Alright, so this is a thing. First off, I'd like to apologize any readers who may happen to have made an SI of their own. this story is not one meant to insult anybody in particular, or even the tropes mentioned, but I have noticed a commonality in many stories where the main character has a tendency to beat themselves up psychologically in order to build some sort of dramatic tension. Now I understand some people really do have self-image problems and similar thoughts, but the way it is handled and portrayed in many fanfictions suggests most are either manufactured or blown way out of proportion, and done so on purpose. As I, personally, am quite at peace with myself as a person and don't consider psychological conflict a completely necessary aspect of every story, will be doing my best to avoid this trope.
On the other hand, there will be plenty of physical and, at times, social conflict. This is Skyrim after all, and things are dangerous. That being said, I will also be cheating out of my ass for most of it, and using my knowledge from a vastly superior society with aplomb. Also my own personal charisma, skills, and intelligence. I will try to avoid any ego inflation, but am fully aware of the fact that not everybody has an accurate view of themselves. If anything seems unrealistic, feel free to call me on it and I'll either give my reasonings or adjust accordingly.
P.S. By the way, yes, I will be the Dragonborn, both for plot reasons and because while it gives me just enough power to survive until I've built up, it's also not an overly ridiculous power that can be abused heavily. At least, not without being really, really clever. I did mean to have old Sheo mention it, but it just didn't fit into the conversation. Eh, I'll figure it out eventually.
P.P.S. I suck at writing crazy, one of the many reasons I've never written a real crack-fic, so if Sheogorath seems horribly out of character, I apologize. I went more for a deep sort of madness than the typical scatter-brained nonsense he usually shows, partially because it's easier to write and partially because he is a god of madness. I assume he would take a form more along the lines of whoever he's talking to at the time, and that sort of thing seems like it would relate better to me.
XXX
I never liked Self-insert fics much. I know, I know, that's not saying much, but I don't mean it in the way most people do. It was never about the power trips, or the near formulaic 'fixing' of every problem in a given universe. Honestly, my problem was the opposite of that. Most stories nowadays tried really, really hard not to be Mary Sue-ish, or too easy, and in the process end up making it into some sort of bitch-fest about how they're horrible people and can't do anything right. That, or everything's different and they have the universe itself out to shit on their day. One way or another, the author ends up overcompensating and painfully dragging any sort of plotline through the mud. So when fate finally came a-knocking at my door pedalling thin mints and popcorn, I resolved my first and foremost goal would be to punch that sort of bullshit in the groin. Hard.
It happened on a perfectly normal day, by any other measure. I was just minding my own business, working the night-shift at my ridiculously boring gas station/convenience store job, just like always. My coworker, as usual, was in the back doing gods only know what, when in walked legitimately the strangest fucker I'd ever seen come through, and that was saying something. The night shift gets all the weirdos, and I'd seen crack-heads, hookers, and even crack-headed hookers on a regular basis, among other things. But this guy? He looked like he'd just walked out of the big tent at the world's craziest carnival.
"Morning," I greeted reflexively when the door opened, glancing over from where I'd been leaning against the counter, staring blankly into space. Then I blinked in surprise before raising my eyebrow in amusement. The man was spiffy at least, dressed in a finely tailored suit only someone who had more money than fashion sense would wear, split cleanly down the middle between orange and purple. In one hand was an ornately carved wooden cane, purely accessory from the way he carried it, and his pants were adorned with mystical trimming in patterns that hurt the eye to look at. Despite all that, however, it was the eyes that caught my interest. There's a lot you can tell from a person's eyes, and his were pure white. As in, he didn't have pupils pure.
"And a good afternoon to you too, sir!" The man replied in a thick, lilting scottish brogue, cackling loudly and grinning like a lunatic. "I do say, this is a fine establishment you have here!"
"From a certain perspective perhaps." I commented, glancing around the place. I mean, the little central circle for our registers were uncommon and kind of interesting. That counted right?
"Indeed, indeed!" The man agreed once again. He'd stopped walking just inside the door, right in front of the middle register in our little three pronged arrangement. "It's all a matter of perspective, really. Madness is fun like that." Again I cocked an eyebrow, but long experience dealing with weirdos let me shrug it off.
"Well, I'm over here when you're ready." I said, tapping the counter beside me before dismissing him , but he didn't move. In fact, he simply stood there, staring at me with his mad hatter's grin still stretched wide.
"You're a clever one, aren't you boy?' The man asked suddenly, and something about his voice sent shivers down my spine. It was still high and cheery, but… The smile stretched wider. "Oh yes, I'm sure of it. This will be fun!" then his cane slammed down with the noise of a rubber duck being stepped on, and suddenly the world was changed.
"Huh?" In the blink of an eye, I was no longer standing in the shop. Instead, I was in the middle of an unfamiliar forest, dirt and trees and rocks surrounding me. Worse, It was cold, made even more so by the fact I was no longer wearing my nice warm work shirt and jacket, but rather a set of dirty rags and coarse ropes tying my hand together. I blinked again, trying to process what had just happened. "Wait, what the fuck? What just happened?"
"Now now," A familiar scottish brogue spoke up from right beside my ear. "Don't go breaking your brain in the first few seconds! That'd be no fun!" I didn't scream in surprise, but I did jerk to the side, turning my head to stare at the purple-and-orange clad man who, in complete defiance of physics, remained leaning on my shoulder with that same mad smile. "You're so proud of using that brain boy. so figure it out."
