A League of His Own
A DC Comics/Elder Scrolls crossover
Summary: Hearing a rumour of an undiscovered Dwemer Ruin, the Dragonborn finds the ruin and find nestled in the depths an Elder Scroll. Upon touching it, the Dragonborn is transported to another world unlike anything he has seen before. A world of masked crusaders, women of wonder and men who fly with the clouds beneath them. Amidst all these heroes, the Dragonborn will show them that he is in a league of his own.
…
Chapter 1
The sounds of the Bannered Mare tavern in the city of Whiterun were a mishmash of clanking tankards, sloshing of mead and ale poured from barrels, the song sung by the bard, the crackle of open fire in the room and the chatter of the city's people enjoying themselves after a hard day's work.
The wooden doors to the inn swung open bringing a gust of cold air which made the occupants of the room closest to the entrance shiver. And stepping inside and closing the door behind him was a tall figure wearing midnight black armour. Some of the tavern patrons raised their mugs and cheered as they saw the revered hero of Skyrim the Last Dragonborn enter the tavern. Doubtless the man had just returned from a job involving him killing a dragon or some other monster plaguing the countryside.
Martin Stormcrown, for this was the Dragonborn's name, strode up the front counter, giving cursory greetings to the patrons who were familiar with him. Standing at the front of the bar, Martin waited patiently before a tall frothing mug of Honningbrew mead was place in front of him by the tavern keep. Putting a small number of coins on the countertop, Martin took up the mug of mead and downed the contents in one go. Giving a small but relieved sigh, Martin leaned against the bar as another mug was place in front of him.
Another day, another bag of gold, thought the Slayer of Alduin as he took a sip of his mead, letting the white noise of the tavern fill his ears. Relaxing for a moment, the warrior stared at the wall past the bar blankly. It was only when he felt someone nudge him did Martin break out of his reverie. Looking to see who had nudged him, the warrior saw an old man standing next to him looking at him intently.
The old man was dressed like an Imperial Legion officer with blackened armour and two rearing horses embossed in silver on the chest plate.
"My apologies, young man, didn't mean to bother you like that," he said to Martin with a friendly smile.
"It's fine," Martin waived off the apology going back to his drink.
"Pardon me for asking, but aren't you that fellow who slayed the World-Eater Alduin some time back?" the old legionnaire asked politely.
Martin turned to regard the man cautiously. "Who wants to know?"
"Well, I do. Apologies, I should introduce myself. My name is Wulf, I'm an old hand of the Legion." The legionary offered a hand to shake. After a moment, Martin clasped the old man's hand in his shaking it firmly and being somewhat surprised at the grip the old man had.
"Martin Stormcrown."
"Martin? As in Martin Septim from the Oblivion Crisis?" Wulf asked humorously.
"Apparently. My… grandfather had a strange sense of humour," Martin admitted.
"I see," Wulf nodded in understanding. "Well, this is a fine chance. I'd always hoped to meet the hero of Skyrim, and what luck I find you here," he proclaimed cheerfully.
"Cut to the chase. What do you want?" Martin asked tiredly as he sensed this old man had a job for him to do.
"Sharp one, aren't you?" Wulf grinned cheekily. "Matter of fact, I do have something of a quest for someone brave and skilled enough to do it," he said temptingly.
"Who or what am I killing?" asked the Dragonborn as he took another sip of his mead.
Wulf chuckled at this and replied, "Well, I don't technically need anyone or anything killed, but the job will have its hurdles."
"Something you need retrieved then?" Martin asked in a bored tone.
"Well, it's nothing I need retrieved, but it will be something of interest to you and everyone else," Wulf said coyly.
"Which is?" Martin asked pointedly.
"Would you believe me if I said it was an Elder Scroll?"
This got Martin's attention as he straightened up a little and looked at Wulf more seriously. "Where?" he asked calmly.
"Well, there was a recent excavation in the mountains near Markath that revealed another Dwemer ruin, but due to the automatons that maintain it, the excavators were all killed with the only survivor fleeing to tell of what he and his friends found," Wulf explained. "I overheard the story with few scarcely believing it, but when the man claimed that he saw what looked like an Elder Scroll, I thought it would be of great interest to you," he said.
"It would be if the rumour is true," Martin stated.
"Well, I managed to speak with this survivor who told me where the excavation site lay and I searched around Skyrim hoping to find you," Wulf then said.
"Why tell me? Wouldn't this be of interest to people greater than I?" Martin asked.
"Well, given the stories I heard of your exploits, I think you're the one best-equipped to undertake such a journey delving into the unknown," Wulf told him.
"Perhaps, but that doesn't mean I like jumping into the unknown," Martin said.
"And yet you've come out on top every time you have," Wulf remarked. "Isn't that what being an adventurer is all about? Diving into the unknown reaches of the world, never knowing what you might find waiting for you?" he questioned.
