"Hey, you. You're finally awake".
What. The. Fuck? When did I fall asleep? Who the fuck is talking. I can't see, my eyes are bleary, so I must have been sleeping. I try to move my hands apart to rub my eyes but they're bound together. That's concerning. I use my bound hands to awkwardly to rub the sleep from my eyes. That's better, but without my glasses this fuzzy world will probably be as good as it gets. I see blurry Christmas Tree, only they must be huge and not Christmas trees. They live on some kind of lumpy slope. I can make out large gray boulders if I squint hard enough. The air is crisp, cool and tastes oddly good. I didn't know the air could taste good. The lighting tells me it's either morning or evening, I can't tell which. I come from a flat humid area and we're clearly nowhere near that.
"You were trying to cross the border, right? Walked right into that Imperial ambush, same as us, and that thief over there."
I've heard this before…. The words are familiar but the voice is different… but the most damning piece of evidence is the horse drawn kart I'm in. Unless I've been abducted by some very confused Amish or dedicated role-players, I'm in Skyrim.
"Damn you Stormcloaks. Skyrim was fine until 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. You there-" I see a vaguely dirty man gesture to me. "You and me, we shouldn't be here. It's these Stormcloaks the Empire wants."
There is no way this is happening. Skyrim is a video game. I am a real person. I try blinking, hoping to wake up. My eyes start to focus more clearly on the original speaker, a muscular man with blue eyes and blond hair.
"We're all brothers and sisters in binds now, thief." the blond man states flatly. I can see him more clearly now. He's wearing chainmail with some quilted leather vest on top and a long blue scarf around his neck that covers the rest of his front. Fuzzy fur boots with what look to be leather plates guard his legs. I know this man. His name is Ralof. Damn it.
I don't want to be in Skyrim. I want to play Skyrim from the comfort and safety of my home in my little goon cave. Where my computer is. Where indoor plumbing exists. Where the largest spider size on the planet is only cat sized.
"Shut up back there" barks the Imperial soldier driving the cart. I forgot he was there…. His back is broad and he's wearing the familiar leather armor of the Empire, which looks broadly roman in origin. Except their is no Rome here.
To be clear it's not all gloom and horse sized spiders. My position in the kart during these event's suggest that I am the main character of the game, the mythical Dragonborn of ledged. But even if I'm a dragon demigod waiting to be unleashed there's still one big problem.
Do I come back if I die? Is this real?
Everything seems real enough. My binds are tight, the wooden planks of the kart are rough, as are the rough rags I wear. I smell the pines, and the unwashed men in this cart, tempered a bit by the chill of a Skyrim morning. I know it's morning now because that's when the game starts. My heart quickens as the reality of the situation sets in. We're headed to an execution. I gauge the other men in this cart, looking for signs of intelligence higher than artificial intelligence. Ralof keeps looking ahead mostly, the horse thief's eyes dart around constantly, the fourth and final passenger broods silently. To be fair he is gagged. The final passenger is a strongly built man with a mane of chestnut hair and matching circle beard. He his outermost layer is a blue coat with fur inlay that extends at the neck giving the faint impression of a lion. He wears underneath a matching set of greaves, boots and breast plate with unique but simple Nordic carvings that depict various aspects of a bear.
"And what's wrong with him, huh?" the horse thief says, breaking the silence. For a second I thought he meant me, but he gestures to Ulfric.
"Watch your tongue." barks Ralof. "You're speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak, the true High King."
"Ulfric? The Jarl of Windhelm? You're the leader of the rebellion. But if they've captured you... Oh gods, where are they taking us?"
"I don't know where we're going, but Sovngarde awaits." Ralof says resigned.
"No, this can't be happening. This isn't happening.", the horse thief laments. The dirtiest and scrawniest of the three Nords here, he's in similar rags that I'm wearing with dark grimy brown hair. I guess I could be a Nord too but It's hard to tell without a mirror.
They all seem real enough. Hadvar, a young Imperial Nord, is riding behind us and adjusts in his saddle. He's the Npc that acts opposite Ralof and represents the Empire early on. We are surrounded by notably more Imperial soldiers than in the game, and most of them are doing similar human things like adjusting or scratching. That one is outright picking his nose.
