“Hey you, you’re finally awake,” came a voice above Jules. He slowly opened his eyes to see Ralof kneeling over him. The last thing Jules remembered was being part of a cruel joke and feeling lots of pain. Only one of those things was different, and that could be attributed to the rough bandages covering his wounds.
“Ugh...” Jules moaned as Ralof slowly helped him up. He looked around the small room, noting a red carpet, table and two chairs, and a corpse. Jules seized up when he saw that last piece of decor. Ralof followed Jules’ gaze and let out a melancholic sigh.
“I’ll meet Gunjar there again in Sovngarde. Let’s not weep for him when we still have to escape.” Ralof looked back at Jules. “You’re probably seen more death today than you have in your entire life. How I envy, and pity you.”
“Don’t worry, I pity and envy myself all the time,” replied Jules.
“There we go! Keeping a stiff upper lip while there’s still hope. That’s what you said in the carriage, there’s always hope while we’re still alive. Now get up, we need to keep going.”
Jules got to his feet with Ralof’s help and took a better survey of their surroundings. There were two doorways on opposite sides of the room, one blocked by a retractable grate and the other behind a locked door. Jules fought his disorientation while he tried to remember what happened next, and what he should do about it. Just then, the sound of footsteps echoed from past the grate. Oh, that’s right, it would be his first taste of combat. Ralof grabbed Jules and pulled him away from the view of the grate, right next to the corpse.
“Looks like we have company. Try to get that armor on and give that weapon a few swings, we’re going to need it,” said Ralof, pointing to Gunjar’s corpse.
Jules really didn’t want to, but the adrenaline once again freely flowing through his veins convinced him to do it just in case. The armor wasn’t as hard as he thought it would be to slip off, though most of the difficulty came in trying not to gag at touching a dead body. The same applied to putting the armor on, but Jules was able to eventually and push past the feeling of nausea from that and coming to after being knocked out. Just in time too, as the grate blocking the door fell into a wide slit in the ground, and the soldier who had a book and quill, and the Captain, walked through.
As soon as they did, the opposing sides made eye contact with each other. Surprise and an indignant snarl on the imperial soldiers, and anger and pleading on Ralof and Jules. As everyone reached for their weapons, Jules held up his hand in a stopping gesture and shouted.
“Wait!” Somehow, everyone paused to listen to him speak, but not without dropping their guards. “I know we’re supposed to be enemies or something, but that was a literal dragon that just showed up, and is eating everyone! War or not, each of our goals is to get out of here alive, and killing each other won’t help. Can’t we just work together until we’re out of here?”
“We are at war,” replied the Captain. “And even if the world were to end, that wouldn’t change anything. It’s obvious a coward like you isn’t a filthy Stormcloak, but you’re with him and wearing their armor, so as far as I’m concerned, you’re a dead man. Hadvar, take on the actual soldier. I’m going to put this coward out of his misery.”
The imperial soldier, Hadvar, hesitated for a moment before slowly unsheathing his sword and warily approaching Ralof. His determined look had a touch of melancholy and regret on it, but despite that he was ready to end a life. The captain, on the other hand, had no such qualms. Jules would’ve put it off as her full commitment to the line of duty, but her previous words spoke otherwise.
“Please, you don’t have to do this,” Jules said, making full eye contact, hoping that looking at the person behind the armored body would somehow bring about some mercy in her.
“You are an enemy of the Empire, and I will show you no mercy. Now lift up your blade if you want to join your friend in Sovngarde!”
Jules lifted his blade in a facsimile of a defensive stance. He had no sword training and no idea how to fight. In the game it was trivial, just click a button and the player character would swing their weapon in a solid motion, hold another button to block, and try to hit your opponent more than they hit you. This was real life, where it would take more than a literal handful of muscle twitches to do anything similar. Swing a sword? At what angle, with what stance, and how hard? What if it gets parried and countered with a blade to the gut? Blocking? Would Jules have the skills or reaction time to move his own sword in the way of an enemy blow? Would he have the strength to block her hit without it pushing his own sword into him? The player character in the game could take a multitude of hits before succumbing to his injuries, but would Jules? He bet it wouldn’t take more than a single hit before he lay bleeding on the ground.
