Howdy, pards. So, the following message is to readers familiar with this account: O hay a new stoary, that's coo- WHERE THE FUCK IS TI AMO?! Don't worry, I'm working on it. See, I've been working three jobs, but now that summer is coming to a close, I have more time to spend on Ti Amo (and dis one too). So I'll get to it soon, no worries.
To those unfamiliar with this account: Yeah, I decided to move the original "Break On" from my alt account (OldCrowMedicineShow) to my main account here for no raisins. No need to keep following the old one, I've shut it down but left the original 'copy' of this story for posterity.
So enjoy! (Again).
Break On Through To The Other Side
Chapter I
Huntsman Of The Great White North
He took it slow down the slushy pavement, turning down the radio so he could concentrate on finding his way to the hunting grounds. The old clunker he drove was a mid 90's Toyota truck, tannish-gray, with all the characteristics that were afforded in that decade: that is to say, dull. The interior was much to same. The dashboard was a brownish thing with ancient coffee-cup rings ingrained into the plastic. The radio had only a tape-player that didn't even work anymore. The old Foreigner tape stuck in there was pretty much permanent and couldn't even play, the latter being of no chagrin to the truck's driver; they were awful 80's drivel. But it's used, so what do you expect?
The driver, Huey Sylvester, shifted in his seat, his ass starting to fall asleep from the two-hour drive from his town to his late uncle's hunting cabin. Uncle Rick had been fond of the place, and he loved to bring Huey and his father every winter to try and bag some bucks. Huey had gotten a few bucks in the ten years he'd been hunting with them. One a twenty-one pointer! He had managed to beat Uncle Rick's record by two points. But no matter how many bucks either he or his uncle could shoot-up, it never beat the time Huey's father, Randal Sylvester, had ventured out one fateful morning to take a piss, only to stumble upon a bear that had somehow come out of hibernation. The bear, irate for whatever reason, had chased him back into the cabin, where he promptly grabbed his slug-loaded Remington 12-guage and blew it away. It later turned out the thing had had rabies. An uncommon occurrence, but not unheard of.
Huey would be going up alone this year, though. His Uncle had died of lung cancer a few years back, and that had nearly destroyed his father. He wasn't quite ready to move on, even today, which is why he never came to the cabin anymore. Huey, however, could never turn down a chance to be up here. It was a bit sad, but somewhat refreshing to be up in the mountains on his own. Gave him a nice retreat from the stresses of family life. And he could potentially bring a winter's worth of venison (or moose if he was lucky) home.
Huey spotted rear-lights ahead, breaks on. It was another truck, bigger than his own, and newer. It was jet black but for the spots where paint had been worn. The drivers didn't mind going through mud and gravel at high speeds, that's for sure. And apparently they don't mind shooting out the window. Huey grimaced as he spotted the muzzle of a rifle aiming out the passenger window. He looked to where it was pointed, and unsurprisingly saw off in the distance of a frozen marsh, some deer staring back at them, ignorant of the ignorance they were now enduring. It was this kind of shit that made Huey seriously consider becoming a game warden. He could see it now. These chumps blissfully unaware that a state truck was sidling up behind them, catching them right in the act of 'hunting' from the interior of their vehicle. Then with a high-pitched Whoop! and a flash of blue lights, the dimwitted deer would bounce off, and the dumbstruck shooter would scramble to stow his rifle away to try and look like he wasn't doing anything wrong. Definitely he'd scramble to unload the weapon. Remember kids: if you're not allowed to keep a loaded weapon in your vehicle, then you're sure as shit not allowed to fire it out the God damned window on the side of the road.
Alas, Huey didn't have authority over these knuckleheads. Oh sure, he could get the license number and make a call to the wardens, but they still would've shot at the deer, maybe even kill one. They'd probably trudge out there, take a couple of pictures for Facebook, then fuck right off and leave the carcasses to rot. Not even bother with preserving the meat. So Huey did the only thing he could do (at least in his mind). He lowered the windows and blasted his radio. The deers tensed when they heard Bruce Springsteen crowing about a pink Cadillac, and a barely audible, "What the fuck!" could be heard from the black truck. Huey then blared the horn and hollered,
"Gotta move that gear up!" out the window. The deer listened to his advice and leaped into the woods. Next he heard another "Fuck!" from the truck and the guy unloaded all his rounds wildly. Huey doubted he had hit anything, as the animals had all disappeared in the tree line. Laughing wildly, Huey roared off past the other truck and didn't look back. He could see in his rear view the driver scowling and flipping him the bird. As far as he was concerned, that was confirmation of victory.
Just as Huey had asked, Mick Hutchins—the guy who plowed for all the old cabins around here and did general care-taking—had done just that for Uncle Rick's place. Huey had no trouble going over the hardened dirt road. No ice had accumulated and made the thing skate-central; just packed snow and dirt. Soon enough, shadowed by the pine giants rising overhead like nature's monuments, Huey came to the log cabin. He was pleased to see the keeper was already inside. His truck was parked beside the deck, and the lights were on. Huey pulled up beside his vehicle and killed the engine. As he climbed out of the truck, the oldish man stepped out the front door. In his late sixties but still pretty spry, Mick was a man with wiry white hair and a great big bushy beard. He was shrouded in a thick jacket, the torso blazing hunters' orange, while the sleeves were a dark red with a plaid pattern. He wore heavy Carhartt overalls and brown Doc Martins on his feet. Huey could make out the smile nearly hidden by his mustache as he waved.
"'Lo there, Hue!" he crooned, shambling down to deck to meet Huey.
