Hey there internet! I decided that it was time to make an elder scrolls crossover with fallout. Now, I warn you, The Lone Wanderer in this fic isn't some kind of knight in shining power armor, he's kind of a dick. But hey, that's his selling point. If you read my other fic Magic and Steel, then you should know that Michael is in this story too. And you all know full well what Michael is like.
Michael was drunk. Well, drunker than usual. Hell, he had a great reason to be! A lot of great reasons really. His father was dead, he was kicked out of his home, and every five feet he moved in the wasteland, something tried to kill him. Michael grabbed the whiskey off of his desk and took another swig. One thing puzzled him above all else about his life. Why on earth did people hail him as the savior of the wasteland?
Michael has literally killed thousands of people, and just as much animals. How can you be a 'Messiah' if you kill thousands? Even if those thousands are all made up of junkie raiders that will torture, rape, and kill whoever they please? Or if they are part of a military organization hell bent on poisoning the water supply?
The worst part of it was that he enjoyed every single kill. Every single head he smashed in gave him a rush like no other. The drug he was addicted to was death, and it was an addiction that could never be satisfied. Michael only began to notice how much he enjoyed killing after his father passed on.
After his father's death, he ran towards danger. Well, more than usual. He grew more aggressive to people he used to call friends, and that only worsened when he was forced out of his vault. Though, Michael knew that he could have stayed if he really wanted too. It wasn't like they could actually physically force him out. If they can't handle a few radroaches, then there was no way on god's green earth they could take him on.
He only left for Amata's sake.
Michael looked around the shack that he called home. Megaton was shitty, but then again, it was less shitty than everywhere else. A few people who could get past his aggressive demeanor actually liked him. His T-51B power armor sat in the corner of his room, next to his dirty bed. The white metal was covered in old blood stains, and was still in fine condition.
Michael loved his armor. That thing took everything that was thrown at it, missiles, bullets, laser blasts, and fuckin' plasma. All that showed from those was a few mere scratches on its surface. Michael didn't know what it was made out of, but it had to be a material that was way stronger than steel. Even steel could only take so much.
Michael stood up from his chair, and walked over to his bed. He looked down at himself for a moment before plopping down face first on the mattress. He was wearing his stealth suit, and it seems to have been promoted to pajamas. Or would that be demoted? Michael didn't know, he was too hammered to care.
Soon, he could feel himself beginning to drift away, and his eyes slowly shut, the empty bottle of whiskey still in hand.
…
Michael felt freezing. His eyes shot open and saw the open sky. What the hell? Michael pinched the bridge of his nose to quell his rising headache. He fuckin' hated hangovers, but he loved getting drunk. Michael took in a large breath of air. It didn't smell… wastelandy for some reason. Why was it so cold? Why was he here? Michael slowly sat up from the ground, realizing that he was holding his empty bottle of hooch in his left hand.
He promptly began freaking out as soon as he saw all the cold white snow surrounding him. This has got to be some kind of drunken dream right? Snow in the wasteland? He'd never seen snow before. Michael looked around his environment some more, and saw snow covered pine tree's. Seriously, this has to be a dream or something. There aren't any pine trees in the wasteland, or any trees at all. Well, there was oasis, but this couldn't be oasis. This dream felt too real, he was colder than he had ever been in his life. Michael then heard a roar emanate from the sky and looked above him again to see a brown dragon flying overhead.
Now Michael new for sure that this was a dream. He had always wanted to be in a dream where he could do whatever he wanted. Michael grabbed his scoped magnum Blackhawk from his hip and began shooting off rounds at the dragon while remaining seated in the snow. He fired off Blackhawk three times until Michael finally hit the thing in the head.
The bullet passed under its chin and out of the back of its head, causing the beast to fall from the sky. It crashed onto the ground with a resounding thud, and Michael could see details that he couldn't when it was up in the sky. The dragon only had two back legs, a long brown tail with spikes sticking out on the sides, and long black horns protruding from its skull.
Michael stood up from the ground, and stumbled over to the corpse.
"Fuck you dragon!" Michael yelled, throwing the glass bottle at the body.