Jules had no hope in melee combat, and he knew it. The hand-holding part of the game ended as soon as he woke up inside the barracks, and the story would no longer protect him from his lack of skills. He closed his eyes in half-acceptance of fate’s sudden turn on him and held his free hand next to his sword hand. The world was cruel and unfair. Maybe Jules was able to make a difference for a few people? Jules was in the place of the main character, who was tasked with eventually saving the whole world. If he died here, the rest of the world could be doomed too, and everything he had done so far would be worthless. Why was Jules thinking about such grand duties when he was in such a pathetic position? He did not know, but those dreams sparked something within him, an inner fire. It burned hot. It burned through his chest, through his limbs, and out his hands. It burned against the world for all of its unfairness, for Jules’ dream of making something out of his life! It burned…
The Captain screamed as a gout of fire struck her face, making her instinctively reach for it in a futile attempt at smothering the embers that still clung to her visage. Jules looked at her in confusion, then to his free hand, which was now holding a mote of orange flame, dancing calmly around the space above his palm.
“Argh, so you’re a mage then? Makes sense why you were so scared, but that’s not going to save you,” snarled the Captain through her apparent pain. She lifted her blade up again with the same lethal intent. Jules would not let this be his end. He dropped his sword and focused his same inner fire into his other hand, and pushed his will out both of them. A thin, forceful stream of flame came out of both of his hands, striking the Captain in the upper torso, eliciting another scream. She tried to power through it and was able to take a few steps towards Jules. One step, two steps, she was about to split him in twain. The sword fell. It fell to the floor, along with the Captain, her body covered in cinders.
Jules looked at his hands and at the body with wide eyes, before realizing that it was a fresh corpse. One that he made. There would be time to ponder the moral ramifications of killing someone, even in self defense, later. For now, he still needed to get out of here alive.
On the other side of the room, Ralof and Hadvar were in the middle of their duel to the death. Each had a few scratches on their arms and torsos, but nothing deep.
“Traitor! You turned your back on Skyrim and her people when you joined the imperial legion! You don’t deserve to call her your home, scum!” shouted Ralof in a fit of rage.
“Me the traitor? The Empire is trying to keep Skyrim together! She needs the empire if her people want to survive the Aldmeri Dominion! If only you could see that, you miserable oaf!” replied Hadvar with equal passion.
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Their fight was more than a physical one, it was one of ideals. The civil war started because of the banning of the worship of one of Skyrim’s favorite deities, but the empire didn’t do so on a whim. They were recently conquered by the Aldmeri Dominion, an island nation made up of High Elves, a particular flavor of the fantasy species, and led by an elf-supremacist and nationalistic government. Yep, that kind of villain. As part of their peace treaty the Dominion forced the Empire to outlaw the worship of Talos, who was previously a mortal human born in Skyrim itself who rose to godhood, and many in His old home didn’t take it lightly. Jules remembered reading some theories about the lore that such a clause was added to the treaty in order to cause more unrest in the Empire, keeping it weakened and easy for the Dominion to keep control over. Either way, those who joined the imperial legion for ideological reasons probably did so because they feel that keeping the Empire in one piece gave it the best shot of eventually freeing themselves of the Dominion.
But ideological debates usually don’t descend into name-calling. This fight sounded personal. Jules thought for a moment before saying anything, and remembered that both of the combatants are from the small, nearby town of Riverwood. They would’ve been neighbors, maybe even friends? And they both chose to join the opposite sides of a war, probably even killed each others’ companions? No point continuing to second-guess himself, Jules thought.
“Guys, you two! Stop!” Jules shouted, but was entirely ignored. The two enemies continued to stare each other down, the rest of the world nonexistent beyond their battle. As they were about to raise their swords to clash again, a stream of fire flew in between them. Startled, they each took a large step back and looked at its source. Jules was holding out his right hand, taking deep breaths.
