This is my first attempt at doing a first person story. I will be writing this as I play through the Skyrim game roleplaying as this character. Reviews would be appreciated.
Prologue
It all started on a Friday afternoon in late December. The exact date, I can't remember. I've never been good at keeping track of these kinds of things, and in Skyrim the dates and times are different complicating things a little bit. I just remember that it was about a quarter till four and my parents were arguing furiously, something that unfortunately was very common in my family. I remember feeling a little guilty about the whole ordeal because technically it was my fault, but not that guilty. You see, my parents had just been given the news that I had failed all my fall semester classes in college and would no longer get any backing from financial aid. That meant that my mother would finally have to get off her lazy butt and work so she could afford to put me through school.
I… really shouldn't say that about her. She suffers from a severe case of depression and despite that fact worked like a mule to get me the disability and financial services I needed in the first place. But the reason I didn't feel overly guilty about the argument or the fact that my mother had to get a job was that she had brought it on herself. I had warned her not to put me in the classes that were the most difficult for me so soon or I'd fail miserably and this exact thing would happen. My mother never was one for logical thinking.
And now my parents were arguing about how to handle the situation. My mother wished to take strict and harsh action, as if that ever did any good with me, and my father was more for the tactful diplomatic approach. I really didn't want to hear my mother yell in that grating voice of hers so I of course rooted for my father.
Don't get me wrong, I wasn't a bad kid. In fact I'd been a heck of a lot better than many people I knew. I never touched drugs, alcohol, or cigarettes in school. I never messed with anyone who didn't deserve it. Heck, I'm still a proud virgin to this day, and believe me when I say I've had the chance to deflower some particularly promiscuous females. What I'm saying is I had my flaws, I did poorly in school if I wasn't interested in the subject, and I was VERY harsh to authority figures who I didn't deem worthy of their position, but overall I had been a parent's dream. So I sat on the top of the staircase hidden from view as quiet as a church mouse and listened to them argue.
It was the same old crap that they always said when they argued. "You've always protected him!" yelled my mother in a loud voice obviously livid that my father in her view took my side again; "ever since he was little! When he'd get failing grades in school, when he'd back talk me, when he'd get suspended you always took the little (Expletive's) side! I always had to be the bad guy while you got to be his best friend!"
I had to smile at that insult; you'd think I'd be offended but I had called her worse names behind her back and admittedly even to her face so it was all fair game.
"I'm not taking anybody's side, but turning this into (Expletive) world war three isn't going help anything!" boomed the voice of my father; "you need to calm the (Expletive) down and think for a second! Every time you try to punish this kid he just smirks and pushes your buttons to the point where you go ape (Expletive) and lose control! And he's eighteen now, if you hit him you can go to prison for battery!" Despite any misconceptions I may have given you, my dad was the aggressive one of the family, and that was saying something. My mother and I were descended from the Irish and the Frankish barbarians so bad tempers were in our blood. I've broken furniture, video game controllers, and even chairs on the backs of my enemies and I still didn't come close to my Bruce freaken Banner of a father at the time. And my mother REALLY ticked him off.
"I won't go to prison!" said my mother. Oh yes you will, I thought chuckling to myself. "Oh yes you will!" replied my father echoing my thoughts; "you need to approach this kid cautiously and with consideration! I don't need to tell you he's not a… normal kid!"
Oh great, this again, I thought bitterly. I hated when this happened. I hated being treated by my father as some mentally deficient freak. This was the real reason my father seemingly always took my side. I have high functioning autism. Side effects include poor social skills, extreme focus on one subject, repetitive motions, lack of empathy, rocking back and forth without realizing it, pacing in a trance like state around my house talking to myself while throwing a stick into the air and catching it like a baton, being looked at as the strange kid on the block, being avoided by every living human being not obligated to take care of you, and creeping out the non-adventurous members of the opposite sex.
"That's no excuse!" yelled my mother at my father self-righteously. "And depression is?!" he responded; "you're always telling us that we have to put up with your (Expletive) because you have depression, but when your own kid has something worse than you do you show him no mercy!" "He does not have it worse than I do!" screamed my mother frustrated. "The social security office didn't see it that that way!" responded my father bringing up a very good point.
