'Urrgghh. Everything hurts.'

I groan. My wrists are in pain, from poorly made but tightly knotted hemp rope. My head hurts, like I ran into a wall. I feel a cold breeze blowing by my face and I shiver. My body is covered in a thin burlap tunic that does nearly nothing to stop the piercing wind, and even less to stop the bugs trying to crawl in my ears.

I open my eyes and try to brush away the bugs, before realizing it's futile because my hands are tied together. I look down, and see the footwraps covering my feet. The rough wood of the carriage below me pinches the flat of my feet.

I glance upwards and directly across from me is a man. His pale skin is muscular, built up on what looked to be years of hard labor. He has bright blue eyes, shadowed by sleep-deprivation and something… deeper. He looks straight past me, barely even flickering at my movement. He's killed someone, maybe several. Recently, too. He's still coming to terms with it, it looks like. I can see it in his eyes, though I can't place how exactly. His gilded hair shines against the sunlight, and--- Shit. Another bug crawls into my ear and takes my attention away.

'No, it can't be'. That short view I just got should be impossible.

His eyes flicker, finally realizing I'm moving, and a voice from him speaks up, shaking slightly. It's not the confident voice he used to have, from in the game. I could swear I'm right. He hasn't found peace, not yet.

"Hey, you. You're finally awake."

The wheels creak, reinforcing what I'm currently seeing and hearing.

The man's chainmail armor is covered by leather padding. The long blue scarf on it with belts strapped all around proves it.

It's him, Ralof. His strong Nordic accent makes it all the more obvious. I look past him and at our surroundings. The sun hanging high in the sky, the birds chirping loudly, the angle of the hill we're on. The tall pine trees, and the roughly cobbled road, halfway to ruin. It's all exactly as I remember from the game… But now that I'm experiencing it, reality's hitting me.

Ralof continues monologuing. "You were caught trying to cross the border, right? Walked right into that Imperial ambush, same as us. And that thief over there." He nods over to my right.

The thief, sitting opposite my side of the carriage, in rags similar to mine, speaks up angrily. "Damn Stormcloaks. Skyrim was fine until you came along. Empire was nice and lazy. If it wasn't for you, I'd have stolen that horse and been halfway to Hammerfell by now."

I look a bit further to my right and see him – the Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak. The leader of the rebellion, his mouth gagged and tied up, his hands crossed over, tied as well. There's a story behind this man.

In the game, Jarl Ulfric was considered a murderer, who used the power of the Voice – the Thu'um -to kill the High King of Skyrim. It's said he Shouted him to pieces, but given that the events were in the past, it's hard to know for sure. It was he the Stormcloaks, his army and faction, fought for. He was the reason they ended up creating this entire rebellion against the Imperial Empire for.

I notice that as people speak, the Jarl looks at each of us in turn, before focusing on the fact that I'm kind of staring at him. He pounces suddenly, jerking towards me and I flinch slightly, moving back. He's not exactly intimidating, given the fact that he's tied up like a pig, but it's this… aura around him. It's the air of his legends surrounding him, like meeting a celebrity. Like how I'd feel if a rock star I just met did the same thing.

Ulfric leans back in his seat, and starts to laugh or at least, tries to, before choking. He leans over his knees and it's made obvious. It's the gag.

I'm disappointed not only in Ulfric, but in myself, too. How dare I flinch at someone who couldn't even realize that when you laugh, you open your throat? I just lost respect for the both of us. Pathetic.

The thief continues complaining, regardless of my silence and Ulfric's distress.

"Me and you," He looks to me. "We shouldn't be here. It's the Stormcloaks the Empire wants." After saying 'Stormcloaks', he looks to Ulfric, and politely inquires, "The… The hell?!"

"Now, we're all brothers and sisters of Skyrim." Ralof responds, trying to placate the thief's anger, now turned to confusion, still seemingly not understanding Ulfric's plight, interestingly.

"Eh, shut up back there!" The soldier driving our carriage calls back to us in an angry tone. His voice was weathered, as if this weren't the first time he's told us to be quiet.