“So you’re a mage, then? Why didn’t you tell me sooner? Could’ve saved us a lot of trouble earlier, but leave this one to me,” said Ralof, with a slight, tired smile on his face. Hadvar looked over with some fear in his eyes, but his grim face hid it quite well.
“I didn’t know until now. And I’m not leaving him to you. We need him to get out of here,” replied Jules.
“After you’ve killed my Captain? I’m not falling for that!” shouted Hadvar.
“It was in self defense! You heard me, I pleaded and she ignored it!” replied Jules. “You didn’t want to kill me earlier, I saw that. Now your Captain is dead, it’s two against one, and there’s still a dragon out there.” Jules then looked at Ralof. “You too Ralof, please, we need all the help we can get to get out of here alive.”
“Mmm… You make a good point, but with him? I’d rather be eaten by that dragon than team up the traitor!” said Ralof in reply.
“Wait, you two know each other,” began Jules, in a voice of fake realization. “Ralof, I know you’re from Riverwood, are you from there too, Hadvar?”
“Aye. And I knew Ralof growing up as well. We were close until he showed his true colors and joined the Stormcloaks,” said Hadvar.
“But you two were friends. Maybe even still could be? End of the day, you’re both doing what you think is best for Skyrim, isn’t that worth something? Don’t you think this is something worth putting aside your differences for?” pleaded Jules.
“You talk about doing what we think is right. But what if what you’re doing is wrong? Like him?!” shouted Ralof in reply. “It might be a dragon, but it’s just one and it’s the entirety of Skyrim at war! Killing him now will do our cause more good than working together and having him see tomorrow.”
Jules didn’t want to start throwing around too much of his outsider knowledge around so early on, otherwise it could make those around him suspicious of where he came across it. He took a deep breath and took a moment to think of how he could phrase it without giving himself away. It was time to see if destiny truly was preordained.
“You’ve each heard of the legends about dragons, right? Bringer of the end times? This very well could be the beginning of the end of the world. And Skyrim is a part of that world. If that dragon kills everyone here and continues to roam free, who knows what else it could do in secret! We have to get out of here, warn whatever authorities we can get ahold of, and make sure that your bickering isn’t going to lead to the death of the whole freaking country!”
Jules was out of breath after that short speech. He took several loud, drawn out breaths through his mouth to catch it. Ralof and Hadvar looked at him, then back at each other. Hadvar began to lower his sword, only slightly, as he looked back at Ralof and spoke.
“My uncle would tell me of these stories. Dragons, harbingers of the end times. If that really is the case, then it might be worth it to get out of here just to warn others.”
“Aye,” replied Ralof, lowering his sword an equal amount. “Riverwood is nearby too, so for all who knows the dragon could strike there sometime soon.”
Hadvar’s eyes widened at that. He lowered his sword even more, until it was pointing towards the ground in front of Ralof’s feet. “You make a good point. We need to get out of here and warn the Empire.”
“Or the other Stormcloaks,” replied Ralof, who began to sheathe his sword.
“Or both of them,” added Jules. “But maybe we should stick with warning the town itself for now?” He knew that doing so would lead to them asking him to warn the Jarl, the real life nordic and Skyrim-equivalent of a local lord. Still, if what he said got them working together instead of killing each other, it would do.
“Of course. First let’s just get out of here,” concluded Hadvar, sheathing his sword. “Follow me, I have the key for that door.” Hadvar made his way to the locked door while still keeping Jules and Ralof in his field of view, before unlocking it and ushering them through.
“You first,” said Ralof, with a strong sound of caution in his voice. He didn’t want to risk getting stabbed in the back.
“How about I go last?” helpfully chimed in Jules. “Both of you have helped me since I’ve gotten here, but I’m ready to burn anyone who decides to employ a sneak attack. I can’t trust someone like that to keep anyone else safe. So that way, you both have insurance.”