It shattered, and Michael turned around. This dream was awesome, he had only been having nightmares lately, and even his regular dreams didn't start out with him capping a dragon in the skull. He wondered what else he could do. Michael's eyes wandered around the forest for a moment before he saw his suit of T-51B standing upright from the snow.
Michael smirked, and walked over to the love of his life. The back was wide open, and he stepped inside the suit, feeling it close around him. That's when he realized that Blackhawk was still in his hand.
"Fuckin' dammit!" Michael yelled.
Oh well, it's just a dream, what does it matter? He awkwardly placed the gun in its holster, then slipped his right arm back into the armored sleeve. He felt… oddly conscious right now, as if this weren't a dream. This had to be a dream though, come on! He woke up in a snowy forest and just murdered a dragon, this was a dream, and that was final. That didn't change the fact that his armor was keeping him warm, or the fact that he felt like shit.
How could he feel like shit in a dream? It didn't make any sense. For a moment, Michael considered the fact that this might in fact, not be a dream. After that, he promptly began laughing.
He turned around and flipped off the corpse of the dragon.
"This is fuckin' crazy." Michael said.
Michael turned back around, and began wandering the cold forest. Why did everything feel so real in this dream? The snow crunching under his boots, the birdsong, the fresh air, and his hangover all felt very real. Logic then kicked in. Dragons don't exist, therefore, this was a dream. Unless… he was in another part of the wasteland. Who knows? Maybe some kind of animal was mutated so severely it looked like a dragon.
Even if this weren't a dream, why was his armor just… there? It didn't make any sense, it's not like it followed him here. Michael was confused, and he hated being confused. He despised the feeling of being untethered, he liked to know what was going on with himself at all times, save for when he was drunk of course.
Dream? Not a dream? Michael needed to find out soon, or he might start yelling at the birds. Hell, he might just do that anyway. Michael put both hands up to his mouth.
"Fuck off you flying rats!" He yelled at the top of his lungs.
On cue, a bunch of birds flew off from bushes and trees all around him. He liked to enjoy the little things in life, such as disrespecting the corpses of his enemies and yelling at things because he felt like it. Michael then realized something that made him want to slap himself in the face.
He could just use his pip boy to find out where he was. Hangovers really must cut his intelligence down a notch. He lifted his forearm up and looked down at the screen. He went to the map menu, and was startled by what he saw.
Nothing.
The screen was completely black.
"What kind of bullshit…" Michael muttered to himself.
This was driving him crazier! Why wasn't he receiving a map of the area? Michael put his arm back to his side, and walked over to a tree. He raised his fist at it, and struck it with all his might. Michael retracted his hand, and held it in his other. He remained silent for five seconds before…
"Fuck! Oh what the fuck!? Why the fuck did I fucking do that shit!? That fucking hurt holy fuck!" Michael yelled, cradling his hand which was throbbing with pain.
This wasn't a dream? No… no… no!
"Bullshit!" He yelled at the sky.
If this wasn't a dream… then that meant the dragon he shot down was…
Real.
Michael killed a fuck mothering dragon! Where on earth was he? Okay, remain calm. He took in a deep breath of air, and let it out, then repeated the process once more. He hadn't felt this out of place since the time he was tripping balls over those punga seeds.
He needed to try to remember how he got here. Michael squeezed his eyes shut, and concentrated as hard as possible. His attempt was all for naught however, he could not recall anything that happened last night besides going to bed. Michael decided one thing, whoever was responsible for putting him here was dead. The serious kind of dead. He was surprised though that there was someplace seemingly untouched by the bombs.
He was angry, and he wanted something to smash. If he didn't get back to his house, he was terrified about what would happen to his hoard. No one would touch his hoard.
No one.
It was his, and his alone, if anyone touched it, they died.
Michael closed his eyes again, and sat down against the base of the tree he struck. He needed to sit down for a moment. He took a few deep breaths to calm himself down. That's when he felt something sharp get pushed up against his armored throat. He opened his eyes and saw reptilian eyes staring into his own. Michael froze. He observed the figure, its head was shaped like that of a lizard, and he saw piercings lining where its eyebrows should have been.
