I wake up, and check my phone.
7:30 AM, Morndas.
I snap awake and tear away the blinds doing thousands of septims and scoldings worth of property damage and gaze out my window. White River Watch looms over to my left, and across the river lays Honningbrew Meadery. I run a hand through my hair, confused and in awe of the landscape that is suddenly there. As I take in the view however, I hear my front door smash open. Chills run down my spine as I realize that
- I’ve got NO weapons in the house.
- Mad martial arts does NOTHING to armored opponents or pissed off wizards.
I lean around the corner and almost gasp in shock. My wood elf character is rummaging through my living room closet, no doubt looking for better light armor than his pitiful hide and leather. I debate approaching him as I remember my own tendency to bash in people’s doors and murder all the occupants on a whim. I go back into my room and pick up the only two things I have that are even semblances of a weapon: My wooden battle axe and my M16A1 airsoft gun. I decide that in this scenario, “I” wouldn't care or know enough about guns to worry about a kid pointing one at me. So I go with my axe.
I kick over something in my room. Most likely a lamp, since I’ve got no electricity in here anyways. My elf is INSTANTLY attracted to the noise, since where there is noise there is loot. I lock my door and wait for the telltale sounds of a lock being picked.
The door cracks open a little, a green tinted hand on the doorknob. I raise the wood axe up as he sneaks in, unaware of me in the closet behind him. I let out the loudest “Banzai” I can muster and smash the axe into his head. Splinters fly as the elf stumbles forwards, completely surprised. I take this opportunity to run out of the room, towards the kitchen and any chance of fighting back. I dash into the kitchen and tear open the kanifee drawer as I hear him trip over the fallen lamp. I crouch by the dishwasher as he charges into the kitchen, growling and bleeding. I grimace at the thought of killing “myself” and try to think of what a wood elf like “me” might desire.
Gold? If I had that, I wouldn't be living in Arizona.
Spell tomes? No magic here. The computer’s useless without power so there's no faking “magic” either.
A better bow? I highly doubt PVC can stand up to Orismer craftsmanship.
I remember that wood elves are entirely carnivorous. No wheat or veggies AT ALL. But that still leaves me with meat and dairy. My character hasn't eaten in weeks. There's also a likelyhood he’s never tried Mozzarella. So I stand up, tear open the fridge, and grab a cheesestick. I then throw it towards the (rather confused) elf.
One bite. The plastic is removed after it's deemed inedible.
Second bite. Eyes narrow, chewing slows. His mind is probably going almost as fast as my heart rate.
Third bite. The elf’s face begins to normalize. The cheese seems to agree with him, and he establishes a certain flavor to now associate with it.
Fourth bite. The cheese stick is gone now, with hin idly chewing. I let out a silent sigh of relief and chuckly quietly as I realize that I have tamed a rabid me with cheese. What a morning.
His hand shoots out suddenly. I yelp and jump back a little, and then calm down as his expectant glare and open palm probably means he wants more. I carefully unwrap three more sticks and hand them to him, shuddering as he deftly swipes them from my hand. As the elf chews, I think about what I may have to deal with on day one of my new life in Skyrim.
Well, there's no more sitting around idly on a computer anymore. There are things to do!
My old friends probably don't even know I’m gone. Won't that be a shock to them when I FaceTime from Tamriel.
I also now have the prospect of being magical, or even dragonborn. I weigh my options as Skyrim “me” finishes the last cheese stick. He stares at me again with the piercing drops of midnight he has for eyes. I suddenly realize that however ridiculous it sounds, my ability to get Mozzarella cheese could determine my lifespan’s length. I try to signal sparks, magic. A shock mage might be able to power my house. He stares with confusion and mutters in English (or whatever language the common peoples of Skyrim speak…Nordic? Basic? Imperial standard?)
“Another speechless moron…”
Me: I assure you, sir, I am no moron.
Vasilisk (ingame me): Yet you sit here in…I assume that was cut out of a blanket? With no weapons or gold. Or even spell tomes.
Me: Was this house here five minutes ago?
Vasilisk: Well, no, but-
Me: Can it, Forest Gump. I have my dimension and you have yours. Now where's the nearest shock mage?
Vasilisk; That would be me.
Me: You have shock magic?
Vasilisk: I can make sparks..?
Me: Good enough.
The day goes on with him shocking the house to keep the power on, and me rummaging through Farengar’s library to see if I can work a way back into my dimension, because I’ll go nuts if I’m trapped for too long without internet or a familiar sight, like Starbucks. There's also the issue of procuring more Mozzarella.
Without writing a full on fanfiction (which I suddenly feel compelled to do), in short my day would be…interesting if I was suddenly in Skyrim.
Hey! You made it to the bottom of the page! Have some cheese!
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