A.N: This is a pilot chapter of a Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim idea with a bunch of WW1 re-enactors and vehicals, which end up in Skyrim and try to make a name for themselves to try to survive. Please give constructive criticism so that we may improve upon this in future chapters.
-The Fox Good
July 28, 2016
102nd Anniversary of WW1
Somewhere in France...
"Guys, hurry up and get that Maxum to the front lines. The Re-enactment is going to start in ten minutes." One of the senior re-enactors ordered.
"Give us a moment, this thing is heavy as hell!" Yelled the small man in full armored German gas gear. "Mason, hurry up and get that gun onto the horse!"
"One, fuck you. And two, get your lazy ass over here and help me secure this thing!" Snarled a taller man in a similar garb.
"I thought the other guy was helping you?"
"He left to go check the explosives." He said quickly, as he almost dropped the gun. "Kenny, hurry up and get over here!" The small man slumped over in resignation, but quickly made his way over to help. Once the two secured the gun, they mounted their respective horses and rode towards the re-enactment area. Halfway to the site, the morning fog rolled in, thicker than normal.
"Isn't this fog unusually thick today?"
"Isn't fog always thick?"
"I suppose, but something feels off about this..." There was some kind of surprised noise coming from the man next to him. "Mason, what the hell's wrong?"
"No, the terrain just changed, and I guess I wasn't expecting it."
"What do you mean it changed? We're in the middle of a grass field?"
"Look, I don't know, I can't see anything with this fog." He complained.
"Don't tell me the horses wandered into the forest."
"Look, all I know is that the terrain feels different, don't yell at me!"
"I'm not yellin'." Time ticked on as the fog began to thin.
"Look, I don't want to worry you, but shouldn't we have fallen into the trench by now?" The small one pulled up his sleeve and checked his watch.
"You're right, it's been over ten minutes." The tall one said nothing, just slowing his horse to a stop. Kenny, in confusion, stopped as well. "What's wrong?"
"We're waiting until the fog clears, or we're going to end up reaching the coast." Kenny nodded, and rounded his horse to once more be next to him.
"Should we try to make a call?"
"Go for it." With that, Kenny pulled out his phone and called one of the veteran re-enactors, Samuel Kemp. The phone ringed several times before a voice came on.
"Hello?"
"Hey Samuel, I think mason and I are lost somewhere. Has the re-enactment started yet? Its been over fifteen minutes."
"Yeah, about that, this might sound a bit weird, but the trenches are gone." The silence that followed was almost as thick as the fog.
"What?"
"Yeah, well uh, there are no trenches in the fields I'm at. One moment, I was in the trench, checking over my rifle, then this weird fog came in, and now me and my squad are in some kind of woodland." Kenny was about to retort, but was silenced when Mason tapped him on the shoulder, pointing to a flare high in the sky, far above the trees.
"Sam, you see that flare?"
"What? Whe- oh, I see it now. I think Michal was carrying one of those earlier."
"Alright, we should meet up by the flare. Is there anything else we should know?"
"Well, you know how we're all carrying blanks?"
"Yeah?"
"Well, we're not anymore. One of the guys accidently shot, and now there's a hole in a tree." Once more, the silence could be cut with a knife, before mason pulled out a spare clip, confirming that they were no longer loaded with blanks.
"Hey Sam, is it okay to panic before we meet?"
"Only as long as you don't kill anyone. You guys are carrying the Maxum."
"Alright, I'll see you later." With that, the call ended, and the two people looked at each other. "I'm so glad we have these horses. What would you say that's about, six, seven kilometers?"
"I am American. I speak English."
"Four or five miles." He deadpanned.
"Sounds reasonable, but we wont know until we get there." At this point, the thinly held fog had finally dissipated away, and the two looked around. This really didn't look like any part of France at all. After about forty minutes of carefully maneuvering the horses through the forest, the two made it to the growing group of about thirty people who stood around a Mark V tank replica, about a couple miles from walled gate. Behind Masons gas mask, he had the face of both confusion and recognition. He took of his gas mask and took out a pair of binoculars to take a closer look at the gate. His face seemed to both light up, and fall at the same time.