It's so weird seeing this whole world play out with perfect physics or just plain physics I guess. I so desperately want to ask Ralof questions for more context about the world but I hold back. My guaranteed survival possibly depends on everything playing out almost exactly as it did in the game. Any deviations could possibly be the end of me and confusing the men in this kart about the metaphysics of the universe might cause something different to happen.
I bundle my nerves and steel myself. Helgen, the town we're stopping at, should be coming up any time now. The clop of the horses hooves a clock our inevitable doom, which seems to be taking entirely too long. By the Gods I hate the waiting, the Gods damn waiting. It's quiet. Too quiet. Everyone's stopped talking. They haven't said anything for awhile now. Ralof normally just kept talking in the game with almost no pauses. Hell, we should be in Helgen by now dodging flaming dragon boogers. What the fuck is going on?
It took some time but the excitement has worn off and now I'm too tired to be tense. And now my brain understands. Skyrim, the GAME, is a scaled down approximation of the world the game developers wanted to immerse it's player's in. That includes time, distance, people, and it's events. It's a fantasy simulator first and foremost. If a game makers did succeed in building everything to scale it might take causal players multiple lifetimes just to complete the main game. That's why there are more soldiers this time. Because why would only one soldier be guarding the leader of a large rebellion? Looking ahead I can see that the number of captured Stormcloaks with us is also larger. I count at least ten carts filled with rebels, most much more packed than ours. Riding with royalty has its perks I guess, rebel or no.
I still can't see the village but at least it makes sense now. There's a quaint farm outside Riften, a provincial capital in Skyrim, home to the Thieves Guild and a major hub of commerce. The farm itself is no more than thirty seconds walk from the Riften main gate. I can't for the life of me remember the names of the farmers but I remember from one of their scripted dialogues they mention that they're about an hour walk from Riften. In the game you can shoot arrows from the farm to the guards standing at the Riften main gate from that farm. Hell I think you could probably shoot over the walls and into the city. If that farm is lore accurately one hour from Riften then it might still be hours till we see Helgen since I have no idea where the game starts. No sooner had I thought this did I smell smoke on the wind.
"Hey, what village are you from horse-thief?" Ralof says, continuing his dialogue word for word from the game.
"Why do you care?"
"A Nords last thoughts should be of home" Ralof says, staring down at Helgen.
"Rorikstead. I'm from Rorikstead...."
We all stare at Helgen. My worst fears are confirmed. Looking back at us isn't the small fortified settlement from the game but a sprawling military complex that would be at home in the last siege of any fantasy epic. Fire and noise seemed to be its main exports. Wooden spike walls erupted at some corners I can see now not from neglect but out of necessity as the settlement grew out over the course of this war. This looks like it went from a town of less than one hundred Npcs to a town of thousands. I might be doomed.
"Shor, Mara, Dibella, Kynareth, Akatosh. Divines, please help me." pleaded the horse thief and I silently agreed with him. My one hope was that the number of enemies I would have to face would stay relatively the same as in the game. That just wouldn't be true anymore. The game engine itself could only show a limited number of Npcs to begin with. Whatever engine I'm in, whether it be a game or reality clearly doesn't have that limit.
"General Tullius sir, the headsman is waiting!"
"Good, let's get this over with" said the man who was unmistakably the General. A nearly full head of white grayish hair sits atop a man of what I guess would be average height. I believe him to be middle aged and his face would look right at home on an ancient Roman coin. He rounds the corner on his stead to argue with the Thalmor agents that have come to try and take custody of Ulfric. Elven supremacists who's only desire is to destroy the world of men. They would prolong the war by having Ulfric 'escape' custody later.
"Look at him. General Tullius the military governor and it looks like the Thalmor are with him. Damn elves, I bet they had something to do with this!" Ralof growls. We're too far to hear Tullius's conversation with the elf nazis and there's no reason for anyone in this kart to know the Thalmors true intention.
"This is Helgen." Ralof muses as we travel Helgens streets. "I used to be sweet on a girl from here. I wonder if Vilod is still making that mead with juniper berries mixed in. Funny, when I was a boy Imperial walls and towers used to make me feel so safe."