"Afternoon, Mick," Huey returned, shaking his hand.
"Place all toasted up for ya," Mick let him know, placing his hands on his hips. "Need a hand with your stuff?" he asked, glancing back at the covered truck bed behind Huey.
"Sure, thanks," Huey agreed, going back to lift up the hatchback and lower the tailgate. Ammunition, a rifle (Huey's own Remington Whitetail, complete with scope), survival gear, a twelve-pack of beer, and a few bags of food. Mostly stereotypical manly man fare: steaks, ground beef for burgers, chips and dip, pretzels, cheese, bread, and potatoes. All of it (save for the wilderness gear) was brought to the kitchen, where Huey and Mick shared a Carling lager.
"Hoping to beat your record this winter?" Mick asked.
"When am I not?" Huey shot back with a grin. Mick snickered.
"That's easy to answer." They each sipped their beer for a bit before Mick went on, "Big storm's comin' in a few days." Huey sighed wistfully.
"Yeah, so I've heard," he muttered. That was one bummer for his week out here, a two-day blizzard. But that wouldn't be arriving for a while, so he might have time to get something. Even just a porcupine in a trap would do. Porcupine pot pie is pretty tasty, after all.
"But I've been looking around some," Mick told him, "and there're tracks a ways west of here, I'd say two miles. Typical whitetails, but it's a pretty good lead."
"Yeah," Huey said, nodding. "Yeah, it is, thanks. I'll keep an eye out." Mick nodded and sipped his beer again. He looked like he was about to ask something, but seemed to think better of it and took another drink. Huey could imagine he wanted to ask about his father, if he would ever come back. He was glad he didn't. Right now he didn't want to think about his old man. He had taken up smoking again after Rick had died, along with some heavy drinking. He wasn't abusive or anything, but his bitterness didn't help at all. Huey had his own place by now, but his mother often wanted to stay for dinner to get away from Randal. It was a mess of bitter irony at home, but Huey didn't want to bother himself with it for this one week. Bleeding hearts crying out on his selfishness (like his parents' nosy neighbors) be damned, a guy needed a week away from it all every now and again so he wouldn't go ballistic trying to deal with it.
Huey just noticed he had finished his beer a little too quickly when his thoughts strayed so, and so did Mick.
"Welp," the old man said, placing his beer on the counter and standing upright. "I best be off. I've gotta check on some other places, like'd to get it done before dark... like that'll ever happen," he grumbled.
"I hear ya, buddy," Huey agreed, walking with him to the front door.
"Take care, Hue," Mick said as he stepped out.
"You, too," Huey replied. Huey closed the door and sighed and went to the kitchen for another beer.
Huey had been restless his first night at the cabin. Not a first, he had been so ever since first coming up alone. Some things you never got used too, it seemed. He tried to ease his mind with a bit more beer, but by then half of it was gone and he wanted to make it last for the next week, so he settled for some TV. DVDs of Adventure Time and The Venture Bros. helped with his creeping insomnia, and it was about two in the morning when he finally crawled into bed, and took another forty-five minutes to fall asleep. Then the AM reared its ugly head at five, giving him a whopping two-hours of sleep. If he wanted to catch something, he had to be up early. He wasn't going to let some shitty force of nature like sleep get in his way. Honestly, of all the things evolution conjured up, sleep was the most wasteful.
Sucking it up, Hue went to the kitchen for copious amounts of coffee. When that didn't help, he decided to strip naked and swan-dive into a snow bank. Finally fully awake, he went inside to dress into his hunting garments and head out. He brought all the necessary gear to last out in the cold, and some extra survival gear in the unlikely but still possible event he got stranded at dark.
For a few hours he ventured the woods, checking all the outposts that had been set up over the years. Sick of walking, he stuck around one of the oldest ones, which was obvious by how gray and stripped the wood was. Still it held decently enough. Give a few years, though. It'll come crashing down, it was older than Huey was. So he sat and waited, a thermos of lukewarm coffee between his legs, which he sipped straight-up without the cup. Occasionally he peered over the railings to see if he could spot some critters, but mostly he relied on his ears. Despite the gray of the skies above, wind was hardly blowing, casting the woods in that eerie winter silence. This place was far from any road, too. Not even the roars of eighteen-wheeler engines traveled this far out. It was majestic, to say the least.
...When the green, dark forest was too silent to be real... Huey recited in his head, He took another sip of coffee and looked over the edge once more. A fox was down there, to his surprise. He was a quiet once, avoiding any branches that may snap and give away his presence. Smart fella.
"Bloody piker," Huey muttered, staring down at the creature. He drew his bowie knife and pointed it down at the fox.
"Stab, stab, stab!" he murmured, grinning wolfishly. The fox looked up at him in surprise, only hesitating a moment before darting away. Huey leaned back again and sheathed his knife, followed by another mouthful of coffee. He grimaced with disgust. Not only too cold, but not enough cream or sugar. Morning rushes, le sigh.
Huey yelled out when an enormous crack sounded off beneath him. He sat up but stayed stock still, listening as the perch beneath him creaked and groaned lethargically. Huey regretted trying to estimate this thing's durability, because the estimation had apparently been under.
