Skyrim is not good for you
I woke up cold, uncomfortable, and nauseous. My back ached against a hard surface that upon further examination felt like wood: splintery wood. The thud-thud of horses and the sound of something rolling filled the air, and men's voices called out to one another, their words muffled through the haze of my sleep. Wherever I was, I was swaying from side to side, at the mercy of the motion of whatever I was in.
Groaning, I tried to lift a hand to wipe the grit from my eyes, only to have the other hand tugged along with it. I froze, then slowly, without opening my eyes, tried to forced my hands apart. An uncomfortable pressure appeared at my wrists, feeling distinctly like tightening ropes.
God damn it all, I was tied up.
Discreetly, I moved my feet and was relieved when they encountered no resistance. Just my hands then.
What was the last thing I remembered? I hadn't drunk at all, I hadn't done drugs of any sort, no one to my knowledge ever had the opportunity to slip me anything. So what, did that mean someone had randomly broken into my dorm and kidnapped me, all without me waking up? ... That was an embarrassingly possible situation. I was a pretty deep sleeper, something my prank-happy friends had taken advantage of on more than one occasion.
But on a more urgent note, where was I? I could hear a bunch of guys speaking around me, but not much over the sound of horses and a wagon (at least I assumed that was what I was on, with the horses and the hard wooden surface).
"Hey, you. You're finally awake," a man said, apparently right across from me.
I didn't respond, not wanting to draw the attention of insane kidnappers. These guys were not my friends, that was for sure. My friends were pranksters, but even they had things they wouldn't do. Taking me out of my bed and putting me in a strange place? Something they would never do. With that in mind, I forced myself to relax, allowing my body to sway with the motion of whatever we were in.
"Hey, I'm talking to you. Only a fool wouldn't have seen you testing your bonds earlier."
Fuck. At this point it would be more dangerous to keep up the charade.
I grudgingly opened my eyes and took a few moments to adjust to the sudden influx of light as I looked around.
We were in the mountains. Jagged tooth-like rocky peaks tore at the sky. Pine trees dominated the harsh landscape, coated in a thin layer of frost that made me very aware of how cold I was. Shivering, I watched my breath come out in cloud-like puffs, and I looked down at my chest only to find honest-to-goodness rags that had me half-wondering if it was just a costume or actually the real thing. Whatever they were, they didn't do shit against the cold.
"You were trying to cross the border, right? Walked right into that Imperial ambush, same as us and that thief over there."
I looked to the man speaking, and I froze. Then I slowly turned my head to look at the other men around me.
Oh, this had to be some sort of a sick joke.
"Is something the matter?" Ralof asked, his nordic accent much more noticeable now that I was expecting it. Ralof the Stormcloak, the guy from the video game. He was ripped in a way that made me feel self-conscious and small. Thick, ropy muscles draped his arms, connected to a barrel-like chest of a man who could probably take on a grizzly bare-handed and come out the victor. If there was one man who could be described as "warrior," Ralof was the man.
To my right, Ulfric himself was raising an eyebrow at me before quickly losing interest and directing his steely gaze forward at nothing in particular. Whoever this guy actually was, he played the part really well. More impressively, the furs didn't even look fake. On the other corner of the horse-drawn cart (and it was a horse-drawn cart, who the hell still had these things?) was some guy who I didn't remember, probably because he died or something. No, wait, he did die. Shot down by archers or something. It was slightly weird to look at a man and know he wouldn't survive the day.
I realized that while I'd been thinking of the ridiculousness of my situation, Ralof and the soon-to-be-dead guy had been talking to each other, and Ulfric of course had stayed silent because of his gag.
"What village are you from, horse thief?" Ralof asked, his voice noticeably subdued.
"Why do you care?" the horse thief half-snarled. "It's your fault I'm in this mess."
If Ralof was offended, he did a good job in hiding it. "A Nord's last thoughts should be of home."
There was an uncomfortable silence, during which I was struck with the realization that we were going straight to our executions. And Alduin. Please please please let this be some crazy-realistic reenactment.
"Rorikstead," the horse thief eventually said. "I'm—I'm from Rorikstead."
"This is a joke, right?" I asked, my voice raspy and my throat suddenly dry.
Ralof glanced at me pityingly. "I apologize. We never meant for innocent civilians to be caught up in the fighting, but as it stands we're all in the same boat now."
I laughed a bit, swaying back and forth in my seat that never seemed to warm up no matter how long I sat in it. "No, seriously. I mean, it looks great and all. I have no idea how you got the same landscape, not to mention the right faces for the actors, but could you guys maybe pick someone else to play this part? I promise I won't take legal action against you if you let me go now."
