Goodness, it has been a while, hasn't it? Well, my dear audience, I have been attempting to get into Skyrim. It's not proving easy. There's that appallingly long intro, followed by an appallingly long tutorial-cum-practice session. So I've been exploring alternative start mods. Anything to avoid arriving in Helgen by bloody cart again. Which led to this falling out during my lunch break.
The rain in south-western Skyrim fell mainly on Falkreath and its immediate environs. Currently, it was falling on a large figure, which groaned.
The figure groaned, wrinkling its brow at the relentless idiot tapping of water, before opening two yellowed eyes, which stared uncomprehendingly at the clouds overhead.
"Sky?" it whispered, then coughed. "Did the whole place go up?"
The head turned from side to side. The eyes began to fill with confusion, and finally the figure pulled itself to its feet.
Said feet were about seven and a half feet from the crown of its yellow-green, bald head. Rags of some blue garment clung to its immensely muscled form, which was currently bowed beneath a remarkable load of items, most prominent some sort of metal boxy machine. It looked masculine, and now it - he - wiped water from his face and peered around.
"This isn't..." he trailed off, a voice rough and violent-edged. "Where am I then?"
He cast names into the air. "Jason! Doctor Li! Paladin Lyons! Are you there?"
The trees whispered in the breeze and the rain, ignoring him.
"This is not the Wasteland, then," he decided, "I must make my own way back."
He squared his shoulders. "But first, my equipment."
From what he could tell, it was as though he'd fallen some distance, and as such some of the equipment he'd been toting for Jason needed gathering up. As well as his most favoured weapon, he had a second, tattier gatling laser he could use, along with what looked like a dozen electron charges for it. Half a dozen battered plasma rifles, along with about five hundred microfusion cells. Plenty of grenades, he counted at least forty, and half as many mines. And assault rifles. If nothing they and the fat sack of five-fifty-six ammo would be a decent fallback... and in a pinch there'd be the super sledge. He hated the super sledge, nothing more than the driveshaft and transmission from an old car.
He rose to his feet again, his burden balanced, and Fawkes took his first steps on non-radioactive soil, looking for a roadway.
Hideous, isn't it? I'm not sure if I really care about Skyrim's main quest, so I can't really tell if Fawkes would be the Dragonborn, or if he would find the Dragonborn instead. Whatever the weather, Tamriel isn't ready for a heroic green giant whose ammunition supplies are running out. The Gods must be desperate.