I want to feel bad for the guy but I'm about to barf butterflies. My logic brain knows that the Dragonborn survives Helgen easily but my instincts are screaming at me as we get closer to the top of this rollercoaster. I've barely noticed the town up till now but now the people and murmurs are getting hard to ignore. Townsfolk are pushed to the side by thee soldiers to keep the karts moving. We've got even more Imperials surrounding. It's only a matter of time before we see the headsman. Sure enough we round one last corner to see a familiar courtyard only now ten times bigger than I remember it. The towers are larger, maybe a story or two taller and significantly wider, with thicker walls. The execution area is now an actual platform. It looks like it's on a slightly raised stone bed where maybe a speaker would present, maybe a drill sergeant. Standing there now are two people with a half dozen Imperial soldiers behind them. One is a female in dull orange yellow robes and the other is a ugly looking brute of an executioner, dress in all black with unnecessary chains forged with overly long links. General Tullius must have arrived by a more direct path, unencumbered by a kart, and is already walking to what looks like hastily prepared seating for him and his aides to watch the coming slaughter. Our karts start lining up by along the wall one by one.
"Get these prisoners out of the carts. Move it!"
"Why are we stopping?" whines the horse thief.
"Why do you think? End of the line" resigned Ralof. "Let's go. Shouldn't keep the gods waiting for us."
"No! Wait! We're not rebels!" the thief shouted, and was promptly ignored.
"Face your death with some courage, thief." growled Ralof. I was easy for him to say. Sovngarde, a kind of Valhalla, was most definitely waiting for him. Not so for the thief and I.
"You've got to tell them! We weren't with you! This is a mistake!" the thief hissed.
"Step towards the block when we call your name. One at a time."
"Empire loves their damn lists." Ralof moaned, flatly ignoring the thief.
This scene plays just about the same way as the game version did. A rough looking female Redguard captain barks orders for the first two karts to be unloaded and processed. She mutters something to Hadvar, who now up close reminds me a bit of Hercules with how his Imperial armor fits on his large Nord frame. He scribbles something on the parchment and starts reading names.
"Ulfric Stormcloak. Jarl of Windhelm."
Ulfric says nothing but leaves us to go to the block.
"It has been an honor, Jarl Ulfric!" Ralof says as his Jarl passes, and many more rebels in blue say similar things as he passes by to the execution square.
"Ralof of Riverwood."
Ralof leaves too. I notice neither he nor Hadvar even so much as look at each other. They're from the same village so maybe there's some bad blood there or maybe Ralof is just another rebel to Hadvar and unlike the Jarl isn't worth looking at.
"Lokir of Rorikstead."
"No, I'm not a rebel. You can't do this!" Lokir pleads to the unimpressed pair of Imperials.
In the game the player is saved by the appearance of a dragon who represents the literal end of the world. Call me selfish, but I really don't want to rely on a flying apocalypse to accidently save me. Unfortunately I lack quite a lot of agency at the moment. My best bet is to shrink into the crowd so I can be in the best position to run when the time comes. For that I'll need bodies. And one of those bodies is about to run away, just like in the game.
"You're not gonna kill me!"
That's my cue. I stick my foot out and trip him before he even realizes he's falling. He hits the ground with a thud, making a small noise as the wind leaves him. He rolls over covered in a fresh layer of dirt to stare at me as I quietly shake my head. He gets hoisted up roughly by the captain "On your feet scum," but stares at me the whole time even as he's led away by more soldiers.
Hadvar seems surprised but quickly regains his composer when the captain returns. He squints at his list, following something with his quill before looking up and asking, "Wait a minute. You there. Step forward. Who are you?".
Ahhh. This is the part of the game where the world would stand still and you'd get to create your character, easily claiming your first few hours of game time. I wish it would stand still for me. It's not often you get to choose your own name. If this world wasn't created yesterday then the poor sod who had this body before me probably already had a name. Too bad I haven't the faintest inkling of what's real right now. I take stock of myself, realizing I haven't looked at myself since I got here. I'm definitely thinner than I was in my previous life and probably shorter too, although I'm probably just not used to the average height of the native Nord's yet. Previously I was a male approaching thirty who lifted weights for strength but also didn't watch what he ate too closely. Basically fat but strong enough to lift your mom. This body looks soft but much smaller, almost like a… oh shit. I squeeze muscles below the belt and get a shock. I've got a penis but I also think I have a vagina? Never had one so I'm not sure...