My mother had apparently had enough, "THAT IS IT! I'm tired of living in a house where my own husband and my own child have no respect for me! How would you like it if I left huh? How would you like it if-." She was cut off in midsentence presumably by my father. "He's listening!" I heard my father say. "Get your (Expletive) down here right now and talk with us!" said my mother furiously. I smirked and headed down the stairs. I didn't want to do what I'd inevitably have to do but they were both asking for it.
When I got there I had to stop myself from laughing. The look on my poor mother's face was hilarious. It was red as a tomato, she was sweating like a dog, and her normally pretty face was contorted in a hideous rage.
"Wipe that (Expletive) smirk off your face," she fumed. "Do you kiss your momma with that mouth Sarah Conner?" I responded like a smart (Expletive). "You stupid son of a-," she started before catching herself. "Want me to finish that sentence?" I asked not having as much fun as you might think.
"Dammit, don't talk to your mother that way!" responded my father. "Well, look who's taking my side again! The disrespect for you is killing me mother," I responded admittedly digging a deeper hole for myself. I really couldn't stop myself when it came to ticking people off, it's a defense mechanism carried over from my middle school years.
"SHUT UP!" yelled my mother startling my already terrified dog; "do you even feel the least bit guilty?! Do you realize how many people bent over backwards to help you get through college? I now have to work at Burger King to pay for your school! I used to be an executive assistant at a multimillion dollar company, and now I have to work at Burger King!"
"And you'll probably get fired from Burger King too. That'll be, what, the sixth time you get laid off that's not your fault?" I replied hitting below the belt.
"This isn't about me!" said my mother losing her composure. Her work history was a sore spot for her. The crappy economy screwed her over the first time, but I blamed all the rest on her. "This is about you failing two measly classes in one semester!" she continued.
"Two classes that I told you I couldn't pass!" I responded angrily. "Two classes that you'd have to take anyway!" shot back my mother.
"Yes but being the complete idiot that you are you put me in those classes right away instead of milking the financial aid until I'd passed the rest of the classes! But you never admit when you're wrong about something do you?! You always blame it me or my dad!" I yelled.
"I never take responsibility for MY actions? When have you EVER taken responsibility for yours?" asked my mother still ticked off.
"I hate to break it to you mom, but as far as actions go you've done way worst things than I have. You smoked your first bag of weed at the age of what, fifteen?" I responded.
I knew that I had gone too far but I couldn't turn back now at the risk of looking weak. "My past is behind me," she said, "stop bringing it up." "Should I not bring up my earliest and fondest memories of you walking around the house in a drunken stupor? Should I not bring up how you'd hide licker around the house from my dad? Should I not bring up how you broke the door upstairs in a drunken rage? Should I not-?" I started.
"I said DON"T BRING IT UP!" she yelled with a fury that surprised even me. "I'm deaf She Hulk," I said making a mockery of her rage. My mother grabbed me and pressed me against the wall.
I was shocked that I'd invoked such rage in my mother, and in a moment of heat I responded in a way I shouldn't have. I smirked and said, "I'm way bigger than you are woman," before shoving her to the ground.
My mother got up and lunged for me again but was held back by my father. She shook violently trying to escape and yelled in between a stream of obscenities, "I gave you everything! I gave you life! I gave you everything!" before finally calming down.
"Smooth move," I said laughing getting under her skin even further. "Get out of my house," she said to me. "What?" I asked shocked that things had gone this far. "GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!" she yelled.
I fell silent for a minute before speaking up, "Fine," I yelled, "I'll see you in hell!" I opened the door of my house, went outside, and got half way down the drive way before my father stopped me.
"You don't have to go son," he said in a tone of sadness that was rare for him. I turned around furious; "you said it yourself dad, turning this into world war three isn't helping anybody."
"It doesn't have to be like this," he pleaded. "It will always be like this," I responded; "as long as I live in that house with that woman it will always be this way. I've accepted it."
"What was she supposed to do son?" he said getting an angrier tone about him; "was she supposed to sit there and take your insults and do nothing? I've sat back and watched through the years as you've said the most disrespectful things to your own mother and I've given you leniency because you have a mental disorder, but shoving her like that was the worst thing I've seen you do!"