Ralof's expression was split between bewildered and decidedly unamused. "Don't be a coward, Redguard," he growled, eyes narrowed in slight contempt. "You may not have deserved this fate, but at least have the courage to face it like a man. Besides, it's not me who's holding you captive," he said, lifting his own rope-bound hands as proof.
I snuck a sidelong glance to the front to where the Imperial soldier was riding ahead of us. He noticed my staring and sneered back at me before whirling back around.
Well, shit. If they were actors (please let them be actors), they weren't getting out of character.
Within a few minutes we arrived at a familiar stone gateway, complete with a walkway patrolled by an Imperial soldier. Beyond it lay the infamous settlement of Helgen. Whoever built this place had obviously spared no expense. Wooden houses with straw roofs lined the cobbled streets, small, yet comfortable enough with warm light spilling through the windows. High stone walls circled the settlement. It looked just like the game.
The cart we were in was pulled through the gate and I looked to our right, and my heart sunk when I saw General Tullius with the pointy-eared bastards themselves. Shiny golden armor, pointy ears, haughty sneers as they watched from their horses as we approached execution. Either they were phenomenal actors, or I was screwed.
Besides, I rationalized to myself, getting makeup to look like elves was far from impossible. I mean, look at Lord of the Rings. Those pointy ears looked plenty real.
"Look," Ralof prompted, gesturing with a tilt of his head. But I was already looking. "General Tullius the military governor, and it looks like the Thalmor are with him. Damn elves. They probably had something to do with this."
"Well, you're not wrong," I muttered.
Ralof regarded me for a moment before nodding and looking up around us. "When I was a boy, Imperial walls and towers used to make me feel so safe." When I said nothing, he looked down at his hands, quietly admitting, "I used to be sweet on a girl from here. I wonder if Veelod still makes that mead with the juniper berries."
I knew everything Ralof was going to say, more or less, but I couldn't bring myself to interrupt him. In a game you could go around interrupting NPCs all you liked, even going as far as to walk away in the middle of a conversation, and no one really gave a damn. I mean, they were just pixilated characters. What was the big deal? But here, the people were actually people, and it made me hesitate.
My musings were cut short as we rounded the street, and all around us the residents of Helgen watched with a mix of nervousness and curiosity. The children were quickly ushered indoors by cautious parents, which would have been a good move if Helgen wasn't about to be destroyed (if this wasn't a reenactment, please let this be a reenactment).
The cart came to a halt at the end of the street, right next to the prison tower and the executioner's block.
"Why are we stopping?" the horse thief demanded, hysteria creeping into his voice.
"Why do you think?" Ralof responded. "End of the line."
Each passing moment was diminishing my optimism.
"Let's go," Ralof said to me. "We shouldn't keep the gods waiting."
"Wait, we're not rebels!" the horse thief protested, helpless as the rest of us unloaded ourselves off the cart.
"Face your death with some courage, thief," Ralof scolded, the lines on his face hardening with genuine disgust.
"You've got to tell them," the horse thief begged him. "We weren't with you!"
An image of arrows slamming into a turned back flashed through my mind, and I winced. Before he could say any more, I leaned forward and hissed into the thief's ear, "You can try to run, but their arrows are much faster."
The man shivered and turned to glare at me, and all I did was shrug. I was telling the truth. He didn't have a chance. I mean, with Helgen about to become Alduin's playground the guy was probably dead anyway (yeah, my optimism that this was just a reenactment? Mostly gone) but at least this way he'd have a chance.
He snarled helplessly, but said nothing after that.
In front of us were two more faces I recognized. One was a woman decked out in heavy steel armor, who I distinctly remembered murdering in every single playthrough because of how much I hated her. I wasn't sure I'd be able to do it again. In fact, I was sure I wouldn't be able to do it again. This woman looked tough, with toned limbs and hard eyes. She stood with ease, despite the fact that her armor had to weight a ton. If Ralof was the definition of "warrior," this woman was the personification of "soldier."
The other was a man, Hadvar, who I recalled was far easier to get along with. He was the one holding the list.
"Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm."
Ulfric paused for a moment before stepping forward with his head held high and his eyes hard and cold.
"It's been an honor, Jarl Ulfric," Ralof called out as the man walked towards the block.
"Ralof of Riverwood."
Ralof walked forward without a word, glaring daggers at Hadvar. And Hadvar apparently shared the sentiment. Those two used to be friends, didn't they? Both boys, both from Riverwood, and then the war happened and families and friendships torn asunder.
"Lokir of Rorikstead."
Lokir. So that's what his name was.
"No, you can't do this to me! I'm not a rebel!"
He tensed like he was about to bolt. This idiot was going to get himself killed.
"Arrows," I hissed again, and Lokir stiffened.
The woman stared a hole through Lokir's head. "To the block, prisoner," she commanded.