It wore ragged looking leather armor, with a buckle around his torso. Michael went into murder mode.
"Hand over your gold or-"The thing started.
Michael yelled in its face, and grabbed the back of its head. The thing tried to slash at his throat, but unluckily for the creature, it was armored. Michael twisted to the side of the lizard man, and smashed his head against the tree. The creature looked stunned, then Michael did it again, and again.
The creature dropped its dagger after its arms went slack at its side. Michael pulled back its head and slammed it into the tree until he saw red blood beginning to stain its bark. He paused for a moment, then went back to slamming its head against the tree, yelling the entire time. He blacked out, and when he was back in reality, he saw that the things face had pretty much been reduced to ground beef.
He let go of its skull, and the thing fell on its back. Michael stood to his full height and looked down at it. Its chest was still moving up and down, though at a very slow rate. He raised his foot over its chest and stomped on it until it stopped breathing. After he was done, Michael took a deep, angry breath.
"What the fuck!?" He yelled.
Lizard people? Really? Where the hell was he? Dragons and lizard people weren't in the damned wasteland! Michael looked down at the body and saw that it even had a tail poking out of its trousers. Michael went to search his body by instinct, and when he was done, he was holding a small pouch of golden colored coins in his hand.
The thing asked him if he had gold. Why would he have gold? That wasn't really a thing anymore, so what were these coins really? He pulled one out of the brown sack and observed the coin from front to back. The sideways head of a man was on one side, and a dragon like symbol was on the other. This couldn't be real gold… could it? Michael put the coin back into the small sack, and tied the bag to his side.
If that was real gold, you know that he would take it with him to the wastes. The caps he could get for this could be crazy! It's not that he didn't have a shit ton of caps already, but could more caps really hurt? Of course not. Well, so far today he murdered a mythical beast, and eviscerated a lizard man.
Dad would be proud.
Michael chuckled to himself. What was next on the agenda? Plucking the wings from butterflies? Eating every plant in sight? Or maybe finding out where the hell he was. Michael decided to go with the third option, he liked knowing where he was. He wandered around the forest some more, until he came across a stone road.
The stones on the road were all separate pieces, as if this had been constructed with rocks that were just lying around here. Definitely not like the broken ass modern roads back home. Michael walked to the middle of it, and looked both directions. Which way should he go? Michael tapped his foot on the ground for a moment before he heard the clopping of hooves coming from up the road. He turned his head, and expected to see the familiarity of a two headed Brahmin. What he saw however, was a pure black horse pulling a carriage.
A horse.
Those were extinct! Michael pointed to the carriage driver, a man who was wearing some kind of stupid hat and ragged robes.
"Where did you get that!?" Michael yelled.
The man stopped his carriage right in front of Michael. He furrowed his brow at the Lone Wanderer.
"Whatever do you mean?" He asked him.
Michael noted that he had an odd accent.
"The fucking horse bro!" Michael yelled.
The man remained silent for a few moments.
"From Markarth. Why?" He asked Michael.
"Horses are fuckin' extinct!" Michael yelled.
And no one used carriages anymore, at least not that he knew of.
The man backed up a bit in his seat and gave Michael an odd look.
"They've never been extinct you mad man. Now clear out of the way, I've got no time for your rabble." The man said.
"Whatever. Can I catch a ride though? Can you take me to the nearest town?" Michael asked him.
The man put out his hand.
"Pay me some gold and I will." The man said.
Stingy bastard. Oh well, there was probably more where this came from anyway. He took the pouch from his hip, and placed it in his hand. The man opened the bag, and nodded approvingly.
"Hop in back and we'll be off." The carriage driver said.
"Fuckin' great." Michael said, walking towards the back of the carriage.
Once he reached the back, he saw that there was another person, a woman, in the back of the carriage, sitting closest to the exit. She wore steel armor that would cover her head to toe, if she were wearing her helmet. The armor had engravings all along it, and the helmet in her lap had little metal wings sticking out in either direction next to the eye holes. She wore an ugly green sword at her belt, and Michael meant ugly. It looked puke green, he hated that color. Other than that though, the weapon looked savage and dangerous.