"Please," I answered with contempt; "you're going to judge me for putting my hands on my mother?"
"I don't do that anymore…" he responded glumly; "I'm very sorry for the example I put on for you when I was younger but that gives you absolutely no excuse for what you've done. You were never like me son, you always respected women and despite everything, you've never put your hands on your mother."
"I should have done it sooner," I said not truly believing what came out of my mouth.
"Come on son, you can't really mean that! Do you have any idea where your mother is right now? She's face down on a pillow weeping because her own son doesn't respect her! The first thing she asked me when you left was what she did to make you hate her! She LOVES you son," said my father way more emotional than I had ever seen him.
I sighed; "I love her too dad, but at the same time I hate her. I have to go now," I said before starting again down the path to nowhere.
"And where will you go son?" he asked; "you have no work experience, no sense of direction, no independence whatsoever, and you expect to survive out there? We've always sheltered you from the worst things in life but it's a cruel world son and it'll eat you alive."
"I'll surprise you," I replied as I left knowing that my father was right. Life from here on out was going to suck. I could've easily turned around and apologized to my poor mother but I had too much pride for that.
That was my main problem looking back, pride, disrespect, and a lack of humility. I should also pile lack of responsibility on top of it all. It was all these things that were pulling my life down to the brink of the abyss, and as crazy as it sounds what happened next probably saved me from dying in a ditch somewhere.
In my neighborhood there's this soccer field where many people have reported strange happenings. The main reason for that is probably because it's where the stoners go to get ripped. Whatever the case, I ended up in it sitting down at a bench in the field pondering what to do next.
The first place that I probably needed to go was a homeless shelter until I got enough money to get lodging. Then I'd buy a cheap apartment someplace, hopefully someplace safe, and then… I hung my head low and wept overcome with grief and for the first time real guilt for what he'd done.
I did that for at least thirty minutes before being approached by someone. "Is something wrong mortal?" asked the approaching person. I looked up to behold a rather pretty female with wild but straight jet black hair, olive colored skin, and violet eyes that contrasted with the rest of her. "Pretty," was actually the biggest understatement ever put forth by human thought. She was perfect, a word I don't throw around lightly, like a finely crafted statue. Her beauty was literally unearthly; something I'd find that there was a reason for later on.
Mortal? I thought upon hearing the woman speak; great, another stoner. Why are the pretty ones always so freaking stupid? "It's nothing that you need to concern yourself with ma'am," I said always showing courtesy to strangers who didn't provoke me, especially women; "I'm just having a bad day."
"Bad day?" she asked, "go ahead, tell me about it, I'm listening" I gritted my teeth; I knew that she was trying to be nice and all but I really didn't want to sit here and explain my troubles to someone who was probably under the influence. But something about this woman made me want to open up to her so I explained what happened; "and so here I am with no place to go and no place to stay. Basically, the moral of the story is don't tick off your mother or she'll bite you in the (Expletive.)"
"I see," said the woman; "squabbling between a mortal and its forebears, I have heard of such things among your kind. Why don't you simply make peace with her, tell her how much you love her, and perhaps work to live up to her expectations?"
"My hubris prevents me from doing so," I responded not knowing what to think about this whole "mortal" business. Was she stoned or was she schizophrenic? Was she truly convinced that she was some kind of immortal inhuman creature above the rest of us or was she putting on an act?
"Hubris is the flaw of many heroes' mortal; do not put yourself down. I am someone who sees things in others that most do not, and I see in you something that you could never dream of. Stay strong mortal for destiny may have great things in store for you," the woman responded sounding like a cliché from every Saturday morning cartoon I'd ever watched.
"Alright, why do you keep calling me mortal?" I asked more respectfully than you'd think; "are you high?" "High?" asked the woman; "I am on the ground as you are."
"Forget I asked," I replied now realizing that she was crazy rather than under the influence. At this point I weighed my options. On one hand I could help her, maybe take her to my church psychologist or someone who could help her with her delusions. On the other hand, she may have been a functioning member of society despite it all could help me more than I could help her.
Then, there was the elephant in the room. If this woman was crazy, the question became how crazy was she? Was she crazy enough to kill someone? I had to know more about her before I made my next move.