"Name?" Hadvar asks again. The Captain clears her throat. Shit, I'm out of time.
"Alexandria…God…Fang" I chew out. It's cringe. I knew it as I said it but I ran out of time. Alex is a pretty flexible name and if I live I was definitely going to try to become a werewolf anyway. I was half a synapse away from Moonfang. Hopefully I can change it later but the name shouldn't be too out of place in the Elder Scrolls universe.
"You from Daggerfall, Breton? Fleeing from some court intrigue?" Hadvar remarks, scribbling down my information.
"I was raised in Cyrodil but when I came of age I wanted magical schooling. Money was tight so I ended up falling prey to warlocks who ended up using me. I managed to escape and tried to head for the College here in Skyrim before getting caught up in this mess." I say as convincingly as I can. I can whip up bullshit in a hurry but if speech skills are still a thing it may not matter. It's not that far from the truth, the College of Winterhold is top of my places to go, if I live. At least now I know I'm a Breton.
"Captain. What should we do? She's not on the list." Havdar says. There is a slight plea to his voice and I can tell that he believes me at least.
"Forget the list. She goes to the block" the captain says, popping my hope.
This bitch.
"By your orders, Captain. I'm sorry. We'll make sure your remains are returned to High Rock. Follow the Captain, prisoner."
As soon as the captain commanded my death Hadvar shut down all empathy. He knows my name and that I'm not from High Rock, but refused to acknowledge either fact. The bit about returning my remains was slightly more concerning. Either its standard procedure to send remains of slain enemies to their native homeland or he's following Npc scripted dialogue due to hidden world mechanics. Looking up as I follow the captain I realize the Redguard is not as well built as I would have expected from a member of a warrior race. Wiry maybe but for someone who wears heavy armor I expected a little bit more beef. Perhaps she's more administration than frontline.
We reach the execution platform and I search for the next of my meat shields who would offer himself up too early. I don't really remember his face but I do remember he reminded me of a redheaded stepchild. I scan the heads and walk behind the likely redheaded suspect. He's close to Ralof, so I pretend to stand next to my kart buddy. When the last of the rebels are sorted the Imperials inform the General and get into position. General Tullius stands up and turns to Ulfric, who's been somewhat separated from the rest of us, having been positioned probably for this very purpose.
"Ulfric Stormcloak. Some here in Helgen call you a hero. But a hero doesn't use a power like The Voice to murder his king and usurp his throne." Ulfric Stormcloak, once mighty Jarl of Windhelm, can only strain against his gag in response. Tullius continues, "You started this war, plunged Skyrim into chaos, and now the Empire is going to put you down, and restore the peace."
Ulfric cannot reply but the two men share a gaze of pure hate. Just as the stare down started to feel like it had gone on a little too long a distant roar perfused the air.
"What was that?" Hadvar said after jumping a little.
"It's nothing. Carry on." Tullius replied distractedly, heading to his seat.
"Yes, General Tullius." eagerly barks Captain Bitch. "Give them their last rites."
The priestess nods and begins her sermon. "As we commend your souls to Aetherius, blessings of the Eight Divines upon you-".
The redheaded Stormcloak agitates and makes to move. So do I.
"For the love of- OHUG!" A meaty thud cuts him off. As soon as the redhead started to move I nailed him with a swift kick to the cooch. He falls face down, ass up, holding his taint.
"-for you are the salt and earth of Nirn, our beloved… Oh dear…"
"What's going on over there?!" an irate Captain Bitch is starting to round on us, clearly trying to impress the General.
"He just fell down in prayer ma'am. It's hard to get down with these bindings, so he fell." I lie. The redhead is still twitching on the ground but he does manage a soft "You... bitch…"
As soon as the focus was off us I whispered to the puddle that is the angry redhead rebel and say "Let me have my rites. Didn't you fight this war to worship your god? Well I'm about to die for it so let me worship mine in the last hour of my life."