She had long blondish hair that reached over her ears, and her eyes were… pure red. Not just the eye color, the entire eye was literally pure red, it threw him off and creeped him out. Other than that though, she was kind of pretty, in a gruff 'I kill people for a living' kind of way. Hell, Michael killed for a living too! So how much radiation did she get exposed to? Those blood red eyes weren't natural.
Michael climbed into the carriage, and took his seat, which was right across from her. She glared into his visor, and Michael had to resist the urge to snap her neck. He didn't like being glared at. He took off his own helmet, and glared back. He had been through this routine before, he wasn't about to be intimidated by some mutated red eyes.
…
Why wasn't he… afraid? This wasn't how this was supposed to happen. This man should be feeling fear. That's what these cursed eyes of hers were meant for. When they stopped on the road, she had looked over to see this man standing there in his snow white armor, freaking out about the horse. The fool claimed that they went extinct, ridiculous. He climbed into the carriage after paying the driver, and sat right across from her.
She didn't like that one bit. She liked her space, and even sharing the carriage with this fool was insult enough. His face had nary a scar, save for one faint white line on the right side of his head. He had a rough looking black beard, and his equally black hair reaching down over his ears. His eyes were a piercing blue, unlike any she had ever seen, and she had seen plenty blue eyes in her time.
What set them apart from the other eyes though, was the familiarity behind them. This man had killed… just as much as her, perhaps more. Those were eyes that were only owned by someone experienced in the art of killing. Too experienced. He was young, around her age if she was not mistaken.
Venne observed his armor. It was thicker than most, the helmet had two hoses connected to the oval shaped mouth piece, and a strange decoration on the forehead. Two star shaped symbols were drawn on the shoulder armor, and it had a large valve on the back. His left gauntlet was gone, in its place was some kind of large ugly watch that emanated green light.
"If you keep fuckin' glaring at me lady, I swear that I'm going to fucking cap you." The man said.
Venne furrowed her brows in confusion.
"Cap me?" She asked him.
The man then furrowed his own brows in confusion.
"You know, cap." The man said once more.
"No, I don't know, how about you explain before I send you to meet the divines?" Venne nearly growled out.
"Okay then bitch, it means I'm going to shoot you if you keep fuckin' looking at me. You'd best turn away." He said.
"Shoot me eh? With the bow that you don't possess?" Venne said.
The man took a deep breath.
"No, with the gun that I fuckin' possess. I'll send a round right through those stupid red eyes of yours." He said.
Venne smirked.
"I might just stick my blade in those stupid blue eyes of yours milk drinker." Venne said.
The man looked taken aback.
"The fuck you mean by milk drinker?" He asked her.
She smiled.
"Coward, weakling, you know, what you are." Venne said.
The man then made some kind of gesture at her with his middle finger extended. What was that supposed to mean?
"Fuck you." He said, seemingly to answer her thoughts.
Oh.
"Classy. I see that your parents didn't do a very good job in raising you." Venne said.
The man clenched his teeth in fury. He then grabbed her by the throat with his right hand. By the gods! She felt like she was being strangled by a troll! She unsheathed her dagger and held it against his neck. That gave him pause. He loosened his grip enough to where she could breath, but he did not let go.
"Hey! I'll have no one dying on my carriage! If you want to kill each other, wait until after I drop you off!" The carriage driver yelled.
The man and Venne both craned their necks to him.
"Mind your own damn business!" They both yelled in unison.
The carriage driver promptly turned back around.
"I could snap your neck right now!" He yelled.
"I could slit your throat right now!" She yelled.
They both bared their teeth like rabid wolves and Venne could feel imaginary lightning flashing between their eye contact. Both of their helmets had fallen off of their laps and onto the seats next to them, and unlike their owners, they were not glaring at each other.
"You two deserve one another." The carriage driver said.
The man and Venne both turned their glare towards him. The carriage driver slowly looked back at them, and by the look in his eyes, he regretted what he said. She was the dragonborn; she shouldn't have to deal with these idiots!
There we go, now leave a review, or I swear I'm going to eat your cat.