all of those right things are, I am not going into at this moment."
I shook my head ruefully. "In either case, no one really benefits but the gods damned Thalmor." I held a hand up and out to the side. "Stormcloaks win, the Empire loses out on a province worth of taxes and a recruiting pool of brave, tough, honorable warriors, and Skyrim is left to fend for itself against the depredations of the Aldmeri Dominion, which, I feel compelled to note, stalemated the Empire when Skyrim was still a part of it."
Holding up the other hand, I continued. "Whereas if the Empire wins, well, that's still a lot of dead and disheartened Nords, and the Legion will have bled itself dry when it should be recovering its strength for the next round versus the Dominion. And the Thalmor will continue to carry people off in the night for the 'grave crime' of worshipping the god who founded the Empire."
Shrugging, I finished the placid-toned rant by saying, "Both sides have very valid concerns, and they need to be addressed, but mark my words, no matter who loses the war, the Thalmor stand to benefit. And I, for one, am rather upset with that."
Hoped I gave them something to mull over. I think the other Stormcloaks were warming up to me. Must have been the 'death to the elves' vibes I was putting off.
Er. Not all the elves, some were chill. Just the Nazi-looking ones. I was an American, I'd been culturally indoctrinated since birth to wanna kill Nazis.
"What about the dragon? It can't be a coincidence that it decided to burn down Helgen the day we capture Ulfric Stormcloak," said Hadvar.
"Sorry to disappoint, but Alduin's presence had nothing to do with Ulfric's. See, a long, long time ago, a bunch of ancient Nord heroes fought Alduin at the Throat of the World, but couldn't kill him, as they didn't have a Dragonborn around to finish the job. So they did the next best thing, read an Elder Scroll, caused a Dragon Break, and made him someone else's problem to deal with hundreds to thousands of years in the future. My dates are a little fuzzy so I don't know the exact time."
I held my hands up helplessly, as if to say, 'What can you do?'
"So, yeah. We just had the spectacularly bad luck to be born in the era Alduin's banishment ended. Now we gotta deal with it."
Ah. Now there was a familiar spiral staircase. Even had a cart with some cabbages in it. I stuffed one into a knapsack I'd liberated. I pronounced it kuh-nap-sack in my head, but not aloud because that would be weird.
"There should be an old storeroom ahead. I'd recommend grabbing some food for the road while you have a chance. Unless you're confident in your ability to live off of the land--which I, being the city boy I am, most decidedly am not."
Really was regretting not pestering my command to send me to one of those wilderness survival training courses during my service. Not that that would have come anywhere near close to preparing me for walking in the winter wonderland that was Skyrim, with all its many, many dangers and horrors. It'd be better than nothing.
When we reached the bottom of the stairs, I held out a hand.
"Wait for iiit."
"Wait for wha-" Hadvar began to ask, before another furious roar reverberated through the stone walls, and the ceiling before us collapsed, blocking the way with rubble. "Damn!"
I looked back at my posse. The shocked looks from the rubble and back to me were making me feel so goddamn smug. Dangerous levels of smug.
"Alduin really wants someone in this town dead," I said bemusedly. "Might be me. Or it might be one of you lot. I don't know for certain."
Blatant lie. It was me. It was all me.
Though, having either Ralof or Hadvar be the actual factual Dragonborn might be cool. Would that make me the NPC? Hoped I was a plot vital one in that case!
No way to tell unless we all happened to be standing near a dead dragon, saw who ate the soul. Food for thought. Pretty sure it was me, though.
I sauntered up to the door and pressed my ear against it. I couldn't hear any voices within.
Hoped there weren't more people in there. This ragtag truce was held together with twine and prayer; more prayer than twine. Or maybe more twine? The twine was metaphorical, but prayer was serious business around these parts.
Additional people would make this balancing act of trust more complicated. The higher the number of people, the smaller their collective intelligent decision-making capability shrank. Exacerbated by Nords being a people prone to acts of passion, not cool logic.
The rebels would definitely get pretty steamed when we came to the torture room. Steamed enough to make a poor decision? Possible. Very possible. I'd have to tread lightly. And possibly quickly. Not wanting to kill anyone here, my actions could only involve running.
I pushed the door open, and was greeted by no one and nothing. Just an empty storeroom. About to be made a bit emptier.
"Grab what ya think you'll need, we ain't coming back. Not sure anyone is."
The group tentatively split to fill their own bags.
I hummed as I stuffed my sack with loaves of hard bread and an entire wheel of cheese. Some tiny apples for flavor, a bag of carrots… I was set. Not a feast for kings, but it was definitely good enough for lowly little me, until I reached civilization and acquired myself a stable source of income.