He says nothing but stands back up gingerly, eyeing me wearily while guarding his balls. The priestess resumes droning on.
"Arkay teaches us that death is natural and to be accepted."
"... even now Mara's love envelops you all, despite…"
I'm pretty happy with myself. With this we should have much more time for the dragon to show up and save the day. There's just one thing nagging at me currently. He should be here by now. Aside from that faint roar (which I'm more and more convinced was just the wind) I haven't seen so much as a crow fly. Is the world too big now for him to come in time?
"...Debella has given you this beautiful day…" The priestess continues on and I start to listen for any noise at all out of the ordinary like my life depends on it.
A sneeze.
Awkward coughing.
Shuffling feet.
Equipment gently clanking.
Soft sobbing.
Wind flapping through banners.
Two large braziers burn behind the stone platform, cracking merrily.
Small birds chirping.
"This is boring." A boy complains behind us. He's swiftly disciplined.
My gaze lingers to the platform, a glint catching my eye. The executioner's ax is outlandishly large and its edge polished, waiting for my neck. Its darkened metal gleams as if to challenge any who would disturb the peace. I strain so hard now I think I can hear the void, the absence. It's an endless vortex of dark metal, swirling and grinding. It starts to get louder and louder. The noise is coming from the ax. I can see it now on the edge of the blade. It's reaching out. It's drowning out the priestess. What is she saying? I can't hear her anymore. Oh wait, she's just stopped talking. She's looking at me. Why is she looking at me? Can she see it too? Does she know It's after me? The void gets louder and drifts past the executioner's face. He's looking at me too. He gives me a strange look with his good eye. That good eye fades into darkness as that terrible screeching envelops everything around me. It's too fast; the endless darkness has already consumed everything. I can still barely make out the executioner's blind eye, a milky white dot in the distance. The tiny dot grows and morphs into a skull. Now impossibly large I can feel its gaze through empty sockets unblinking. I start to feel other gazes upon me now. Now there are more eyes; blue eyes, brown eyes, hazel and green eyes! More and more eyes sprout from the void, all staring at me. The void has so many eyes! A pair of blue eyes moves towards me aggressively. I can't move. I'm just a pair of eyes. Eyes can't move. The blue eyes get so close I see individual blood vessels in those bloodshot orbs. So close now I can see my reflection. I'm actually kinda cute~. The blue eyes shake me and I blink with eyelids I don't have. Now Ralof is shaking me. He's saying something to me.
"I don't envy you sister but you gotta move, before they take you in for torture!"
Everyone's staring at me and Captain Bitch even has her sword drawn. Oh. I get it now. Not only is the dragon not here on time, I'm going first. And I'm hallucinating from the stress. All right, plan A and plan B have failed. Time for plan C.
Crying.
I step toward the platform and fall to my knees.
"In the name of Stendarr I ask for mercy!" I cry out. "I am a citizen of his Imperial Majesty's Empire. I had neither sword nor blue cloak upon my capture. Whatever else you believe my crimes to be, I am not of the rebellion. I ask for fair trial, as is my right." My voice rings throughout the square as I use every bit of myself I can in the plea.
For a moment the town is silent. Everyone looks at me and then to the General. His face is expressionless for a moment but then when mood of the crowd impresses on him he becomes annoyed.
"Denied. Procced with the execution soldiers." he says as if this was the obvious answer. Many look uncomfortable, but no dare question the General.
"Yes sir!"
"To the block prisoner, nice and easy."
These absolute bitches. Fine. Plan D then. Dramatic.
A sliver of Oblivion opens behind me with a sound of warbling reality. From within a ghostly wolf steps out. I'm hunched over in a pretend despair to hide the magic in my hands. I need to buy as much time as possible, even seconds count. There's an immediate uproar but the situation is just confused enough that no one moves to stop me. The wolf dashes before anyone can move, following my intentions as I concentrate my will through it. I wasn't even sure I could cast magic before this. In-game every new player gets access to the flame and healing spell regardless of race, no questions asked. Some races know additional spells like the Bretons, my personal favorite race to play. They get the spell Summon Familiar, and it works exactly like it sounds. The wolf is bound to my will and will even follow commands as able. The wolf easily out speeds the reactions of everyone here and I could have used it to attacked almost anyone. I desperately wanted to give that Bitch some payback before I died but Summon Familiar takes all my magicka to use.