"What's wrong with him, huh?" The thief asks, quieter, gesturing at Ulfric, still choking on his gag, only not as quietly as he was before.

'I dunno, bro, I think it's the carriage. Motion sickness, maybe? Definitely not the fucking rag stuffed halfway down his throat.'

"Watch your tongue!" Ralof snaps, still ignoring that his hero was dying to a rag. He raises his tied hands, in an attempt to display his wonder at the dying man next to me.

"You're speaking to Jarl Ulfric, the true. High. King!" He enunciated the last words slower than the beginning of the sentence, emphasizing his respect for the Jarl. It's impressive almost, except like, Ulfric's losing to a rag.

"Ulfric? The Jarl of Windhelm?" The thief asks. "You're the leader of the rebellion. If they captured you… Oh, gods, where are they taking us?!"

"I don't know where we're going, but Sovngarde awaits." Ralof answers, despondently. He runs his hands through his hair and sighs.

The afterlife the Nords believed in, Sovngarde. Similar to the Valhalla of Norse belief in idea, it's a giant mead hall you celebrate in eternally until the End of Days. However, instead of Odin, you have Shor, the effective Jesus Christ of the Nords. Shor was the Nordic representation of Lorkhan, a god said to have been killed off by the other gods thousands of years ago. Whether or not Shor was a true embodiment of Lorkhan is still a contested idea, but in any case, it doesn't matter, because Shor hasn't been seen for a long time now. He's considered to be MIA among the gods, if not dead.

My attention turns back to the thief, as he says in a terrified voice, "No, no! This can't be happening. This isn't happening!"

While they were talking all about that, I was thinking… if I really did get transported inside the game, then am I in control of the skill trees, and can I learn things instantly, or are they like in real life, where I had to learn skills by practice? If that was the case, magic is going to be abhorrently difficult to learn. So I should pick base sets of skills to learn, to make it easier on myself, then, right?

That was when I realized something else. What about the mods, or even worse, the dlc's (downloadable contents) from the game? If the vampire threat is real, then they will become a major problem in the future, unless I myself become a Vampire Lord. Well, I guess they'll be a problem anyways, because nearly all vampires are hostile regardless of your race, but still. And what about the First Dragonborn, Miraak? Wouldn't he be a… Well, a threat as big as the main enemy of this game, at least, if not bigger.

Of course, certain things are obvious. For instance, I woke up where normally the Dragonborn does in-game, so I can draw the conclusion that I'm the Dragonborn. Another thing I'm certain about was that my species was not changed. In my old life I was mixed blood, black and white, and because of that I've got pretty tanned skin. Since I've got the same skin color as when I… died? Was transported? Or is this transmigration, like from a manga or some shit?

I don't know how I got here exactly, but I can assume they will think I'm either a Nord, a Redguard, a Breton, or an Imperial. Those, the races of Man, are the only ones they could mistake me for.

My skin color is pretty friggin' evident I'm not a Nord (most Nords are white, if otherwise, they're probably heavily tanned or are mixed blood), and although I've got short, straight hair, I've not got the physique for an Imperial. They've got more olive-colored skin anyways. Bretons are fairly short for Men, but since they've got elvish ears from a genetic breeding thing that happened a few thousand years ago between Men and Mer, it's somewhat obvious that I won't be recognized as that.

I guess in the end, my race doesn't matter, as I don't have any of their powers to begin with. Due to the pre-scripted events that are most likely going to take place, I know what's going to happen to me. After all, I've played this game for a long time now and done all of the quests countless times because it's extremely memorable and actually fun despite being more of a modern game. But if this is as real as it feels… I can't take any chances.

A cloud of dust rises up from the carriage ahead of us, as the gates of Helgen come into view. Helgen used to be a normal town, but for the last 50 or so years it's been an Imperial fort. Guards at the palisades stand up straighter as the lead riders ahead of the carriage in front of us ride into town and curve off the road to a small ramshackle stable. Other riders stop, and turn to watch our procession.