"I'm more an exterminator than an adventurer," Martin said honestly. "But… I suppose it wouldn't hurt to see if the rumour of another Elder Scroll is true. Better in my hands than anyone else's," he added after some thought.
Wulf smiled at this and nodded. "Good to hear. I feared I would have to go myself, but I'm getting too old to be delving into Dwemer ruins at my age," he said cheerfully.
"Hm." Martin grunted at this before finishing off his drink and asking, "Where is this ruin exactly?"
Wulf pointed it on Martin's map. With a nod, Martin paid for his drink and left the Bannered Mare heading off on another adventure into the unknown.
It was roughly early morning by the time Martin had travelled to the mountains of the Reach in Skyrim. Besides being waylaid by some foolish thief thinking he could rob to which Martin responded with the threat with a swift swing of his axe, the journey had been relatively uneventful.
Looking at his map, Martin noted to himself that the ruin was a league south of a nearby Forsworn bastion. Having cleared out the Forsworn encampment not just a few days ago, Martin feared no sudden attack or ambush from the hillmen of the Reach, until at least until they got their numbers back up.
Using a simple clairvoyance spell, a trail of blue coloured smoke showed the Dragonborn the path that would take him to his objective. Following it, Martin soon found the remains of an encampment. The campfire was smouldering, dying from lack of fuel and the contents of the stew pot hanging above it had gone lukewarm.
A nearby waterfall cascaded a downpour of water, but his gaze piercing through the deluge of liquid, the Dragonborn saw what looked like a cave entrance with the telltale signs of Dwemer factory pipes reaching out indicating the presence of Dwemer technology within.
Going through the waterfall, Martin strode down the rocky corridor which gradually transformed into the smooth stone floors common with Dwemer ruins. Golden-bronze pipes which hummed and vibrated with steam protruded from the walls running along the length of them. Sighting some relatively fresh bloodstains on the stony floor, Martin surmised that the excavation party that had been here previously must've run into some trouble with the automaton guardians common throughout Dwemer ruins in Skyrim.
And sure enough, the Dragonborn came across some Dwemer spiders scuttling about tending to the walls of the ruins. Drawing out his axe, Martin went to work; the blade of his axe cleaved the dwemereth metal of the mechanical spiders, breaking them into pieces and leaving them broken and unfunctional. Clearing the first lot of mechanical guardians was easy enough and Martin delved further into the ruins, coming more bloodstains with Dwemer Guardian Spheres roaming about. These mechanical beings were also destroyed.
Soon, the Dragonborn entered what looked like a control room of some kind. Pursing his lips in irritation, Martin found the control console of numerous buttons. Past experience with such things left Martin wary of them, never quite knowing which button will open the door to progress further in or trigger a trap meant to kill greedy and unwary treasure hunters.
It was a process of trial and error finding the sequence in which to press the buttons to open the door. A few narrow misses from the whirling blades traps, jets of fire and even released automatons later, Martin found the right sequence to open the door and pass through.
Annoying as it was, Martin found it almost comforting to know that even after millennia of their original owners no longer being of this world, their devices still functioned as though they were made today.
Dismissing the thought from his mind, the Dragonborn came up to another room, larger than the one previous. In each corner of the room stood Dwemer centurion automatons that would doubtless come to life to kill any intruders. Taking the initiative, Martin hacked apart the machines making them come to life, although it would be for naught as Martin hacked them into scrap metal. Searching through the remains of the centurions, Martin found the almost standard fare from Dwemer centurions. Daedric arrows, some Dwemer metal parts, soul gems and centurion dynamo cores. Storing the useful parts in his satchel, Martin soon came to a flight of stairs that were barred.
But nearby was a device that used dynamo cores to presumably open the gates. Using the cores he took from the centurions, the Dragonborn place the devices into the slots of the opening mechanism and the metal bars of the gate slid away into the walls.
Striding purposefully up the stairs, Martin delved deeper into the factory and soon came across the remains of the excavation party. His eyes softening a little at the fate of the unfortunate party, Martin bowed his head in silent prayer before continuing on his path.
And not long after, Martin found an almost familiar sight. It greatly resembled the reading room in the Tower of Mzark in Blackreach, the subterranean world beneath Skyrim where he had found his first Elder Scroll. And on a balcony above, Martin spied what looked like the controls for the lenses that would open the containment unit that presumably stored the Elder Scroll he seeked.
Climbing the stairs, Martin found the controls and began the process of elimination. Each button he pressed made the focussing lenses move and shift about. After half of an hour of familiarising himself with the buttons and the movements of the lenses each press of the button made. Soon, the Dragonborn solved the puzzle and the lenses all focused their light on the containment unit which flared brightly before lowering itself down. His prize in sight, Martin approached the container and opened and nestled inside the chest was the familiar sight of an Elder Scroll within which contained untold knowledge. Reaching out to touch, Martin grasped the ancient relic feeling the flow of power within it.