The wolf lunges at my intended target with a vicious snarl. Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak now lays on his back writhing madly as my wolf tears at his face. I stand up . I need to see this next part. The wolf lunges and snaps at the Jarl's gaged face as he tries to fight back. But the Jarl is bound, and the wolf is vicious. Finally the wolf spirit hits the mark. I fill my lungs with air. I'll only get one shot at this or it'll be all over. Where's that damn dragon!?! My familiar, job done, calmly steps off the mauled Jarl. I can see the damage has been done. I loose a vicious war cry directed at the captive Stormcloaks
"You can die bent over like whores or you can die standing! Are you true Nord's or not!?!"
Ulfric looks up at me dumbfounded, his gag now torn from his face. Everyone does. Stormcloak, Imperial and townsfolk just stare. Then there's pressure at my back and a warmth flows down my spine. I look down and see a sword jutting from my stomach. My legs give out and I'm on my knees before I know it. A boot pushes me further as it's owner retrieves their blade from my body. The stones are cool, relaxing even. There's a growling. Bite her crotch, wolfy.
"Stupid mutt, I killed your master, go back to hell already!" I hear the bitch yell.
There's a crack of thunder and a wind so powerful it sits me back up on my ass. Ulfric must have shouted. Stormcloaks roar in response. Chaos erupts, I think. I hear a dog whimper as my body slowly sinks back to the ground. I'm barely conscious but I can somehow still sense that my familiar is gone. That's it then, guess I'm dead. This sucks. As pessimistic as I was about trying to survive here I was really looking forward to trying the whole hero/adventurer thing out. To die here in Helgen without even seeing the dragon is unbelievably disappointing. There's another thunder crack, a much gentler breeze caresses my cold face. I guess those Stormcloaks are still going at it. I can hear large chunks of rubble falling, maybe Ulfric blew a weak spot in the wall to escape? I bet it looks cool. People are rushing past my body now, bumping into me. Then someone shakes me.
"Come on Breton, get up!" Ralof shouts above the noise.
I can only moan in response. He reaches around and picks me up princess style. I'm only vaguley aware of it, trying to hang on not out of self preservation but in gratitude to Ralof trying to save me.
"Inside, now!" calls another voice, followed shortly by the slam of a wooden door.
"Jarl Ulfric, what is that thing?" Ralof says, leaning me against a wall. "Could the legends be true?"
"Legends don't burn down villages. Tend to her as quick as you can. We need to move." Ulfric replies
I'm laid against the wall next to half a dozen injured rebels. I'm really cold, which I know is a bad sign. My magicka is returning but I don't know how much longer I can wait. Concentrating my will I raise one of my hands and cast Healing. A golden light swirls my body and I start feeling warm for a moment. The magic lasts only for five seconds, my magicka had not recovered anywhere near as quickly as I hoped, but I feel alive at least
" You can use healing magic? That's amazing!", the medic says.
"Yes, but I only how to heal myself." I say guilty looking at the other wounded." Sorry"
"It's more than enough." Ulfric states turning towards me. Before he can say more the tower we're in shakes as something roars overhead. I guess the dragon showed up after I got stabbed.
"We need to move, now!" yells Ulfric.
"Up through the tower, let's go!" Ralof urges, pulling me up. I'm not healed at all and the pain takes the strength from my knees but Ralof puts my arm around his shoulder and climbs the spiral passageway. At least my guts aren't spilling out anymore. We come across a Stormcloak at the first landing, moving rocks. I remember him and desperately try to yell, but pain chokes my diaphragm.
"We just need to move some of these rocks to clear the way!" he says.
Boom. The tower wall bursts open.
"Get back!" Ralof says, twisting me away.