I take a deep breath and prepare myself. Grimacing, then speaking. "We're here. Helgen."

I look over at the horse thief, specifically at him, before continuing.

"It's worse than you think it is. But listen to me. So long as you don't run, you'll be fine. Much better to face a sword head on than an arrow in the back." Knowing what will soon happen to the thief if he doesn't heed my warning, I should at least do my part in preventing his death.

Ralof laughs a short breathy laugh, before saying, "How true. So you can speak, after all? Ay, what village are you from, horse thief?"

The thief looks at me slack-jawed, mouth open wide, like I'd either said something profoundly astonishing, or deeply troubling. He answers in a soft voice. "What do you care?"

Ralof speaks grimly. "A Nord's last thoughts should be of home."

The thief broke down a little more in that moment, and finally relented.

"Rorikstead. I'm… I'm from Rorikstead."

I don't know what that thief was thinking, but he's probably grieving; for both himself, and his loved ones. A moment is all it takes for the faces of my family and friends run through my eyes as I take a deep breath, and feel that Ralof may have been more of a genius than I thought. Half a second after I have that thought, the voice of an Imperial soldier breaks through, and my thoughts waver.

"General Tullius, sir. The headsman is waiting." A male officer says, riding up to a commander arguing with an elf about ownership over 'the prisoners'. Us.

The General nods, breaking out of the argument, and kicking his horse into a trot. "Good, then let's get this over with."

If I remember right, the general was a good man, he just happened to be serving a weak empire that forgot who it was after the deaths of its earlier rulers, the Septim Dynasty. The Imperial Empire is now under the control of the Mede Dynasty, and while the new Emperor wasn't so bad, it just happened to be the case that he inherited a dying cause, that being the Empire. It's really unfortunate that you have to kill him later in the game due to a Dark Brotherhood questline, as he seems to be really not all that bad of a person, either.

"Shor, Mara, Dibella, Kynareth, Akatosh. Divines, please help me!" The horse thief pleads to the Nine Divines, truly terrified of what's going to happen next. I really hope he doesn't run, like he usually does…

We pass under and through the 5-meter wall of Helgen. The straw-packed roofing of the palisade reminded me of how easily this village will burn once Alduin comes. We turn left and move on. Things were happening exactly as I remembered, but there were definitely more houses than I remember there being in Helgen's town. Far more, at least five to ten more, along with at least a few dozen more people.

"Look at him! General Tullius, the military governor." Ralof loudly proclaims with disgust, before spitting to the carriage floor. "And it looks like the Thalmor are with them. Elves. I bet they had something to do with this." He continues, the racism in his voice apparent. Can't be an Elder Scrolls game without the racism.

I can't fault him entirely. The Thalmor themselves are an extremely racist group, comparable to Nazis, actually. Their plots and schemes are all to lead the Empire to ruin, and this petty war inside Skyrim is just one of the ways they're doing it. The General himself was literally sitting on his own high horse, a strong brown warhorse. It looked built for battle, and it was clearly more than willing: a mouse ran away from our carriage, likely scared from the vibrations and noise, only to be stomped on by the horse. The horse takes its foot off the mangled bloody spot once known as a mouse and licks up the remains. I… didn't know horses were omnivorous. What a way to find out.

It looks across to me, and upon meeting my eyes, it… does nothing but swish it's tail. Something is off about it's gaze, I could swear. I can feel it. It makes me shiver, so I instead look to the high elf sitting next to Tullius.

The leader of the Thalmor, the high elf bitch herself, First Emissary Elenwen, sat upon an excrement-brown horse, one that looked… Well, pathetic's a strong word. Makes sense. A shitty horse for the piss elf. High elves, like First Emissary Elenwen, have skin usually colored somewhere between pale olive to a bronze-goldish hue. Therefore, piss.

Speaking of her, I've got a bit of a bone to pick with Elenwen because she tortures innocents and murders based off of religious precedence, but because she is of relatively high status, being the First Emissary of the Thalmor, she's pretty much untouchable. Pretty hard to negotiate death with the effective leader of the high elven Nazi Party set up here in Skyrim. Whatever. I'll kill the bitch in this life.