So, in order to get out of this pickle, he had to be slow and method-
Another great crack signaled the doom of the outpost, or more like the main branch holding it. It tilted downward, making Huey tumble back. He might have been saved by the railing, if that had not decided to spontaneously give up the ghost like the rest of the goddamned thing. And before he knew it, he was on the ground with a thud. Breathless and stupefied, Huey laid there and stared at the gray sky for a while, a perfect view of the shabby outpost now limp and useless. His thermos was still up there somehow-
And with that, a gust of wind shook the outpost. The thermos fell down, spilling coffee everywhere. The cool coffee and tin thermos hitting Huey in the noggin was what spurred him into action:
"Cock-sucking shit-humping dick-licking fag-sucker!" he bellowed, scrambling to his feet and trying to wipe the coffee off his face. He took off his orange wool hat, now soaked and useless, and used the dry spot to clean himself off. With that done, he bent over and picked up his rifle.
"Okay, I think I'm done here," he grunted, hanging the gun strap over his shoulder and making for the cabin, following his footprints.
A low growl reached his ears from behind. He froze, his breath catching. A chill went up his spine as he finally detected the presence behind him. He turned slowly, not knowing what to expect, besides something big and pissed off at him. To his shock and awe, it was the hugest goddamned mountain lion he had ever seen, glaring at him with blazing yellow eyes. No, scratch that... this thing... it was... a fucking saber tooth?! Sure enough, long curved fangs hung from the creature's upper lip. It bared the rest of its yellowed chompers in a mix of hunger and disdain, the fur on its back standing on end, its tail whipping back and forth. The monster was about forty-feet from Huey, but it seemed much closer due to its size. He had encountered bobcats and even wolves out here, but they typically shied away from people (he had a stuffed bobcat back at his pad, in fact). But not only was this cat ready to chow down on Huey... it was a fucking saber tooth! No seriously, what the actual fuck?
Huey had a feeling pretending he was bigger than it by raising his arms like a retarded fourth grader would not deter the beast from having its way with his giblets. It took its first step forward, and Huey acted. He pulled the rifle from his shoulder. Now the beast snarled and charged with alarming speed. Despite his panic, Huey flicked off the safety, shouldered, looked through the scope, saw a yellow eye staring back at him through the lens, and pulled the trigger. The crack of the rifle assaulted his ears with a terrible ringing. The beast fell soundlessly in the snow just a few feet from Huey, blood pouring from the entrance wound between its glazed eyes (which still somehow looked furious). Huey slowly lowered the rifle, arms shaking. His ears out of the equation for the moment, he quickly looked around, trying to see if the beast had friends waiting nearby. He was on guard for a good few minutes as his hearing slowly returned. Since nothing in the forest made a sound because of the rifle, he was reduced to snapping his fingers near an ear to see if he could hear again. When it returned to normality, Huey turned tail quickly and made for the cabin.
Just as he thought about calling a game warden to come see the damned thing, wind suddenly billowed behind him. Its arrival was more eerie than the actual sound itself. One second, complete silence, besides the crunch of Huey's boots in the crystallized snow. The next, a deep thunder of rushing air, creaking trees and snapping branches. Before he could turn around, it knocked him right onto his face with the force of a hurricane gale. When he tried to stand, the weight held him fast on the ground. It seemed impossible, but the wind was now blowing directly down. Not at an angle, like a wind being forced into a valley, but straight down like a B52 had dropped a load of bricks on top of him. Huey instinctively covered his head, afraid that something like that might occur. After a long-extinct animal had tried to gank him, and a vertical wind was forcing him on the ground, any God damned thing was possible. The freezing wind cut through his layers like a knife, and the snow bit his cheeks as he kept his head down. Somehow it began to become darker. Huey blinked the make sure he wasn't closing his eyes without realizing it. No, his eyes were wide open. He cried out, terrified he was somehow becoming blind.
The wind carried on for a few moments more before suddenly being snuffed out. Huey gasped and scrambled to his feet, clutching his rifle and looking around. He stared around. He was still in the snowy forest... but... it was different. This wasn't the spot he was in before. The trees were different. Glancing around, he couldn't see either his footprints nor the wrecked outpost. Huey swallowed, slowly venturing forward. There were a lot more pine trees, too. The particular spot he had been in earlier had had a few more leafy trees (or lack of leaves, thereof) than pines. But this wood was choked with pines. Beasts of pines, jutting in the sky like monoliths. The sky had cleared up somewhat, too. He could see smudges of blue between the gray blots. The sun suddenly poked through one of these spots, letting some temporary golden warmth fall on Huey's face. He stopped for just a moment to relish it, before the sun disappeared again. The warmth gone, Huey steeled his nerves and began walking. He knew it wasn't a good idea to move when lost in the woods... which... is why he decided to stop. He remembered the flare gun he had brought with him. Normally he wouldn't, but since he started coming up here on his own, he always brought one with; including five spare flares. He fumbled with his layers and withdrew the orange pistol. Pointing it up to the sky, he pulled the trigger, unleashing the bright red beacon to fly up high, before bursting into a bright star of light. Now the waiting began.
"What is that?" a somewhat distant voice sounded from the woods. Not believing his luck, Huey called out loudly before jogging forward. He found himself facing a treeline with moving figures... um, lots of figures beyond. Whatever. The more the merrier, right? Huey stumbled out of the woods, climbed over a snow bank, and his feet hit a road he was not expecting to feel under his boots. He looked down dumbly at a cobblestone road, then up at his dubious rescuers. He couldn't believe his eyes. A convoy of men and women, with horse-drawn carriages, all dressed in Roman-esque armor. Silver steel, brown leather, with red decorations. They were all armed with swords and axes, great and small, and bows as well. In the carts, bound and dismal, more men and women donning dark blue leather armors... were these... it couldn't be...
"Halt! In the name of the Empire!" a voice called. From the ranks of soldiers came a CO, his armor grander and thicker than the rest, with a prominent helmet to boot. Huey couldn't believe this.