"Something wrong?"
"Use your binoculars over there. There's a wall."
"What?" Kenny did the same, going through almost the same expression pattern.
"I'm going to go ask them where we are."
"Ask who?"
"Whoever made the wall."
"What are you, a bloody idiot! We don't even know where we are! They might not speak English! Or there might not even be anyone!"
"Stop yelling at me!"
"That's what happens when you're being stupid!" The argument was cut short by another voice yelling out.
"Hey! Kenny! What the hell took you so long!" Yelled a British Re-enactor from the top of the tank. Kenny shot Mason a nasty look, promising that this would be talked about later, before heading over to the Englishman. Mason looked back to the wall for a moment, before turning to rejoin the group. After several hours, the group grew, along with it, even more vehicles came; like a 1916 Ford Model T Delivery Truck, an Ordnance QF 13 pounder Mk III AA gun on the truck, a white TCB armored car, and a 17cm mittlerer Minenwerfer mortar. By this time, the first flare was long gone, and Michal launched up another one from his little makeshift vehicle depot.
"How many of us do you think there are?"
"I dunno, probably more than forty."
"At least twelve." Mason called out from a card came with two other people.
"Well, he's not wrong..." Kenny looked over the various people there. There were a large mix of nationalities, around seventy percent from either the United Kingdom or the United States, all of them a mixture of uniforms from the various armies. It was just one major clusterfuck. "Let's give them three more hours. If no one arrives then, then we're starting a conference." Kenny said, more to Michal than anyone else.
"Agreed." Three more hours passed, and in that time, a pack of wolves had attacked, and was all killed, forcing most of the people in the group to realize that the bullets were not blanks. Eventually, Michal stood up once more, and called for everyone's attention. "I'm sure as you all realized by now, we're not in the re-enactment zone, and that our bullets are no longer blanks." This started a bit of murmuring through the crowd. "As I'm sure a few of you have seen, there's a wall around three kilometers down there." He explained, gesturing behind him. "Some of you have come to me with the recommendation that we send at least three people to go and check it out." The murmuring had increased. "Who thins we should go and check the wall out, raise your hand." After a few seconds, hand began to be raised, and Michal began to count them under his breath. "Alright, fifty-seven of you voted yes, who would like to volunteer?" Mason's hand shot up instantly, followed by about six others. "Alright, gather your equipment, and check your gear. And you, please don't take the horse." Mason grumbled, but hopped off and handed the reigns to Kenny to look after.
Five minutes later, the seven set off to the wall. Six of them were carrying bolt-action rifles, and one had a submachine gun. After about an hour trip there, they finally made it. The gate was closed, and the wall was made of cobblestone. As they got closer, someone came out from the sides of the gate. He wore some kind of armored tunic with an enclosed helmet. Across his back lay a quiver of arrows, in one hand was a shield, and in the other, a drawn sword. "Stop right there. State your business here."
Everyone in the group looked at each other, before shoving forward the only one with a gas mask, which was poor Mason. "Yes, uh, hello. I'd like some information, like, where are we right now?" While he may have sounded alright, on the inside, well... God damn it anxiety, I don't have time for your bullshit.
"Are you lost travelers?" The entire group nodded quickly, and the guard sheathed his sword. "I've never seen clothes like that before, but you are at Falkreath hold." The group looked at each other in confusion.
"And, what nation are we in?"
"Foreigners then? Well, you're in the Mede Empire in the providence of Skyrim." Mason was quite lucky the gas mask covered his expression.
"Um, alright, can we get a map?"
"I don't have a spare one on hand, but the inn keeper would probably sell you one. Here, let me unlock the gate." As the guard turned to open the gate, Mason came back to the small group.
"Alright, do we head in? And if so, does anyone have anything valuable on hand?" One of the people in the group, a huge American, held up a pack of cigars. "Alright, that might work, how high quality is it?"
"Four and a half dollars per cigar. Sons of Liberty five pack. The good stuff."
"The its a good thing we're selling them, else you're going to end up killing yourself." Someone cut in. There were forced laughter all around.