A gout of flame pours through the hole and finishes off what was left of the poor rebel. A massive black shadow leaps from the tower and flies off leaving us with what remains of our friend. The Nord's flesh is still bubbling, hair burnt off, smelling like a macabre barbeque. Fighting the urge to vomit I can't help but feel like I should have tried harder, damage organs or not.
Ralof and I tentatively gaze out of the smoldering hole the dragon made. The sky is twisting. Meteors are falling. People are screaming, burning, dying. The daylight has turned to a diffused twilight, unnatural enough to cause minor panic on its own. All heighted by the constant swooshing of wings. The roar of an apex predator. Alduin, The World Eater, circles the town like a hawk while the people run like hapless chickens. The Imperials are mounting a defense, but it's hopeless. Comparing Alduin to a hawk and humans to chickens is beyond generous. He is the being that dictates the end of time by eating all of existence. The game doesn't do it justice.
"See that inn on the other side." Ralof says, pulling me out of the moment. "Jump through the roof and keep going!"
He points to a thatched roof in easy jumping distance with a hole from where Alduin must have blow off the thatching when he came by earlier. He sets me off his shoulder and my insides lurch just from holding my own weight.
"Go! We'll follow when we can." insists Ralof.
If I were doing this with no prior knowledge I might have told him to fuck off, but I know this is how the player leaves Helgen in the game. Gritting my teeth I jump, hands still bound by cordage, down into the destroyed inn. Despite my injury I easily clear the distance but land hard. My insides pulse and roil with white hot squiring pain. I retch blood. Rolling on my stomach I cast Healing. It lasts only a few seconds but the pain relief is immediate and I can stop squirming in agony, settling instead for breathing heavy. It takes several minutes before I can move again. I hear voices. Two men are pleading with a young boy. I recognize Hadvar. He and one other are begging a little boy to abandon his father. I crawl myself up and gingerly make my way through the ruined inn.
"What are you doing? Get off the road!" I see an old bald Nord shouting through the holes in the inn. He's wearing in what I think is a set of very rusty iron armor.
"Hamming, you need to get over here. Now!" Hadvar yells.
I gingerly climb down a dresser to the first floor. Almost outside now I can see the boy Hamming running from a bloody lump of a person in the road.
"Atta boy. You're doing great!" Hadvar says as the boy draws close to their hiding spot.
There's a smile on the wounded man's face, even as doom crashes behind him. A monstrous ebony shadow, several times bigger than what I remember, thunders down to overfill what was a fairly wide street. He doesn't appear to have scales, just a skin of dark light-eating metal. It's needlessly sharp and curves wickedly wherever the dragon's form ends. Wherever there are divots or natural creases on the beast the light just seems to just disappear, save for his two massive glowing red eyes. Alduin opens his maw, a mouth that could fit three men easily in its depths, and breathes a stream of blinding fire.
"Gods, everyone get back!" Hadvars voice cracks in the immediate heat. They retreat behind a ruined house next to the inn, covering Hamming.
Skyrim the game doesn't really prepare you for the horrors the fire damage causes. The Npcs just flop over dead, maybe with a fire texture still attached. They are human shaped pinatas. I watched the hair evaporate from his head. His eyes boiled and exploded like some macabre jelly popcorn. I watched the skin crackle and burn. The flesh underneath melts like wax. We are too far away for the smell but it's already everywhere so it wouldn't have mattered. I might not ever have barbecue again, or meat for that matter. Alduin seems to feel differently. He gives the smoking corpse a sniff and then snatches it up, eating it as easily as I would eat candy. He takes a moment to savor his morsel before taking to the skies again. For a moment the light is gone and then so is the dragon, off to terrorize the rest of Helgen. Hadvar peeks out from our hiding spot and notices me for the first time.
"Still alive prisoner? Keep close to me if you want to stay that way."
Rather domineering without the captain around isn't he?
"Gunnar, take care of the boy. I have to find General Tullius and join the defense."
"Gods guide you Hadvar." the bald Nord says.
"Follow me, quickly!"
Hadvar leads the two of us down the same street Alduin just left. We pass more corpses, some burnt, wounded or some people just shivering in the fetal position with nothing obviously wrong with them. Following the street we run parallel to what must have been the old stone wall Helgen had before it needed war expansions.