"State your name and business, and where you are from," he demanded, drawing his sword for emphasis. Several other surrounding soldiers drew their weapons. Some bowmen nocked arrows and aimed at Huey. He was silent for a moment, trying to digest this. Suddenly, he blurted out, "Is this a fucking joke?!" A laugh escaped him, and some of the soldiers glanced between each other. This had to be joke, this was... what...
He saw the Khajiit then. And this wasn't some furry LARPer in a mascot suit... this thing... was real. It had an expression (one of confusion, like the rest of the people), but living eyes. They stared into his eyes, and he felt the same way he could look into another person's eyes. That he had their attention, and he could communicate with them. It was a real, bonafied Khajiit... and not the lump-faced ones from Oblivion. Oblivion... a fucking video game. But... this meant.
"I'm in fucking Skyrim..." he muttered, staring around in awe. The impatient captain grunted, hearing the word 'Skyrim' and deciding that was enough of an answer.
"Then tell me, Nord," he said to him, "Your name and business. And they better be good answers." It was slowly dawning on Huey. Here he was, in front of medieval soldiers, carrying a flare gun and dressed in blazing oranges combined with snow-themed camouflage. He must look like a complete jackwagon to these people. But his mouth was quicker than his mind.
"I'm... Hogarth Hughes, and I'm hunting." Several of the soldiers burst out laughing. Even some of the prisoners... the Stormcloaks (unbelievable) looked bemused.
"Hunting?" the CO repeated. "You look like a court jester for the Forsworn." This elicited a few more chuckles from the legionnaires.
"More likely a spy, sir," one of the soldiers spoke up. The captain nodded.
"Most likely," he agreed.
"Honestly? Me, a spy? Do I look like a spy to you?" Huey shot back incredulously.
"I don't care, honestly," the captain said dismissively, sheathing his sword and turning away. "Drop whatever weapons you have on your person, Nord. Surrender peaceably, make this easier for all of us." Huey's first instinct was to bolt, maybe fire a flare on the back of this guy's head. But either way, the legionnaires would beat him before he could even climb over the snow bank, or try to load another flare into the gun. Huey noticed familiar faces among the prisoners, then. Along with the Khajiit, was a gagged Stormcloak. The Stormcloak of all Stormcloaks: Ulfric. Racist douche extraordinaire, but Huey could see this could be his ticket to freedom. All he had to do, as insane to him as it sounded: was follow the annoying tutorial that took too long.
Reluctantly, Huey slowly let his weapons down, save for his boot knife. Why would a Canadian hunter need a boot knife? Because it's cool, that's why. Hopefully they wouldn't check him that well. They did pat him down, but halfheartedly. Before he knew it, his guns were with the captain, his hands were bound, and he was seated right between the horse thief, and the Khajiit... the Dragonborn.
The ride was quiet, which was unusual... well, at least for Huey. He guessed 'real' Skyrim didn't follow computer codes and MP3 scripts. Hell, he was probably the pretty little cosmic butterfly who flaps his wings and summons Mehrunes Dagon to finish his conquest of Tamriel or some shit. He looked to Ralof, who was staring back at him warily. Huey glanced at Ulfric, who stared away out the back of the cart, the horse thief (what was his name again... er, something Nordy) stared at his own feet, and the Khajiit ran her hands over her head.
"So, Forsworn jester," Ralof spoke up suddenly, getting Huey's attention. "What were you really doing in those woods?"
"Being lost," Huey answered with a wry smile. Ralof chuckled.
"We've all been there, friend. But you're not from Skyrim, are you?"
"Not really. Somewhere similar, though."
"And where's that?"
Huey was surprised at how quickly and smoothly he could lie: "Bruma, up in the Jerrals."
"Ah. As close to 'Skyrim-like' as you'll ever get in the Imperials' land, I suppose," Ralof said with some minor disdain.
"And you," he said next to the Khajiit, getting her attention. "They caught you trying to cross the border, right?" She nodded.
"She's like me," the horse thief growled, "Didn't do anything wrong... well, not really wrong. So, I stole a horse, how does that get me lumped in with a bunch of rebels?! I should just be thrown into a cell for a few months, not sent to Helgen like you!"
"Well, let this be your first real taste of how much the Empire is concerned with your plight, horse thief," Ralof returned sardonically.
"They're going to kill me, aren't they?" the thief said in despair, ringing his hands till his knuckles turned bone white. "They're going to kill all of us!" he cried.
"Keep it down back there!" the cart's driver snapped.
There was a brief silence before Ralof spoke again, "At least have some dignity before you die, thief. Make peace with your gods, whoever they may be."
"I don't deserve this," the thief whispered. Huey decided to test his totally legit psychic powers.
"Listen, fella," he said to the thief, who looked up at him, "You seem like the running type. My advice when we get to Helgen: don't run. They'll just shoot you down."
"I'd rather die on my own terms, making a break for freedom," the thief grunted.
"Dude, just listen for a damned minute, I've got a plan."
"And that is?" the thief demanded, not looking convinced.
Huey smirked, and the thief saw the cocksuredness in his expression: "Don't follow the script." Huey leaned back and folded his hands over the back of his head. All of his fellow passengers stared at him, confounded.
Somehow Huey's super special awesome sexy psychic powers worked, because he, the horse thief Lokir of Rorikstead, the Dragonborn, and Ralof stood together as one impatient Nord asked to be brought to Sovngarde by the headsman.
"Let's get this over with, I haven't got all day!" he demanded, interrupting a priestess's final rites and walking straight to the chopping block.