Then something happened which the Dragonborn did not expect. The feeling of vertigo overcame Martin as the Elder Scroll in his grasp glowed brightly and his vision became with blinding bright light.
As the light subsided so that he could see clearly again, Martin half-thought that he might be transported to somewhere else in Tamriel.
He was half right.
He had been transported somewhere else, but not in Tamriel. He found himself standing in a dirty and dingy alleyway that reeked with decaying refuse. His nose wrinkling in disgust under his helmet at the putrid stench, the Dragonborn looked to see which path would take him out of the alleyway. The first path simply led to a dead end against a stone brickwork building whereas the second path shone with yellow lights that hinted at the promise of people. Taking the second option, Martin strode down the dirty road, the sounds of his booted feet crunching stone beneath the soles.
Leaving the alleyway, Martin raised his eyebrows in mild surprise. He was in a large city that was currently under the cover of night and tall lanterns from which shone those bright yellow lights shone overhead. People were walking along stone paths that ran parallel from each other along a road coloured a greyish-black colour. And along this road were strange horseless wagons containing people inside them as they hurtled along the road.
Pursing his lips a little, Martin observed his surroundings cautiously. He had not expected this, but the unexpected often came with the territory in his life. Looking at the people, he noted that their garb was very much foreign to his gaze; some were dressed more neatly than others, some were dressed in garishly bright colours and some of the women weren't dressed in all that much in his view.
Ignoring that for the time being, Martin set off down the path, getting some odd stares from people walking along the pavement. Passing an attractive looking woman with a bob cut of dark hair and wearing skintight pants and a loose pink shirt, Martin gave a cursory glance as she bumped into him.
"Sorry about that," the woman smiled in a friendly way, her green eyes warm and even flirty. Martin's hand shot out and grasped her wrist.
"Anyone tell you it's rude to steal?" he asked the woman as in her grasp was his satchel.
The woman gave a tittering laugh and shrugged. "What can I say? Old habits," she said.
Taking back his satchel, Martin weighed it in his hand before looking at the woman pointedly who pouted and handed over a ruby gemstone.
"You're no fun…"
Examining the gemstone, Martin noted the look of longing in the woman's eyes and decided to make her an offer. "How would you like to earn this one?"
"If you're looking for sexual favours, I'll have to report you," the woman told him dourly.
"Information is what I want," Martin said tersely in response to her words.
"Information?" the woman raised a groomed eyebrow in confusion before shrugging. "Sure, whaddya wanna know?" she asked.
"What city is this?" was Martin's first question.
"Gotham City," came the answer.
"What land?" was the next question.
"The United States of America, Home of the Free."
Martin hummed in thought. "I am no longer in Tamriel it seems," he remarked.
"Tamriel? Where's that?" his guide asked.
"Not important," Martin quickly said. "Is there a local lord or jarl I may speak with?" he then asked.
"We don't have lords or jarls in the USA," the woman said with an amuse grin. "Although we do have some exiled nobility from England, but let's not open that can of worms," she added offhandedly.
"I see." Martin then handed over the ruby to his informant. "Thank you for your time. Good night," he said to her before walking off.
"Hey!" Martin turned his head over his shoulder to look at the woman. "You never told me your name!" she called out to him.
"Neither did you," Martin hollered back.
"I'm Selina!"
"Martin."
Selina nodded in understanding and skipped off with her reward. Martin then resumed his journey. As he made his way further, Martin then began to notice how the environment gradually became more rundown and he could only guess that he was entering the poor district of this Gotham City he found himself in. Homeless beggars and people stood huddle around burning barrels of fire keeping themselves warm. Shifty looking individuals surreptitiously passed packages to each other, their eyes darting about warily. Some bald-headed youths wearing leather jackets and red visors leaned against walls, glaring balefully at anyone who dared to look at them.
Martin was then greeted with the bright flashing sign over a window that said Noonan's Tavern. Figuring this place might have some ale, however cheap it was, Martin entered the establishment. The clientele of the pub all looked to be a shifty sort, sitting in booths or at the bar, nursing their bottles and glasses of cheap liquor. Oddly enough, tending the bar wearing a stained apron was some kind of Daedric creature with an oversized mouth for a head filled with large teeth.
All the patrons of the dive bar glared at the newcomer who calmly ignored them, walking up to the bar and said, "I'll have an ale."
The Daedric barman said, "I am Baytor."
"I am Martin," Martin said to the barman in response.
"I am Baytor."
"You just said that already," Martin pointed.
"I am Baytor!"
"You're doing it again," Martin said in mild annoyance.