"Alright, the gate's open, but don't cause any trouble, or I'll haul you lot into the dungeon myself." The guard called out, returning to his post. Several seconds passed, but eventually, they pushed forward the guy with the MP 18, who looked mortified at going in first. As the group went in, they saw a sign depicting a drink handing outside a large building. Pulling what they knew from history, this was likely a tavern. Once again, the stormtrooper was pushed forward, once again mortified, but more so annoyed at the others. There was some comment from some lady outside the tavern, but no one paid any attention, as their focus was purely on getting the map.
Once inside, they saw a rather spacious building, with very few people inside it, and a large fire roaring in a pit in the center of the room. The Inn Keeper stood up stiffly at the group, surprised that so many people were coming in at such a time. But regardless, business is business. "Welcome, welcome, take a seat and someone will be right with you."
"Are you the Inn Keeper?" Asked a Frenchman with a thick accent.
"Yes." The Inn Keeper replied, one hand slowly dropping from the counter to grip a sword. He wasn't taking any chances with this group.
"We're looking to trade for a map." The Keeper raised an eyebrow, and put his hand back on the counter.
"You lot aren't from around here, are you?" The stormtrooper firmly shook his head. "Well, yeah, I got some maps. How many do you want?" The American stepped up and pulled out the cigar pack again, opening it to show it. The Keeper just raised his eyebrow again. "And what's that?"
"Cigars. Made with good quality Tobacco, and a lot of it."
"That so?" The Keeper placed a dagger on the counter. "Mind if I check?" The American simply pulled one out and handed it over without hesitation. The keeper used the dagger, and cut along the length, checking the tobacco, whilst the American cringed horribly. Mason just patted him on the back. The Keeper pulled a small amount out and sniffed it. "Well, you're right. I haven't seen quality like this since that one Cyrodiil fellow came in here a few years back." The Keeper though for a long while, staring at the cigar, before speaking again. "Alright, here's the deal, I'll give you forty-five septims per, cigar, you called it? Sound fair?"
"Alright. That's a good deal." Mason piped up after a couple seconds. "How much for a map?"
"Eight Septims each." Mason turned back to the group, and they went into a discussion on how many they needed. Eventually, they settled on ten. They made the deal, handed in the cigars, and the keeper handed back the ten maps, as well as the remainder of the gold, which amounted to 145 Septims. Once the deal was concluded, they quickly made their way out and on the way back. After about forty minutes of jogging back, then saw that the group was already moving towards the town. Needless to say, the awkward silence that followed was awkward. Mason took the silence, to quietly mount his horse again, glad to not have to walk anymore.
There was a small conversation from which the maps were passed out, and everyone looked at them as if it was some kind of joke. One of the ones from the group pulled out one of the gold coins, showing it around. Luckily, there was one person in the group that knew real gold from fake, and verified the coin, quelling many of the people's doubts. "Alright guys, I think we need some kind of leadership here." Samuel spoke up. "I mean, Michal's okay, but we need to set this up properly." There was more murmuring, before Michal stood up again, asking for any previous military experience and training. About three other people raised their hand. Michal then asked about any officer training program, or any leadership experience at all, about four other people raised their hands.
"For fu- alright, Kenny, what program or experience?"
"Two years of high school JROTC. I made it to sergeant."
"Okay, that's good, you did a good job right?"
"If I tried, I could have been a platoon sergeant."
"You'll probably be one. You, other guy, what about you?" Samuel pointed to himself in question, only to receive Michal's nod.
"Samuel. I was a supply Manager."
"Okay, you'll probably end up as our supply sergeant. Alright, us, you, American actor with the Lewis LMG."
"Jonathan. I was Ex-SWAT. I lead a team." Michal nodded.
"How many missions?"
"Thirty-three." Michal let out a content hum.
"Good. You'll end up as a platoon leader. And you?" To which, like Samuel, Mason pointed to himself for confirmation. "You're the last one."
"Oh, right. Mason. I was a second-degree black belt in Taekwondo. I can teach self-defense if need be."