"Hey, pal!" Huey called. Everyone hesitated and looked at him. Huey waited a moment before saying, "See you in Asgard."
"What?"
"Sovngarde."
The Nords gave him funny looks, even the one who was about to get his head cut off as he knelt on the block.
Probably best I not overextend my 'abilities.' Also, he asked for it.
With a swift motion, the man's head was off, and several people cursed Imperials and Stormcloaks alike.
"As brave in death as he was in life," Ralof said somberly, lowering his head.
"Why did I listen to you?" Lokir hissed at Huey, seething and red in the face.
"Because you're good at trusting other people's intuition, bro," Huey answered. Lokir spat at his feet. "Charming."
"You, the one with the ridiculous jacket!" the obnoxious female captain cawed at Huey. "To the block!" Despite his assured safety, a knot formed in Huey's stomach nevertheless. Somehow the sound of the World Eater's roar in the distance didn't make him feel any better. Weird, right?
"What was that?" a Stormcloak muttered.
"It's nothing, we carry on," the captain ordered. An imperial soldier took Huey's arm.
"To the block, prisoner. Nice and easy."
"What's your brilliant plan now, Hogarth Hughes, the great Forsworn jester," Lokir snapped. As he was being led forward, Huey called back, "I'm not saying I have a plan... but I have a plan."
"Some plan, being a lamb for slaughter," the captain jeered, but watched him closely nevertheless.
"Tell me something, captain," Huey said as he was knelt at the block. "Do you piss pearls? What with all that sand in your vagina." A roar of laughter exploded from the Stormcloaks. The captain turned beet red, and bellowed, "SILENCE!" That just made the Stormcloaks laugh harder. What really quieted them was a second roar in the distance... but closer this time.
"There it is again!" a voice exclaimed.
"Enough!" the captain snarled. "Headsman! Now!" The executioner raised his axe, and Huey watched with (an admittedly forced) manic grin as he saw Alduin at last glide over the mountains and make his way to the tower overhead.
"What in Oblivion is that!?" a soldier cried.
"A Dissection song," Huey said, before jumping to his feet and kicking the headsman in the crotch. The executioner dropped his axe and fell to his knees just as the dragon landed upon the tower. Huey couldn't help but stare. This was a dragon. A real fucking dragon! He used to only dream of something like this happening to-
Alduin opened his maw and let out a deafening shout, breaking Huey's reverie. The sky unfurled with clouds of fire and stone, and they rained down upon Helgen. Screams filled the air, and blasts rocked the town. One rock pummeled the ground next to Huey, stunning him. He stumbled back, ears ringing as he tried to keep his bearings and maintain his balance with his bound hands. A distant voice called behind him, and sharp nails dug into his arm. The Dragonborn, making him face her, yelled for him to follow. He did as instructed, his senses returning. He saw it was Hadvar leading he, along with the Dragonborn and Lokir, into a keep. Huey ducked instinctively as Alduin soared overhead, bellowing voice and flame on the town. Archers and magi launched spell and arrow at the winged beast, either missing, or their arms having no effect on the half-godly creature.
Huey followed his little company into the keep, where others were hiding. Stormcloaks and Imperials, each too stupefied by what was happening to remember their hatred for each other.
"We've got to get out of here!" Lokir cried, looking like he was about to shit himself. "Where do we go!?"
"Helgen Tower," Hadvar said. "There are underground passages that lead out of town. We can use them to escape."
"Well what are we waiting for!" a Stormcloak cried. "Let's go! There's a hole in the roof we can escape from." The Stormcloak began to ascend the stairs, but as soon as he came to the second floor landing, the stone wall exploded inward, knocking the Stormcloak and several other cowering people to the floor. Alduin poked his head in and belched fire on his victims.
"By the gods!" Lokir and Hadvar shouted at once. The Dragonborn uttered her own oath in the Khajiiti tongue, and Huey figured he should be shocked like the rest of them now. He had already been testing his all-knowingness suspiciously enough, it was time he tried to blend in. They seemed to be ignoring him, however. When the dragon's head disappeared and the company felt him dismount the tower, Hadvar ordered them to follow him. They came to the top floor, and sure enough the hole was there. They each took turns leaping down into the burning building adjacent to the tower, making their way to the ground again. There, a child cried by his crushed father's side while Ralof tried to coax the child to leave him.
"By the gods..." Hadvar muttered again.
"This is never going to end," Lokir hissed, tugging at his binds futilely. Ralof took the child's arm, who reluctantly followed away from his father's side. Ralof saw Hadvar and glared.
"I bet you're half-glad this is happening, Ralof," Hadvar growled at him.
"I'd be lying if I said I wasn't," the Stormcloak returned. "I'm escaping, Hadvar. We all are. I suggest you do the same."
"We'll end this later, Ralof. Mark my words," Hadvar promised. Ralof gave him one more scornful stare before fleeing with the boy to safety. When they were gone, Hadvar turned to the others.
"Come on, we're almost there." The company wound through the streets of Helgen, trying to avoid the dragon, but he seemed to be around every corner; almost like he was following them. Eventually they came to the keep, Huey watching as Alduin swooped down, took an Imperial in his claws, and flew for the sky once more only to drop the soldier to his death. Huey swallowed the lump in his throat and went into the keep with his new companions. When he was in, Hadvar shoved the door shut behind them and released a breath of relief. They were all quiet for a moment, collecting themselves before Hadvar spoke again.
"We're safe for now... maybe. It's likely the other Stormcloaks had the same idea we had and are down further somewhere. We should arm ourselves."