"I-" I began, my mind stuttering for a moment before I grabbed hold of the reins and pulled. Right, panicking does nothing, and there was a rather terrifying edge to that smile so... figure this out. Was I imagining things? One glance around said no. The forest, clothes, and rope was still there, and I could feel the wind on my bare skin, which should have been impossible a second ago. Dreams were out too since this was way too vivid for my dreams, which usually took the form of dark, foggy, half-formed ideas rather than something like this. Which meant I could safely assume this was probably real, unless it was an illusion. Or I wanted to start on conspiracy theories, but without even a smidgen of evidence I wouldn't go down that road. Then I blinked again as the mad man's smile shifted slightly, and I felt something spark in my brain.
"Sheogorath." The name fell off my tongue like water, unbidden but true all the same. I had thought he looked slightly familiar when he walked in, but now I was sure of it. This man looked exactly like the Daedric Prince of Madness right down to the white hair and eyes, which meant either he was a really good cosplayer, or… I glanced around the small clearing we were in "Oh fuck me sideways with a rusty apricot."
"Haha! A tempting offer, boy!" The madman replied, finally taking a step back and twirling his staff idly. "Or maybe I should use a duck. I hear they're all the rage these days." His eyes twinkled with a sadistic mirth as he spoke, and I fought the sudden, desperate urge to strangle him.
"We're seriously doing this?" I asked, despite knowing the answer. I'd read enough fanfictions to know where this was going. Hell, the most recent one even had Sheogorath as the instigator. I was in a fucking Self-Insert. Or Isekai, whichever this really counted as. God fucking dammit.
"Oh yes, dear boy." The god answered, nodding his head easily. "I won't spell it out for you, since that'd be boring, but you know how this goes. Be entertaining, have fun, and don't make me turn you into a cucumber. I hate cucumbers." For a long, long moment I stared at him in disbelief and anger. He didn't move, just standing there with his smug smile as he twirled that cane. Maybe he was waiting for me to protest this sudden mistreatment, attack him, or even gibber madly at the realization that this shit was actually happening and I had no way of stopping it. I don't know. What I do know is that eventually, I just sighed gustily, reaching up a hand to pinch the bridge of my nose.
"Fuck it," I said mildly, shoving the shock and surprise to a corner of my mind. I liked to think I was an open-minded person. Yes, I was finding it hard to believe I had actually in… some part of Tamriel, I guessed. But, unlike most people, I wasn't the type to get hung up on impossibilities. I'd long believed in magic, at least somewhat, and alternate dimensions weren't too far-flung a theory. As far as I could tell, this was happening. Maybe it was an illusion, maybe a dream, or even some dying hallucination as I bled out in a ditch somewhere. But until I'd been presented with proof of such a thing, I couldn't let myself act as if it were fake on the off chance that it actually wasn't. So I'd roll with this for now. But first… "Fine Sheogorath, I'll play your game. But answer me one thing."
"Oh?" The god started, actually pausing in his cane-twirling to cock his head as an interested gleam entered his opaque eyes. And yes, I know how that sounded. "And what would that be? Do you want to know where you are, perhaps? Or maybe the airspeed velocity of a laden swallow, perhaps? Oh, oh, I know, it's my mother's tuna recipe!" I felt my lips twitching as the madman cackled, a high pitched, painful sound but didn't react further to his line of increasingly inane queries.
"Why?" I stated, calmly and coldly. In an instant, Sheogorath stopped his cackling. It was interesting to watch, actually, the veneer of madness and dismissal vanishing as a being that could squash me like a bug turned the full weight of his attention on me. "Why, out of all the infinite possibilities did you choose me to be your little patsy? And none of that bullshit about it being funny, or random or somesuch," I cut off the god as he opened his mouth, my own twisting sourly. "Even madmen have their reasons, twisted as they may be."
There was silence for a moment, as The Daedric Prince of madness regarded me with a cold light in his eyes. I should have been afraid at the attention, and I was, a little bit. I had just questioned a being who I could never understand, and who could do things to me not even the most twisted human mind could imagine. But at the same time, I was a pragmatist. If Sheogorath killed me, he killed me. There was nothing I could do about that, and thinking otherwise would be a fool's errand. But he had chosen me for this grand farce. That wasn't something he'd throw away for such a small slight.
"I've seen your stories." Sheogorath stated eventually, and this time I did flinch at the sound of his voice so cold. For the first time since he'd walked through that door, the god was no longer smiling. "All those lovely little fantasies and horrors you call SI's. I've read them, listened to them, watched them. Cheese wheels, I've even made some myself. And yet, none of them are really clever, are they? Oh sure, they change some things here and there, cause little bits of chaos, but it's all about the script with them, all about the game. They don't build. They don't innovate."
He looked at me then, and something in his gaze reached deep into my chest to squeeze. I wasn't afraid of many things in this world, or any other for that matter, but the sheer and utter madness I saw in that being's eyes nearly sent me gibbering in terror.
"But not you, eh boy? I've seen into your clever little mind, watched how you tick and read your thoughts. You don't just color outside the lines, you grab a whole new book and throw buckets of paint on top. I want to see something new, kid, something different. And you? You're going to set the whole sodding world aflame." He smiled then, a sharp, inhumanly wide expression that showed me rows of things I could only tangentially call teeth. Then he snapped, and his body started disappearing, bits and pieces fading out until the only thing left was the mouth. When that disappeared too, it made a small popping sound, and suddenly I was alone in a dark forest.
I only barely managed to realize the bastard had pulled a fucking Cheshire before there were a dozen men in leather armor surrounding me while waving swords and shouting angrily.