Clicking off my Xbox, I fell back into the sheets of my bed. I had just finished another adventure in Skyrim, playing way into the night.
I sighed and looked at my alarm clock; 4:30 huh, I have to wake up in 3 hours.
It's nights like these where I wish I lived in Skyrim- No more school, no more worries.
I huffed in annoyance and turned onto my side, letting sleep quickly take over.
The first thing I felt when I awoke was a tight pain binding my wrists. The second thing I felt was a dull bang and a pain in my behind. Opening my eyes revealed to my surprise that I was in a snowy wilderness surrounded by towering oak and pine trees.
"What the fuck happened." I choked out.
I looked around and took in my surroundings. I was in a rickety old horse-bound carriage, beside me were three other bounded men who looked way too familiar.
"Hey you! Your finally awake."
I craned my neck towards the voice, a man with fair blonde hair dressed in a blue battle garb was speaking to me.
"You were trying to cross the border right? Walked right into that Imperial ambush, same as that horse thief over there."
A stark realization was slowly descending upon me. I knew these people.
A voice to my right piped up "Damn Storm Cloaks, if it weren't for your people causing such a mess I would've stolen that horse and been halfway to Hammerfell by now. You there, we shouldn't be here. It's these Storm Cloaks the empire wants." The voice came from a man at the end of the cart, sporting an elvish look to him.
Skyrim, I'm in Skyrim I thought.
"What the fuck is happening to me," I exclaim. This is just some weird fever dream.
Ralof looked up and locked eyes with me, "Well friend, you've been caught. We're all probably on our way to spend our days in an Imperial dungeon right about now."
"I-I shouldn't be here. This is a mistake! I don't know what's happening." I said reeling from my conclusion.
The elf looked at me and snorted, "You and me, we're both innocent here, they want these guys, not us."
"Shut up back there!" Came the voice of the Imperial driving the carriage.
"What's up with him? He a looney or something?" The elvish man said gesturing with his hand to the only other occupant of the cart.
"Watch your tongue horse thief! That's Ulfric Storm Cloak, the true high king of Skyrim your speaking to!"
Ugh Storm Cloaks and their Ulfric worship, I thought to myself.
"Ulfric? The Jarl of Windhelm? You're the leader of the rebellion! If they've captured you... Oh Gods, where are they taking us?" The elf said frantically.
"I don't know where they're taking us, but Sovngarde awaits." The Nord said, solemnly hanging his head down and staring at the floor.
"This can't be happening. This isn't happening," The elf panics and begins to hyperventilate breathing in and out haggardly.
"Hey, calm yourself elf. Say, what village do you come from?" The other man says softly to calm the manic elf down.
"Why do you care?" came the response.
"A Nord's last thoughts should be of home." He replied, staring off into the distant Skyrim mountain ranges.
"Rorikstead, I-I'm from Rorikstead," the elf said in bated breathes.
"General Tullius sir! The Headsman is waiting!" I looked over to see the famed General Tullius on horseback ride up to a group of Thalmor justiciars, appearing to be in a heated debate.
"Great, the Thalmor are here, and here I was hoping for a peaceful execution." I joked knowing that if this were truly Skyrim nothing would happen to me.
The Nord looked up to me, a smirk plastered on his face. "Ha, I like you already. Say friend, what's your name? We should at least know that before we die together."
Uh oh, I hadn't thought about that. Should I go for a lore-friendly Skyrim name or mess with him? The thought bounced around my head. Well, I've always wanted to live in Skyrim, I might as well humor him until I find out what the hell happened to me.
"Sigr. (Cig-Err, sigr meaning victory in Norse). The names Sigr, some call me Sig." Of course its not my real name, just the name of my latest character Sigr Ironhide: A heavy armor, 2-handed war hammer wielding badass. Come to think about it, what race am I?
"A powerful name you have friend. If we somehow make it out of this mess, we should share a few bottles of ale." Ralof smiled warmly looking at me. How can he be so calm facing execution? Ralof is such a beast.
"Uh sorry, but did you say execution?" Came the meek response from Lokir, eyes wide and face pale.
"Duh, the empire has the rebellion's leader in their hands. I bet this village we're in is the end of the line too." I explain. Obviously, I know we'll be fine, but the fear and desperation in the eyes of Lokir is enough to give me a slight chuckle.
I watch as we pass through the village. I notice Hamming and his family. Him asking questions and his father telling him to go inside like usual. It's so surreal, I've been through this exact scene more than I can count, but this time it's real. I am living and breathing in Skyrim, and I don't know if that's a good or bad thing.
The cart rolled to a stop at the entrance of Helen keep. "What's happening? Why are we stopping?" Lokir sputtered, eyes wide.
"Why do you think, horse-thief? End of the line." Came the response from Ralof standing proudly and stepping off the cart with his leader Ulfrick.
"No! You can't do this, we're not rebels! We've done nothing wrong." Lokir looked like a deer in the headlights, unsure whether to run or hide.
"Face your death with some courage, thief." Ralof asserted as we all stepped off the cart one by one.
"You've got to tell them this is a mistake, we aren't rebels!"
Great. I get to watch Lokir get killed in 4K ultra HD now.