I slowly chewed some softness into a bite of surprisingly flavorful bread as I watched the others. No surprise, Hadvar was left on his lonesome, the Stormcloaks clustered into their little group and keeping their distance. I waved when I saw Hjoing and Froda shooting me furtive looks, which had them hunch and dig into some barrels further away. Heh.
Soon, our group had gathered all we needed. We were as ready as we could be, so we left, headed deeper.
For their sakes, and mine, I hoped the torturers were already dead and/or gone.
"The torture room," Hadvar muttered. "Gods, I wish we didn't need these."
"You don't," I said, voice clipped. "Torture is just a means of letting you hurt the other guy without the possibility of them fighting back. Getting information comes second. It's sick."
The soldier couldn't argue.
Fortune smiled upon us. For a certain definition of fortune. The dimly flickering torches illuminated a grisly scene. We were the only ones among the living. A mangled corpse wearing the same kind of rags I had at the start was dangling from a cage suspended off the ground. Two bodies wearing Legion armor were marinating in pools of their own blood, one of them sans head. The charred bodies of what seemed to have once been two Stormcloaks lay around the room. All of them sported horrid looking burns on their exposed skin. Scorch marks marred the walls.
The torturer had been a mage, hadn't he? Difference between the game and real--dream--life. People weren't just big red bars of HP, numbers to be made smaller through attack damage. Magic was powerful, not puny. These Nords weren't able to just ignore being drowned in flames and lightning. I could almost see it play out. With his apprentice to tie them down, the torturer must have been free to roast away. And the torturer, as his name implied, was not a kind or considerate man. The apprentice had his share of scorch marks too.
Ralof's face seemed to be carved from stone, his gaze locked on the bodies. His comrades were glaring daggers at Hadvar. Hands were clenching grips and hafts.
The silence had grown...tense, shall we say.
Quick, distraction from the building righteous rage.
I exhaled extra loudly, and looked to Ralof. "Is there anything you want to do for them? Or are we going to keep moving?"
His comrades looked to him for guidance. I had long assumed that he was a corporal equivalent, just as Hadvar was.
The words took a moment to come, but they did. The Stormcloak locked eyes with his Imperial counterpart. "I will honor their memories when we are free. But there will be a reckoning for this. Mark my words," the warrior said lowly, receiving a slow nod and a grim expression in turn.
Best we could hope for, really.
Ralof and Hadvar were mostly the same person at their core, just in different uniforms. In the game, they served as your dude-bro-friend battle buddy for the Civil War questline. Hadvar would probably be just as outraged--and rightly so, if we were escaping a Stormcloak prison.
We needed to keep moving. But before we did...
I gingerly stepped around the corpses to a little table with a knapsack on it. And a little black book.
There it was. The Book of the Dragonborn. History, a written prophecy, further proof if I needed it. Or at least strong circumstantial evidence. A book such as this, laid in our path during our escape from a dragon attack? The Divines must be watching.
A quick skim of its pages confirmed that I didn't have to waste years of my life learning another written language. If I'd been denied literature in addition to everything else I'd lost from my old life, I definitely would have gone full psycho.
Really, the Dark Brotherhood seemed like wonderful people; what was another deranged murderhobo among their ranks?
Hah…
Part of me wanted to wave the little book in their faces and run my mouth about its contents. Wow and awe them with secret lore that only I knew, that only I could bring into context.
But the macabre scene around us was a poor stage for my ego. I wasn't in the mood. And neither were they. So I just stuffed it into my pack. I'd read it later. Solid book, definitely more than the handful of paragraphs it had been in game. Well within my ability to polish off in an evening.
We needed to keep moving. But first...
"Wait...there's something in that cage," Hadvar said suddenly.
Ah, the mage in the cage. And his wage. And some page.
...I needed someone to take a look at this head wound. That or a healing spell. Cuz really, what the fuck, brain?
"He's a dead wizard. Imperials left his coin purse and his spellbook in with him," I commented. Far be it from me to criticize someone else's carelessness when I stood to gain from it. "Anyone know how to pick a lock?"
Should've pestered my roommate for lessons. Useful life skill.
Seeing the shaking of heads, I eyed the warhammer still clenched tightly in a dead man's death grip.
"Sorry about this, brother."
I pulled it free, and cringed at the cracking noises the action produced.
"Sorry," I said again.
Hefty thing. Not to my style. Much preferred to have a shield. One behind the caged counter in the corner, if I recalled correctly. A good shield covered both offense and defense. This was all offense.
A rap tap tap to gauge my swing…
"Rah!"