We turn towards the right this time, facing towards a part of Helgen's keep. The old stone is covered in green moss, and the smell of freshly-made bread baking in a house nearby wafts into my nose. I take a breath of that tantalizing scent in, and, for just a second, am reminded of the fact that right now, this town is still… Just a town. There are normal people going about their days here, not knowing of their future.

How blissful it must be for the ignorant to not know the truth. Wait… Did I just lengthen the phrase 'Ignorance is bliss'? This is stupid. I hate this. Why am I aware of my mistakes?

As we're passing by the houses on the right, the scent of that bread growing ever stronger, Ralof comments wistfully, a sad smile etching it's way out on his face. "This is Helgen. I used to be sweet on a girl from here. Wonder if you Vila's still making that mead with juniper berries in it. Funny. When I was a boy, Imperial walls and towers used to make me feel so safe." He sighs and shakes his head.

We pass a young Nord couple standing near a house, and they turn their faces away from us, frowning in disgust. I don't blame them. The scent emanating from this carriage… Well, it ain't the best. If it's the fact that we're prisoners about to be executed… Well, I don't blame them for that, either.

"Who're they, daddy? Where are they going?" A Nord boy asks from a house we were passing by. He's around the age of 11, with bright blond hair, blue eyes, and similarly blue tunic. He's sitting cross-legged on the porch of his house, a building that was only a couple logs away from being a cabin, while also being a few logs more than a shed.

I remember this scene in-game. It was rough the first time, but then I realized that this game was truly equal, showing bright, beautiful sights of life while hauling you off to the dark pits of an execution as well.

"You need to go inside, little cub." The father calmly tells his son, nodding towards the door behind him.

"Why? I want to watch the soldiers." The boy asks, curious.

The father commands the boy, his face hardening into stone. "Inside the house. Now."

"Yes, papa." The boy grudgingly listens to his father, and went inside.

"Get the citizens out of the cart! Move it!" The Captain, an Imperial officer, shouts out. Her voice rouses the soldiers under her command to prepare the carriages for the people to get out.

'Citizens? We're citizens now? What happened to us being prisoners?'

"W-why are we stopping?" The thief asks, as the carriage ahead of us pulled off next to an executioner's block.

"Why do you think?" Ralof answers, "End of the line."

The carriage we were riding slows before the wall and we stop. Ralof nods over at me before saying, "Let's go. Shouldn't keep the guards waiting for us."

I look over to where Ulfric was sitting, having finally beaten the fight against his gag. His nose flares, and he Ulfric jumps off first, then the horse thief, then I follow.

The thief looks at the guards and fearfully exclaims. "No, wait, we're not rebels!"

Ralof grabs his shoulder. "Face your death with some courage, thief." Ralof speaks, trying to rouse some bravery in him, despite the fact that death. the executioner's blade, was no more than a dozen meters away from us.

"You gotta tell them! We weren't with you! This is a mistake!" The thief pleads with Ulfric. Despite the current situation, I think this was at least a little bit funny, considering that Ulfric's mouth was tied, and he literally could not respond.

"Hck… Right, you… you can't…" The thief realizes, but then he gasps, glancing to me. He whispers out a sentence that I can just barely make out. "A sword head on…"

"Step towards the block when we call your name! One at a time." The Captain from before coldly calls out, before gesturing to the officer ahead of us, Hadvar.

"Huuuhhh. Empire loves their damn lists." Ralof complains.

"Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm." Hadvar checks Ulfric's name off of a list he's holding. Ulfric steps forward to the executioner's block, and Ralof speaks. "It has been an honor, Jarl Ulfric."

"Ralof, of Riverwood." Hadvar calls out. Ralof walks past the guards and to the block, where Ulfric stands waiting, an angry look on… No, nevermind, that's just his normal face.

"Lokir, of Rorikstead." Hadvar calls out. So the horse thief's name was Lokir.