"And that damned dragon could bring the roof down on our heads, too," Lokir said. "We need to hurry."
"I have to admit I agree with you," Hadvar said back. He drew a dagger from his hip. "Let me take care of your bonds. Then take some spare armor and weapons from the racks. You'll need them... especially you, Hogarth. The Greybeards could probably see you from the Throat of the World." Secretly finding the quip funny, Huey approached a rack with a set of different armor types. The fur armor looked easiest and most comfortable, so he chose that. They'd be sitting in this room for years if he tried any other armor, even if he hesitated to watch someone else put on armor and go off that. Lokir, just as inexperienced with armor as Huey, chose fur as well. The Dragonborn decided on leather armor. She seemed a bit more skilled at armoring than them, which was unsurprising, to both Lokir and Huey alike. Tamriel's a rough world for a Khajiit.
"Horse thief," Hadvar said, "I probably know the answer to this already, but can you handle a sword enough to defend yourself?" Lokir looked nervous.
"I suppose, if I really have to... but a shield would probably help better... I'll probably use that a lot more than a sword."
"I can imagine. What about you, Khajiit?"
"I have basic training in melee and ranged combat," she said back. "Also, Bastet is my name."
"Right. And you, Hogarth?" Hadvar asked.
"Never used a sword in my life," he said back. This was something he couldn't lie about, even though he wanted to. Huey could tell immediately by Hadvar's look it struck him as odd.
"Strange, for a hunter," he remarked. "Need something when your bow fails, right?"
"I had a knife," Huey answered.
"Against a bear?" Hadvar pressed.
"Oh, I just wrestle them in nothing but my khaki shorts and hat," Huey returned with a smirk. To his relief he got a chuckle out of Hadvar, and even a smile from Bastet. Lokir seemed to be ignoring them, mentally preparing himself for what was to come.
"Fine then, huntsman. We should get a move on, we've lollygagged here for too long. Come." Hadvar lead them through a passageway, Huey and Bastet behind the legionnaire and Lokir at the rear, clutching a shield for dear life. As they walked, Bastet said to Huey,
"Only a knife... and no bow. Nothing but what appeared to be weapons, strange weapons no hunter here uses. You're no hunter I've ever seen, and I've met plenty during my travels from Elsweyr."
At least she doesn't refer to herself in the third person.
"Built 'em myself. When I'm not hunting I'm tinkering. Wish to the Nine I had them back, though."
"I imagine so." Bastet was silent, and Huey was glad. He figured he'd have to spill his guts or come up with a good lie someday soon, but for now he was focused on surviving. And he doubted joining the Dragonborn on her quest would raise his survival rates. He might have to settle down in Riverwood, when they came to it, and think of a way to get back home. Ask mages or something... actually, maybe he should follow Bastet. To the Greybeards. They might have a better idea of how he got here than anyone else. Maybe even Paarthurnax. Ah who was he kidding, he wanted to see everything in real-time Skyrim. This is fucking amazing!
Reality decided to bite again, however, when an arrow whizzed by his head. No way, adventuring in Skyrim? He could get killed, and there was no quick-load button. Or turning down the difficulty to novice. Wouldn't that be a fucking treat? Plus this was vanilla Skyrim anyway, boriiing!
Huey and his companions dropped to the ground and got behind cover.
"Imperial pigs, just ahead!" they heard a voice call from down a flight of stairs, from the keep's dungeon.
"Dammit, does anyone know destruction magic?" Hadvar asked. The looks he received were answer enough. "Then lend me your shield, Lokir."
"What?" he squeaked, drawing it closer to his person.
"For the gods' sakes, I'll give it back to you!" Hadvar snarled before prying it from the cowardly man's hands. He stepped into the stairwell, shield raised, and blocked an arrow. As the archer below tried to nock another arrow Hadvar tossed the shield at him, hitting the Stormcloak in the head. With a bellow, Hadvar charged down the stairs, sword raised. The Stormcloak fumbled to grab a dagger, but Hadvar bared down on him and cut him down the side of the neck, severing an artery. The Stormcloak crumpled to the ground and Hadvar dove behind a knocked-over table as a ball of fire was launched his way. Bastet came down next, snatched up the shield, and blocked another firebolt with it. Hadvar took the opportunity to leap over the table and cut down the mage who had been attacking them. Lokir and Huey followed them down into a small dungeon; complete with cages and torture instruments. Lokir gratefully took his shield back from Bastet when she handed it to him. Huey bent over the corpse of the archer and relieved him of his bow and arrows.
"I bet that's more your style, eh, hunter?" Hadvar said with a smirk. Huey was more used to compound bows himself, but this was close enough. He tested the string. Harder to pull back than a compound, but he'd get used to it. Huey strapped the quiver over his shoulder and followed his companions further into the underground corridors. They came to a wide-open chamber, crawling with Stormcloaks.
"Stop that Imperial!" one shouted upon seeing them. Huey didn't hesitate to nock an arrow and fire it at the woman who had called them out. The missile pierced her light armor, straight to the heart. She fell with a strained grunt, and her comrades reacted as expected: furiously.