And the metal lock crumpled like paper.
Confirmed. I was superhuman. Well, superhuman in comparison to my old self, that's for sure. As if tumbling down about twenty stone steps and sticking a thirty foot fall without serious injury wasn't proof enough.
"Nice swing," Hjoing said approvingly.
"Beginner's luck," I demurred, setting the hammer down and pulling the door open.
Plus one Unlimited Power For Dummies, plus one tiny leather bag of Septims.
I didn't touch the dead man's enchanted robes. Stripping people for their gear made sense if you had a need for it, a need I didn't have right now. That and I didn't want to leave these guys with a sour impression of me. If I was right, there'd be no end of necromancers and hedge mages willing to donate theirs, anyway.
Loot secured, I looked to the others.
"Chin up, lads. And lady. We're almost free. Only a couple Frostbite Spiders and a bear between us and freedom, if I'm not mistaken.
…
"...Oh. Shit. Giant spiders. I don't like spiders."
I saw Ralof shiver, suddenly.
I agreed 110%.
-.-.-
I had another goal, now.
I wanted to set the entirety of Skyrim on fire.
Every plain. Every mountain. Every forest. Every cave. Every Oblivion plane. Even the lakes and rivers, just to be safe. There might be more hiding in them.
Just to be absolutely sure I got every last goddamn motherfucking panic-inducing giant-ass arachnid.
That was all that needed to be said about my first encounter with spiders the size of me.
I was not a small man.
Whatever aura of whimsical mystique I had been cultivating. Whatever sense of mystery and coolness I had inadvertently surrounded myself with. Let me assure you, it was dead and buried. Taken behind the shed and executed, rolled into a pine box and left six feet under.
There is no recovery from terrified little girly-man shrieking.
As it turns out, terror, disgust, dislike, and the power of sheer NOPE NOPE NOPE were sufficient inspiration to learn how to set things on fire with your mind.
That was the only plus to be found here.
Not worth it.
So not worth it.
Good a place as any to end it. Wanted to write the actual spider fight, but I was running out of steam, needed to push through and get it done before I let it sit too long. As always, dear readers, I hope you enjoyed! Next up is the Stones, Riverwood, relationship counseling, and a goddamned break.
Loving this fic so far with his no shits given attitude. Wonder if he convince the stormcloaks and imperials in truce and fight the dominion through logic and facts. Although he really should write down important events and loot areas. Gotta grab all those non demonic/daedric artifacts of power for all the advantages.
Also wonder how his approach to alchemy will be since eating everything to see effects is a no go in real life with all the toxic and immoral things you can stuff into your mouth in the game. Potions were my main currency in the game just picking everything to make potions to sell. Although that may be my hoarder instincts in game considering I literally had 2 cauldrons filled with loose gems for the hell of it.
Also what will he be specing into? Magic, archery, weapons? Considering what I read looks like two handed weapons, armor, and some magic for utility(always no flames for utility in the frozen wasteland that is Skyrim) and some mild healing to patch yourself up.
As it turns out, terror, disgust, dislike, and the power of sheer NOPE NOPE NOPE were sufficient inspiration to learn how to set things on fire with your mind.
Also what will he be specing into? Magic, archery, weapons? Considering what I read looks like two handed weapons, armor, and some magic for utility(always no flames for utility in the frozen wasteland that is Skyrim) and some mild healing to patch yourself up.
I really like the protagonist's personality, especially the way he thinks about things. All too often SIs are pessimistic, mentally deficient or just way too sardonic! It's fun to read about someone who is fun.
I'm also pleased that you've managed to make this truce work. Comparing what's happened so far to other Skyrim fics i've read gives this one a real fresh feeling.
Always bad to have some summons. Especially without gameplay guarantees.
First thing to learn is fire evocation, because cold. It also good for obscuring vision in combat. Normally, lightning would be better, but since Nords are not blue, they pad the armor. And an armor where non-conductive material is on the inside and conductive on the outside is known as Faraday cage.
So, elemental component would be severely decreased against armored enemies.
Then, healing and escape spells.
Without game limitations, it should be possible to set a healing spell on your throat and spam the Voice like it's going out of fashion.
In game, once you've called something up, it will remain somewhat stable, with easily appraised parameters and special requirements.
Once you've bound your summon into a bow, for example, it will be a bow until dismissed, unless stated otherwise.
Here, it might not only scheme behind your back with other summons when still bound, it could also get lucky and bite your head off while you're trying to put an arrow into a dragon and weakened from combat.
TLDR: Stats are not worth it if the weapon/creature is only good for butchering trash mobs. You need to not only be able to put down what you summon, but also all your summons together. Lack of game interface (limited omniscience) allows for hidden loopholes, turning a profitable art into a Devils' bargain.