"Still better than nothing. You're going to have to teach everyone. The one's with military experience, raise your hands again." And once more, the three hands rose. "You, the Swiss guy."
"Mathias. Fresh out of service as a corporal."
"That's excellent. You, the German carrying the ammo belt."
"Eric. Ex-Second-Lieutenant in the German Army. I'm a bit rusty though."
"Okay, and the last one, you the American." He said to the last one holding his hand up.
"Rupert. I was a sergeant in the French Foreign Legion. It's been like, six years now."
"Weren't you the one with the cigars earlier?" Mason asked quietly, but was shut up when Kenny hit him in the back of the head. Michal quickly called for everyone who raised their hand to have a meeting, and for the others to establish ten-man teams, before climbing down to the other side of the tank.
"Not to be rude, but why are you in charge right now?" Eric asked once they were away from the large group.
"I was a captain in the Royal Navy. You try managing hundreds of people on a ship for months at a time."
"Well, he's got us there." Kenny said, voicing everyone's thoughts aloud. "Alright, I have to ask it, does anyone have an issue speaking in English?"
"There is this one French guy that doesn't speak English. He can read and write, and maybe understand it, but he can't speak it." Jonathan responded.
"First things first, we need to get supplies." Michal started the meeting of survival.
"Indeed, I think we should get everyone with Skyrim knowledge to help us find someplace cheap to get supplies from. And a way to get money." Kenny then turned to Mason. "Well Mason, you're up. Go gather the other Skyrim ner- people." Mason just nodded, stood up on his horse, took off his gas mask, cupped his hands around his mouth, and called out to the group on the other side of the tank.
"ANYONE WITH SKYRIM KNOWLEGE, GET YOUR ASS OVER HERE NOW!" He then just plopped back down on his horse and put his gas mask back on. "What?" He asked as everyone but Kenny stared at him.
"I knew he was going to do that..." Within about a minute, five others arrived in the group. The meeting that followed, was anarchy as all of them argued over the locations of literally everything, from ruins, to every hidden cave and fortress. There was even one person that refused to believe the map marking of the very mountains. There was also a decision for turning to criminalization to survive, as well as finding locations to settle in. If there weren't guns, then likely fists would have been flying.
Eventually, they did manage to agree on some aspects, and they began to talk about what to do now, and in the future. "Alright, first order of business... Riverwood seems to be the friendliest from what you've told me. And there is a well connected blacksmith there. We can get more materials there."
"And bullets."
"Yes, and bullets too. After that, we'll try to take over the town, so to speak, and build our own little survival area." There were nods all around as Michal said that. "And problems we might have while traveling, Thalmor, Stormcloaks, Thieves, basically everyone. I cannot stress this enough, do NOT shoot on sight. Unless they attack you, then mind your own business, and move on. Moving on, if we manage to take over the town, we will try to build up our own little nation, and try to advance the people as much as we can."
"Why?"
"So we can use them as cannon fodder. We all know that we're going to have to end up fighting eventually." Kenny answered before Michal could, very much silencing most of the people in the group. "What? Guys, I know it's dark, but we're stuck with a life or death situation."
"Besides, it's either we die, or they do." Eric added on after a moment.
". . . I bet you guys are fun at parties." Jonathan spoke up, interrupting Michal again.
"Only sparkle parties." Eric countered. It was so dark, that no one could even force themselves to laugh.
"Continuing on after that depressing conversation, we'll try to make an independent nation out of that place, and try to build up such a fearsome reputation for ourselves that no one would attack us."
"Ow. The Edge. It cuts me."
"Aw, Shuddup."
"By the time we have such a reputation, we either found a way home, or conquered all of Skyrim." Michal continued as if there was no interruption. "Alright, we'll think of what to do on the way, for now, we need to rest. I want an early start, so get to sleep quickly. We'll be sleeping in shifts."
"What time are we moving?" Samuel inquired, not liking the sound of 'early start'.
"Eight o'clock sharp." There were several utterances of the word 'shit' from throughout the group. "Alright, you guys go and get the names of the squad leaders, and set up their shifts." Everyone muttered acknowledgements before heading back to the main group.