"Stay close to the wall!" Hadvar shouts, his voice breaking amongst the ash and adrenaline.
We jump down a small ledge and hug the wall, getting low as the sky gets darker. A loud boom crashes above us. Two massive metallic wings, like blankets of midnight, trap us against the wall as Alduin uses it as a perch to decimate the house right in front of us. I'm in agony again from crouching over and the vibrations Alduin's landing created. His wings seem to absorb light, instead of casting shade. He roars a stream of fire and I take the risk of Healing myself. I can't hear the noise of the spell, only the screams and the made crackling of dragon fire, for which I'm grateful as my insides untwist a little bit further. The wings lift up a moment later, nearly knocking us over again with just wind pressure Alduin leaves, not having seen us.
After a moment Hadvar races us through the house Alduin just wrecked. I guess it is smart, it's the least likely place the dragon will strike next. If we can avoid the hazards. There were other paths we could have taken at different points along this dash. Unlike the game it seems we are not confined to one predetermined path, but Hadvar chooses to take a very familiar path. As we work our way through the smoldering wreckage I can see it was not targeted indiscriminately. Inside are several smoldering Imperial corpses. I try not to look at them as some are very recognizable as human corpses, half melted or worse. Emerging from the house we see General Tullius with a company of soldiers by the gate we entered, flinging arrows and magic at the dragon. There are enough men here that even the World Eater might take damage if he directly challenged this position. The men fight with desperation, defending townsfolk as they make their desperate escape. A handful battle mages flinging spells into the air, bolts of elemental magic. They have strange paddings around the chest or girdle modifying their armor. There must be something about magic I don't quite understand that this more realistic world had to account for.
"Hadvar, into the keep soldier. We're leaving!" Tullius shouts as he sees us leaving the burning wreckage.
"It's you and me prisoner, let's go!" Hadvar shouts. I tear my eyes away from the Imperial formation. I guess Hadvar considers handling me to still be important enough to bother with, even with the dragon attack. It was like this in the game too. Neither the General or Ulfric followed you into the keep, instead they escaped off screen. We run through the long street to the keep, watching as soldiers get picked off the old walls surrounding the village by fire or claw. We reach the courtyard of the keep breathless, my insides still tender. Ralof emerges from behind some debris to meet us here with ax in hand.
"Ralof, you damn traitor! Outta my way!" Hadvar spits, somehow sounding angrier with the Stormcloak than the dragon.
"We're escaping Hadvar. You're not stopping us this time" Ralof replies firmly. An Imperial falls screaming from the sky with a crunchy thud in the distance. His death is promptly ignored by these two. That crunch might live with me forever.
"Fine, I hope that dragon takes you all to Sovngarde!" Hadvar declares.
Both men take a moment to glare at each other before-
"You-"
"With-"
Both men are cut off by a booming crash. The ground shakes and my feet leave the ground. I don't stick the landing. Any sense I had was knocked out of me and my body rolls like a ragdoll into a small ditch at the foot of the keep. Flopping over as soon as I can I look beyond some scraggly weeds at where I think the Alduin landed. I can see the top of his horns but I can't see much further. I try to raise my head but my body needs a minute before I can move properly, dazed and stomach aching. I hear the scream of dragon fire, pouring right where I was standing previously. I breath deeply and us Healing once more. This time I get more than a few seconds and the aching stabbing pain in my middle ceases. Alduin flies off a moment later and I use that chance to rise. I look over to see what happened to Ralof and Hadvar. I see no blackened corpses, just scorch marks leading to a smoldering door. One of two that leads to the safety of the keep. Whatever else happened to them I can't worry about it anymore. I've got to get inside before the other door is attacked too. I sprint back to the last door into the keep. The sudden burst makes me cough up the last of the blood inside me. Alduin picks up another Imperial and ascends. I get to the door and just as her screams fade into the air. I push on the door and it's locked. I give it everything I have, breaking and bashing the door with my new smaller feminine frame. It doesn't budge. I hear the Imperial again, screams getting louder as she freefalls. I don't dare look. Her wails of terror end when I hear a familiar wet crunching sound again just behind me. Some of the splatter hits my back.