The two soldiers looked at each other and nodded. First went Ralof, then Hadvar, and finally Jules. Before Ralof went through the door he said,
“I trust you to have my back. Please don’t make me regret it.”
Hadvar took one more look at his captain, hanging his head in regret as he left the room next. “I’m sorry this happened to you Captain. What I do is for the sake of all of Skyrim and the Empire.”
Past the door was a stairway, leading into a small room. The trio made their way inside and saw a pair of soldiers, each on opposing sides, glare each other down with their weapons drawn. Jules thought that was funny to himself, as in the game, the soldiers would belong to the opposite faction of whoever you teamed up with, either Ralof or Hadvar. This was different.
“At ease!”
“Hold it, brother!”
Both of Jules’ companions shouted at the same time. The two fighters hesitated and looked over at who was calling them.
“This dragon business could be worse than a single razed city. We need to get out of here alive and warn someone, or it could be the end of Skyrim,” sad Ralof, in a grave voice.
“He’s right. This dragon could be bad news for the entire Empire if it’s allowed to roam freely. This is no longer just about the war,” added Hadvar.
The two combatants slowly lowered their weapons without lowering their gazes, until they were both sheathed.
“Alright, lead the way,” said the Stormcloak soldier.
The five continued onwards in a similar formation, with each faction grouped together and Jules in the back. They encountered several rooms with similar groupings of opposing soldiers and were able to talk them out of fighting, citing fear of a bigger threat. It didn’t hurt that their posse was growing as large as it did. They passed by several other miscellaneous rooms, including a store room filled with herbs and preserved meats. Everyone grabbed something from it, whether it be an apple, jerky, or even in one case a bottle of wine. Jules walked over to one of the barrels to the side and reached into it. In the game they would always contain several potions, including one that restored health, stamina, and magicka, the internal magical resource used to fuel spellcasting. As Jules picked them up, he instinctively placed them inside a bag he had on his back.
“Hold on, where did this bag come from?” thought Jules out loud. “I don’t remember ever putting this on.”
“What do you mean? You were wearing it this entire time! The imperial soldiers probably took everything out of it before tying you up and hauling you onto the cart,” replied Ralof.
“Yeah, I guess you’re right...” said Jules, his voice trailing off. He most certainly did not have a backpack on until this moment. What was even weirder about it was that he didn’t feel any weight from it either, even when he put his potions inside. It reminded him of the game’s inventory system, where you could somehow hold onto however many items you could under a certain total weight limit. The items wouldn’t be stored anywhere visible, but would always be available to the player. However, once the weight limit was reached, they would become over-encumbered and their movement would be limited to a snail’s pace. Perhaps that’s what the backpack was for? Jules could wrap his head around magic existing here, as it had a defined system behind it with specific rules and explanations on its workings. The inventory on the other hand was a way for the player to carry a large quantity of items, foregoing the realistic limitations of such a feat in place of convenience.
“Hey Ralof, anything I put in this bag of mine doesn’t seem to affect its weight. Is that normal?” Jules asked.
“It’s normal if you’ve got the stamina to carry all of it! You probably just have a strong back,” replied Ralof.
So Jules could place his magic backpack somewhere between game mechanic and workaround for real life. It was a reminder that this was still the world out of a game, and that Jules wasn’t out of the clear when it came to fate just yet. The next room only proved that last sentiment.
The group, now consisting of about a dozen people, made their way inside of a dimly lit room. It had several wooden pillars across a line bisecting the room, and a metal brazier on the ground with only a single half-burnt log of wood inside. The far wall was lined with cages, one of them containing a corpse dressed in dirty blue and white robes. There was even a cage hanging from the wall, containing a body dressed in Stormcloak armor. On the other side of the room were two men, each wearing hoods and surprised faces at the procession. Jules remembered. This was a torture chamber, and the torturers were covered in relatively fresh blood. Stormcloak blood.
“Is something going on up there? With all of the rumbling and now this entourage, it looks like a party,” said the cloaked figure in the back, the torturer’s assistant.
It was definitely going to be a party.