Always bad to have some summons. Especially without gameplay guarantees.
First thing to learn is fire evocation, because cold. It also good for obscuring vision in combat. Normally, lightning would be better, but since Nords are not blue, they pad the armor. And an armor where non-conductive material is on the inside and conductive on the outside is known as Faraday cage.
So, elemental component would be severely decreased against armored enemies.
Then, healing and escape spells.
Without game limitations, it should be possible to set a healing spell on your throat and spam the Voice like it's going out of fashion.
Without in-game limitations, you're going to literally blow villages to pieces or worse with only an Unrelenting Force. Thu'um is severely underpowered in gameplay, and it's far more ridiculous in lore. A scrub like Ulfric was able to blow down the gates of Markarth, and Miraak's duel with Vahlok and his allies resulted in Solstheim being yeeted off the mainland as collateral damage.
In game, once you've called something up, it will remain somewhat stable, with easily appraised parameters and special requirements.
Once you've bound your summon into a bow, for example, it will be a bow until dismissed, unless stated otherwise.
Here, it might not only scheme behind your back with other summons when still bound, it could also get lucky and bite your head off while you're trying to put an arrow into a dragon and weakened from combat.
TLDR: Stats are not worth it if the weapon/creature is only good for butchering trash mobs. You need to not only be able to put down what you summon, but also all your summons together. Lack of game interface (limited omniscience) allows for hidden loopholes, turning a profitable art into a Devils' bargain.
To be fair, many lesser Daedra aren't fully sentient. Many have the intelligence of animals at best and aren't going to do much after being bound to a particular form. The particular problem that you speak of comes mainly from intelligent Daedra like the Dremora, Aureal or Mazken, whom are fully sapient and are capable of causing the problems you mentioned.
Without in-game limitations, you're going to literally blow villages to pieces or worse with only an Unrelenting Force. Thu'um is severely underpowered in gameplay, and it's far more ridiculous in lore. A scrub like Ulfric was able to blow down the gates of Markarth, and Miraak's duel with Vahlok and his allies resulted in Solstheim being yeeted off the mainland as collateral damage.
And now, imagine 60 of those each minute. Because that's how many Unrelenting Force shouts one can vocalize if they try. Oh well, nice seeing you status quo...
So long, Skyrim landmass!
Crossposting to drum up more responses. Trying to puzzle out some distances. At a leisurely walking pace, it took my character roughly nine minutes to get to Riverwood from Helgen's secret exit.
Bearing in mind that Skyrim the province is fuckhueg, by what multiple should I increase the time/distance covered so the two towns aren't literally rubbing shoulders? Need a good multiple I can expand the whole province by so I can make somewhat accurate, non-gamey travel times.
A friend suggested making every minute an hour of travel time, but that seems to clash with Hadvar's/Ralof's claim of Riverwood being "not far." Also, the group would be marching, so if a casual walking speed is 1.0, theirs would be more of a 1.3-1.4.
Don't sweat the small stuff. Just be consistent and coherent in plot. Narrative casualty determines things anyway and putting hard numbers on it means that you're worrying about them adding up whilst also needing characters to be in certain places, an example
"It took us less than week to reach Markarth from whiterun last time, but the return took a fortnight and a day due to inclement weather, detours around landslides, and Forsworn ambushes on the rise since Ol'Maddy got out of Cidnah."
That comes of as reasonable and doesn't interrupt the flow of the story. Also back to weather a snow storm happening in Whiterun while you're making your way to Falkreath is going to slow your journey down a small amount. Whereas a sudden Snowstorm as you head into the Pale towards Dawnstar is a major delay.
Approximation is your friend in stories. I hope this helps.
Brother turned against brother... hopefully this little microcosm of unity against a larger threat will convince the superiors. Because I'd hate for Hadvar to be executed for "working with the enemy" or "failing to kill the turncoats"
Some seriousness in a solemn moment. I like this. Of course, I read it as a quiet apology for the dead rather than Macho Man Randy Savage trolling. But I like this. Shows that there's more to the character than foreknowledge and quips.
"You don't," I said, voice clipped. "Torture is just a means of letting you hurt the other guy without the possibility of them fighting back. Getting information comes second. It's sick."
Always nice to see some characterization through minor things. This shows that he's not the kind of person who revels in another's pain, or the type of person who stops seeing "enemies" as people. He recognizes that torture is horribly inefficient and centered around causing pain more than gaining information. He recognizes this and, because he has no great love for inflicting pain, reviles it. Yes. I like this.