"Snoipin's a good job, mate," Huey muttered, readying another arrow. Side-by-side, Bastet and Hadvar engaged several swordsmen that came at them. Lokir cowered behind Huey, muttering something or rather to a multitude of aedric deities, including Talos. Huey's heart practically stopped when he caught sight of a hammer-wielding barbarian skirting by Hadvar and Bastet to flank him. He wouldn't have enough time to shoot him, so instead he wrenched Lokir's shield for himself and ripped a scavenged shortsword from his hip. The Stormcloak bellowed and raised his hammer when he was within five feet of Huey. Huey did the only thing he could think of and charged back, but with his shield held firm in front of him. The Stormcloak was caught off guard by the attack and took the targe charge right to the stomach. He lost grip of his heavy iron hammer in the process of being forced flat on his back, and Huey didn't hesitate to stomp on his neck. Bone cracked beneath his boot and the man died soundlessly. Huey's stomach lurched, but he did his best to keep his nerves, stifling the revelation that he had just killed two human beings.
He looked up at Bastet and Hadvar. They had dispatched several swordsmen, causing the remaining two to retreat. Huey tossed Lokir's shield back to the man, causing him to clumsily try and catch it and fail. Huey sheathed his unused sword and snatched his discarded bow back up. The two remaining Stormcloaks disappeared down a tunnel before he could even grab another arrow.
"Piss," he muttered. Oh well. Maybe the bear and spiders up ahead would take care of them. Said beasties would also be softened up in the process for easier killage. Bastet and Hadvar turned to Lokir and Huey.
"Nice work, Hogarth," Hadvar complimented. "Got more stones than I expected. Lokir... you holding up?"
"Mmm..."
"Keep it up, then, I guess," Hadvar said back and sighed. "Guess we're following those two lucky ones."
"They won't be lucky for long if they try to ambush us," Bastet growled, flexing her arms as she stared fixedly at the passage before them.
"Aye, so they won't," Hadvar agreed, smiling admiringly at Bastet. He turned back to Huey and Lokir. "Shall we?" The companions made their way into the passage, discovering it lead to a natural cave system. They then heard screams from up ahead. The Imperials.
"I bet they ran into frostbite spiders," Hadvar said. Lokir shuddered beside Huey, and Bastet grimaced in disgust. "Either way, get ready for a fight. The damn bugs are all riled up now." They went ahead and came to a cavern filled indeed with the venom-spitting creep crawlies. The larger ones were in the process of webbing the Stormcloaks while the smaller ones did their nasty little frontal leg dances around them like a tribe of savages. Huey nocked an arrow and fired between all eight eyes of a spider. It hissed angrily, dropping its prize and spitting at Huey. He ducked just in time as the wad of sick flew over his head. Shield raised, Hadvar bellowed and charged, Bastet at his side. Arrows were useless Huey supposed, so he drew his sword and followed. Not intending to bite off more than he could chew, Huey took to some of the smaller ones. The universe, however, didn't find it appropriate to reward his smarts, and thus it sent one of the large ones to leap over stunned Hadvar and Bastet, right in front of Huey.
"Oh fuck this noise, man!" Huey exclaimed, diving under the spider and rolling to where Bastet and Hadvar stood. When Huey was on his feet alongside them, Lokir cried out as the spider decided to let Huey by. "Oh come on!" Huey shouted. A strange sense of nobility clouded Huey's cognitive functions and he leaped onto the spider's back to save the silly horse thief.
Don't worry, Lokir, you're not gonna get "steeped on by stiders" on this day! Huey thought absurdly as the beast thrashed angrily below him. Thank God (or Talos, Kynareth, Dibella, whoever) Bastet and Hadvar were there to hack on the thing's legs. The spider stumbled, and Huey took the opportunity to plunge his sword into its back. He must have hit something vital, because it crumpled to the ground, what remained of its legs twisting up. Huey lost his grip and fell to the side with an 'oof!' Lokir babbled to the gods incoherently in the background as Huey found himself laughing.
"Oh wow..." he chuckled, wiping away a tear. "What's next on the list? A bear. Yeah." He found Bastet offering her hand to him, and he accepted. When she pulled him up, she said with a smirk,
"Nice job. You should start a spider ranch, domesticate them, and breed them for knights."
"Ugh," Hadvar grunted. "Don't speak such nonsense."
"Why not?" Huey said. "I could make a fortune." Hadvar made another noise and turned away. Huey turned back to Lokir to see the Nord, paler than usual, inching by the dead bug while still muttering to the Nine.
"Hope you're wrong about that bear," Bastet said to Huey, offering him his discarded bow.
I'm not. But he said instead, "I hope so, too," and took the bow. The company moved on through more tunnels until they came to a second cavern where the massive grizzly slumbered.
"You had to open your mouth," Lokir hissed at Huey.
"It'd be nice if you closed yours," Hadvar spat back, silencing the moody thief.
"She's sleeping, still. We can sneak by," Bastet said. She turned to the others with a playful smile. "Any of you and your clodhoppers capable of doing that?"
"We don't need to be cats to sneak by a bear," Hadvar chuckled back, leading the way again slowly. To Huey's surprise, they made it by the bear with no incidents. The grizzly enjoyed her nap, and the company's giblets weren't nibbled. At last they made it to the outside world, relishing the sun and the fresh air. The bellow of Alduin spoiled their moment briefly, prompting them to hide beneath a pine as the black behemoth soared overhead, announcing his presence to everything below, letting everything and everyone know they were below him. When he was safely out of sight, the company stood from their hiding spot.
"No one's going to believe this," Hadvar breathed.
"They'll have to," Bastet said. "The news will spread through all of Skyrim in no time. It'll take the rest of Tamriel by storm with that being said."
"Tamriel's going to be in an uproar, no doubt," Hadvar agreed.
"Okay... well," Lokir said to them, stepping ahead. "Thank you... I suppose. I ought to be going now."
"Good luck in Hammerfell," Bastet said to him.