"So, what's your name ma'am and what do you do? I'm guessing from your olive complexion and purple irises that you have roots in the mountains of Afghanistan or northern Kashmir," I said trying to learn more about her.
She looked at me with genuine confusion; "I don't know what Afghanistan and Kashmir are mortal, but my name is Serenity. I am a servant of the chief divine Akatosh and I am here in search of a hero to save my land from a great evil."
"Okay…" I responded. This girl was off her nut for sure but I decided to play along anyway; "so have you found this hero yet?" "Sadly no mortal," she said sighing; "I have yet to find anyone in this realm or my own that was able to pass the test and receive Akatosh's blessing."
"And what kind of test are giving them?" I asked with a slight joking tone. Serenity reached into her purse and pulled out a rolled up scroll shocking me. I mean, who the heck carries around a scroll of all things.
"This is an Elder Scroll," she said showing it to me; "it is a fragment of reality that holds great power. No ordinary human can read the scroll without permanently going blind or mad. But those who can look past the runes see the past and the future alike. Akatosh has deemed any who can look into the scroll and see a prophecy of the future worthy of his blessing."
"Oooh, I want to try," I said jokingly. Serenity looked at me with dead seriousness; "this is no joke mortal. If you look into the scroll you may not come out the same."
"I think I'll be fine," I responded confidently. "I am required to give the test to any who ask for it but I PLEAD with you human; do not look into the scroll!" she said in sad tone that shocked me.
In a way, I was touched that woman cared for the safety of me, a stranger, that much but on the other hand she was crazy, and if I was going to help her I had to prove it to her. "Warning noted," I said; "I'll be looking at that Scroll now."
She nodded glumly and gave me the Elder Scroll. I opened it and tried to read it and found out quick that she wasn't screwing around. An overwhelming quantity of images flashed through my brain from the rune driving me mad for a second before everything went black.
I then saw a vision as real as anything I'd ever seen. It was of a great Wyvern flying through the sky breathing fire on the city below. The city was medieval looking and the ground was covered in snow. People ran, bled, and died as the dragon caused more destruction.
With it I heard a song in a language I couldn't decipher.
Dovakhiin, Dovakhiin, naal ok zin los vahriin
Wah dein vokul mahfoerook asht vaal!
Ahrk fin norok paal graan fod nust hon zindro zaan,
Dovakhiin, fah hin kogaan mu draal!
As I saw some escape I saw a large man in both height and physique, with long blonde hair, and a sword strapped to his back stand still among the chaos.
Huzrah nu, kul do od, wah aan bok lingrah vod,
Ahrk fin tey, boziik fun, do fin gein!
Wo lost fran wah ney dov, ahrk fin reyliik do jul,
Voth aan suleyk wah ronit faal krein!
The man unsheathed his sword and walked toward the destruction unafraid. The dragon landed in front of him and let out a challenging roar.
Ahrk fin zul, rok drey kod, nau tol morokei frod,
Rul lot Taazokaan motoad voth kein!
Sahrot Thu'um, med aan tuz, vey zeim hokoron pah,
Ol fin Dovahkiin komeyt ok rein!
The man and the dragon fought. I could see the man's face now. It was sharp featured, young, clean shaven, and half covered in red war paint. The dragon tried to outmatch him but couldn't; and with the word "rein," the man let out a roar that shoved the dragon to his back.
Ahrk fin Kel lost prodah, do ved viing ko fin krah,
Tol fod zeymah win kein meyz fundein!
Alduin, feyn do jun, kruziik vokun staadnau,
Voth aan bahlok wah diivon fin lein!
With that the dragon arose and finally took control giving the man the fight of his life. By the end of the word "lien" the man lied on his back with the appearance of being dead.
Nuz aah sul, fent alok, fod fin vul dovah nok,
Fen kos nahlot mahfaeraak ahrk ruz!
Paaz Keizaal fen kos stin no bein Alduin jot,
Dovahkiin kos fin saviik do muz!
But the man was not dead. He picked himself back up and fought furiously before finally finishing off the dragon with his sword. The dragon's skin burned away and some kind of energy was absorbed from him into the man. The man then let out a triumphant roar that was heard across Tamriel.
I then blacked out completely.