Lokir clenched his jaw, and I'm sure his eyes got watery, but he went with his head bowed low, all the while muttering that he wasn't even a rebel.
"Imperial, step forward."
I wasn't even Italian, but I guess that was the closest thing these people had ever seen to my skin tone: was a bit too dark to be Mediterranean, but not quite dark enough for an African hue. Unless it was all some batshit-insane reenactment and everyone was just acting. Wouldn't that be great?
Hadvar looked at his list, frowned, then look back at me. "What's your name, citizen?"
"Thomas," I replied, shifting uncertainly from one foot to the other. I had rags on my feet, too. My feet felt cold and wet, and I probably would have been better off wearing nothing at all.
Hadvar raised his eyebrow at me. "Not a very Imperial name," he said.
I shrugged. "It's mine, though."
Hadvar shook his head with a sigh, scribbling my name down in that list of his. "You picked a bad time to leave Hammerfell, Redguard." I very nearly laughed. He had no idea. When Hadvar finished, he looked to the armored woman. "He's not on the list, captain. What should we do?"
"Forget the list, he goes to the block."
Yeah, that's why I always killed her. On one hand the Empire wanted this rebellion over as soon as possible, and if a few bystanders got caught up in the process it was a necessary sacrifice. On the other hand, I was getting caught up in it.
Off to the side the headsman's axe gleamed in sinister welcome.
I gulped down my fright as the hair on the back of my neck stood on end.
"Can't you just imprison me? I'm completely fine with staying in a cell for the rest of my life."
The captain turned to glare at me, and I confirmed that yes, I didn't stand a fucking chance against this woman. She would rip me to shreds. "To. The. Block," she growled, her sword hand twitching as the archers behind her drew their knocked bows ever so slightly.
Death now or death later.
I chose death later.
I backed away.
When the priestess began her prayers, I realized that this was it. This was the moment of truth. If whoever went first actually died, then this wasn't a prank or a reenactment, and I was well and truly screwed. And if Alduin showed up, I was doomed.
The priestess finished her prayers without incident, and I narrowed my eyes, remembering something about how one of the Stormcloaks was supposed to interrupt the prayer and walk up to the executioner's block on his own.
"Lokir of Rorikstead, step forward."
The man tried to bolt, and was immediately tackled and brought to heel by two Imperial soldiers. "No, no, please! You can't do this! I'm not a rebel!" As they dragged him towards his doom, he caught my eye. "You!" he screamed at me. "You're the one who told me not to run! Now look at me!"
My mouth opened, then closed when I had nothing to say. That really sucked. My intervention had bought Lokir a measly six extra minutes of life.
"Damn you! Damn you all!"
The captain's foot slammed into Lokir's back, forcing his head over the block. "I'm not a rebel," he sobbed. "Please don't do this."
To my left, Ralof groaned. "Have a bit of dignity, thief. At least in your last moments."
The axe swung.
Lokir's head rolled off in a bright red arterial spray, his mouth agape and his eyes wide with horror.
His headless body slackened before the captain kicked it out of the way with a casual violence that was frankly terrifying.
I could feel myself shaking as nausea welled up inside of me. My heart was beating too fast, and I felt my conscious mind begin to take the backseat as the adrenaline kicked in. This was real. Someone had just been murdered in front of me. And that meant that if people were trying to kill me, it wasn't an act. They were actually trying to kill me.
"Next, the Imperial."
I briefly considered trying to run, but that's what Lokir did and look how he ended up. Trembling, I took a small step forward, then another and another until I stumbled as one of the guards shoved me from behind. "Move it! We haven't got all day!"
A roar echoed in the distance. My eyes widened, and a desperate yelp fled through my teeth. "It's a dragon!"
That garnered the reaction most people would give you when you claimed that some random noise was a creature straight out of myth. The Imperials barked their laughter, and even the Stormcloaks sighed at my apparent cowardice.
Something rammed into my back and I fell face forward, my breath knocked right out of me. I felt a boot press down against me, forcing my neck against the now blood-slicked block. I could see the other prisoners staring back at me with pity, and the Imperials with their disdainful sneers and cold contempt. I could see the villagers watching the whole thing from a distance. I could see Lokir's severed head that no-one had bothered to pick up yet, his sightless eyes staring at the sky.
I nearly vomited.
"Face your death with dignity, Imperial."
"Oh, burn in Hell, Ralof!" I roared back at him.
He blinked and opened his mouth for a second, too taken aback to formulate a response. I hissed at him, "You and your honor can go fuck yourselves!"
I was about to die. I didn't give a damn if I offended him anymore.
The way his face turned red with outrage gave me a small measure of peace.
The axe rose, the World Eater roared, and my world went black.
And my head was chopped off.
Turns out I wasn't the Dragonborn.
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Author's Note: Congrats, you've been trolled.