"I am Baytor! I am Baytor!"
Then one of the bar patrons, a stocky looking man wearing an olive green jacket and dark glasses over his eyes spoke up. "Relax, buddy. That's all Baytor can say. You just gotta learn translate what he means when he speaks," he informed Martin.
The Dragonborn nodded in understanding before looking at the barman Baytor. "I would like an ale if you have any," he said slowly and patiently.
"I am Baytor," Baytor said stonily.
Judging from the creature's tone, Martin made a guess. "You don't have ale. Do you have mead?"
"I am Baytor," Baytor said witheringly.
"No ale or mead. I don't suppose you have wine then," Martin wagered.
Baytor laughed and a few of the other patrons sniggered. "I am Baytor!"
"No wine, mead or ale. At least tell me you have beer…"
"I am Baytor!" the barman said enthusiastically pulling from below the bar a bottle of beer.
"Thank you," Martin fished out twenty gold Septims which stunned everyone in the pub.
"I am Baytor?" Baytor said in a stunned voice.
"Gold, yes. Is that not acceptable here?" Martin queried.
"I am Baytor, I am Baytor!" Baytor replied hurriedly taking the offered coins. "I am Baytor?" the Daedric creature asked Martin enthusiastically.
"Not right this minute, no," replied Martin as he popped the cap of his beer and took a pull of it. Grimacing slightly, Martin hummed to himself. Piss poor beer. Pig's swill, the Dragonborn thought to himself.
The man who assisted him moments before laughed at this. "Yeah, the beer they serve is nasty stuff," he said as if he had read Martin's mind. "But where else are you gonna find a bar in this shithole of a city that won't ask you for your ID or ask questions?" he aired.
"I suppose there is that," Martin mumbled absently as he regarded the man who had helped him with the barman.
The man grinned in a friendly way. "I'm Tommy," he introduced himself. "Haven't seen around before. You new in town?" he enquired.
"Something like that," Martin said absently. "I am Martin Stormcrown," he then greeted Tommy.
"Nice to meet ya, Martin," Tommy said in a friendly way. "So, what brings you to our neck of the woods?" he asked as he took a sip of his own beer, barely grimacing at the taste.
"Found an Elder Scroll in a Dwemer ruin and it transported me here," Martin replied honestly. "What brings you here?" he asked his newfound drinking buddy.
"I'm between jobs at the moment, waiting for the next one to come up," Tommy replied easily. "So, what's an Elder Scroll?" he asked.
"An ancient artifact that holds infinite untold knowledge within the pages," said Martin. "And by the look of you, I'd say you're a mercenary, correct?" he postulated looking at Tommy carefully.
"Not a bad guess," Tommy said with some surprise. "What gave me away?" he asked curiously.
"The way you sit in your chair, always on guard, watching your surroundings even if you don't look it," Martin told him. "And I could smell the blood on you," he added dryly.
Tommy gave a raspy chuckle and said, "Can smell it on you too. You might look like a Conan cosplayer, but I'm guessing you're the real deal, huh?"
"Wouldn't know what a Conan cosplayer is, but I have been in my share of battles and killed my share of people and creatures," Martin said sardonically. "Would I be correct in guessing that you have as well?" he asked Tommy.
"I might've whacked one or two people that had it coming," Tommy said with a nonchalant shrug of his shoulders. "Wanna swap some stories? I got all night," he offered.
"If the barman has better drinks, then sure," Martin replied and Baytor was all to happy to agree.
"I am Baytor!" the barman brought out a bunch of bottle that looked much cleaner than the others on display.
"Hohoho! The goof stuff?" Tommy uttered in awe. "Baytor only brings out the good stuff during Christmas," he told Martin.
"Well, let's not waste them then."
Martin and his newfound drinking buddy then started swapping stories of their respective exploits while Baytor waited on them hand and foot to which Martin generously paid the creature a purse of gold septims which Baytor gleefully pocketed.
TO BE CONTINUED…
A/N: There! I sat down to write and this came out. Now for those of you who may be wondering what continuity this is set in, it'll be a mishmash of various DC continuities but one primary source of material I'll be drawing from is Roy Westerman and Phil Cho's Earth-27 Project which is a largely cohesive universe of nearly everything from DC Comics from Watchmen, V for Vendetta, the various incarnations of the Justice League, some inspiration from the Young Justice cartoon series, even crossover elements such as Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, Ghostbusters and just recently they incorporated GI Joe of all things into the project. As far as I know, GI Joe hasn't done a crossover with DC Comics, as far as I'm aware that is. So with that, I'm largely drawing inspiration from the Earth-27 Project/Universe for this story with some of my own interpretations and understandings of DC characters.
So with that said, I'll leave this here and see you all in the next one.
Be kind to one another,
Angry lil' elf.