"Oh... um, thanks," he mumbled. He gave an awkward wave and made his way down the road, disappearing around a bend. When he was gone, Hadvar sighed.
"So, what about you two," he said to Bastet and Huey. "If you need shelter for the night you can come with me to Riverwood. My uncle lives there, he'll be more than willing to let us stay."
"Yes, thank you, I have nowhere to go," Bastet answered.
"Me too," Huey said. "Thank you," he added.
"No trouble. You both saved my life, shelter is the least I can offer in return. Follow me, Riverwood's not far."
They set off, walking side-by-side down the cobblestone road. "Oh, and, if I were you, I'd lay low in the presence of the Imperials," Hadvar told them. "I know better, but as far as the rest of the legion is concerned, you're fugitives."
"I doubt they even remember us," Huey said. "Not being 'on the list' and all. They're probably more sore about Ulfric escaping." Hadvar cursed at the mention of his name.
"As we should be," he spat. "But you're probably right. I bet only the captain would recognize you two."
"Captain Pearly Gates, yeah, fuck her," Huey grunted, unable to help himself. Hadvar snorted, and Bastet snickered.
"I'm surprised she didn't cut your head off herself," Hadvar said. "She probably would have if General Tullius hadn't been there. I mean it."
"Well, thank God for small miracles," Huey replied.
"Which god?" Hadvar asked. Huey was taken aback, then remembered the Nine.
"Oh, um, Talos," he said back hastily, then remembered Talos was a no-no for the Empire, and glanced at Hadvar to guage his reaction. Hadvar noticed and smiled reassuringly.
"Don't worry, as far as I'm concerned, Talos is the Ninth of the Nine. To Oblivion with the Thalmor. The only reason I'm a legionnaire is to make sure Skyrim stays stable during these hard times."
"Yeah, I hear ya," Huey said.
After a moment of silence, Hadvar asked Bastet, "So, what brings you to Skyrim? I'm guessing it wasn't with the trade caravans, you don't strike me as a trader."
"That's my story for those that are less perceptive," she said to him with a crafty smirk. "But, in reality, I'm your standard adventurer. But to most Nords, I might as well say I'll pick their pockets when they're not looking. If I had to say so during my time in Cyrodiil, I definitely have to here... no offense." Hadvar shook his head.
"None taken."
They were silent for a while, leaving Huey to think to himself. In other words, to try and figure out what the fuck he was going to do next. Staying in Riverwood seemed the best option, maybe be a hunter. He had the know-how, and he had a bow. He had some skill with a compound bow and could refine his 'normal' bow skills with time. That seemed the best option. If anything, he could get a job at the tavern or something, as cook maybe. Finally those years at Garry's Diner would pay off.
But, despite the danger of adventuring in real Skyrim being... real, he found the idea of being a softy in Riverwood to be very unappealing. Plus it would never get him any closer to figuring out what really happened, how he got here. The sabercat showed up, back on Earth—weird as fuck to let that particular set of words run through his mind—then that freak storm. And suddenly, Skyrim. Worthy successor to Oblivion, a landmark achievement for Bethesda Softworks since Fallout 3, Game Of The Year on multiple fronts, winner of the Angry Joe Bad-Ass Seal of Approval—da woiks. Only this place had teeth, and it could bite any time it wanted.
So yeah, Huey was more likely to find out what happened if he asked the right people. And while this might be 'organic' Skyrim, not following any scripts or programming, he still had an idea of where all the 'right people' are. Which meant sticking with the Dragonborn. Because what else would a fanboy do?
"We're getting close." Hadvar's voice roused Huey from his musing. Indeed they were, he recognized the area close to the gateway to Riverwood. He could hear voices hollering, hammers clanging, and lumber blades sawing. A few more moments and they were stepping into the center of the village. Huey hid a smile when the old woman proclaimed of seeing a dragon, and no one believed her. He found a strange comfort in that some things might fall into place as expected. He just had to be sure that he didn't do anything to fuck it up. Cosmic butterflies and that ilk. He started to regret saving Lokir... or maybe he was just being paranoid.
"My uncle's home is just ahead," Hadvar told them. "Ah, there he is!" Ahead was a burly Nord (well that just described every Nord ever), face smeared with soot, along with his dark blonde hair. Uncle Alvor was carrying an iron chest-piece when Hadvar called to him.
Surprise on his face, he turned and cried, "Hadvar?! What are you doing here?"
"You won't believe it," Hadvar replied grimly as Alvor set the armor down on the porch.
"You look like you've been through Oblivion, boy," Alvor exclaimed. "It must be quite a story indeed." He looked to Bastet and Huey, curiosity and a little suspicion on his face. "And who are your companions?"
"I should explain inside, I don't want anyone overhearing," Hadvar answered lowly. Alvor nodded.
"Alright, then. Come with me, you can help yourself to some food and drink."
Hadvar followed his uncle, Bastet behind, and Huey trailing behind. He gazed at the town around him. He would have hoped the feeling of surrealism would have passed by now, what with dragon attacks and people getting killed around him. But he felt like he was almost in a dream... lucid dreaming. He knew he wasn't, but it seemed his subconscious wasn't ready to cooperate with the not-stupid part of his brain.
"Coming, son?" Alvor's voice said behind him. Huey turned and put on his poker face.
"Yeah, just... recovering," he replied, stepping to the door. Alvor gave him a pat on the shoulder.
"Bowl of stew will do you good, son. A stiff drink, too." Huey returned an honest—and relieved—smile.
"I heard that."
Huey disappeared into the house and the door closed behind him, tinking softly as the lock was secured.