I never remembered his name. Probably because he always dies in the first five minutes of the game, but still. Now, it should be right about now that—

Wait, what? What is this? Why isn't Lokir running away? Did what I said earlier actually work? Does this mean that I can affect the events of the game? If that's the case… There's a whole lot more that I can do, then. My heart pounds, and I watch on in confusion and anxiety.

Hadvar looks at his paper, then at me and says, "Wait. You there. Step forward."

I take a few steps forward.

"Who are you?" he asks, ready to pen my name down along with the rest.

I consider for a moment, reminding myself of the name I always use in games. I might as well use the name I've always had.

"Drake. My name is Drake."

After I state my name, Hadvar writes it on the paper then looks to the captain.

"What're you doing here, Redguard? You a sellsword? A sailor from Stros M'Kai? Captain, what should we do? He's not on the list."

So it was just as I thought. They think I'm a Redguard. I'm not of Man, but I am human, if that makes any sense. At least... I'm not of any species known to this realm.

I suppose I'll just keep quiet for now. Nothing needs to be said about my species.

"Forget the list. He goes to the block." She says.

At that, Hadvar's face twists up, and some of the Imperials around me start looking slightly confused, like this was out of character for her.

If that's the case… Screw my previous statement, this scene has always bothered me! Besides, the next scenes will happen regardless, so… It's fine.

"Um, ah, excuse me? Why do I have to die, if I've committed no crime? I was just trying to cross the border," I question her loudly, rolling with what Ralof said earlier. If it's as I think…

The Captain freezes midstep. Her face goes through three completely different phases of confusion and worry, before settling on confidence as she turns around.

"I… I don't know why I said that… Hmm." A slight frown appeared on her face as she spoke again, and her nose flares. Her eyes meet mine, before breaking away and focusing on empty space. "Hadvar, belay my previous order. You, Redguard, don't go anywhere until I figure out what to do with you. I'll have to ask you some questions after this execution anyway, like what in Oblivion were you doing near an ambush on a Stormcloak supply line?!"

"Bad coincidence?" I suggest, smiling halfheartedly. I'm not even convinced of my own answer. "I just follow you, then, right?"

"Y-yes," She hesitantly assures herself of her response, nodding. "Follow me. Oh, and you there, remove his bindings."

A soldier cuts open my bindings while the Captain walks over to the executioner's block, where the Headsman is waiting. I quietly follow her, rubbing my wrists.

My opinion of her has definitely just changed. She's not the cold-hearted bitch I thought she was! She does have a heart, she was just limited to following the script! What just happened indicates that the actions I take can and will influence events unlike the game, where most scenes happen the same no matter what you do.

Alduin roars far off in the distance as General Tullius is speaking. The horses, stabled away somewhere, buck loudly and neigh. I get closer to the Captain and whisper.

"We need to move away from the tower next to us. That roar was a dragon, and it will be here in less than a minute. If you don't believe me, people will die."

The confusion on her face is replaced with a cold face as if I just told a bad joke. She raises an eyebrow and answers in a deadpan tone.

"A dragon. Ha. Those haven't been alive for hundreds of years. The last time I can think of one even being sighted is two hundred years ago, at the end of Oblivion Crisis. Far as I can tell though, that doesn't even come close to… Whatever that noise was. It was probably just an avalanche on one of the mountains."

It clearly doesn't matter. She's going to end up performing her scripted duties. Regardless of what she thinks, I'm not going to die like the rest of these noobs.

The cleric, a priestess of Arkay, was reading them their final rights, when one of the Stormcloaks interrupts her.

"For the love of Talos, shut up and let's get this over with!"

He walks past her to where the block was. He kneels against the Headsman's block, and as the Captain steps on his back to keep him still, he lifts his head up, locking eye-to-eye with me.

I simply stood there, staring. Watching. What else could I do? I escaped the axe, but I couldn't help him escape it. I suppose I shouldn't exactly feel bad for him, though. It was his own actions that brought him to this moment.

"Alright. As you wish." The priestess complies, annoyed. The Stormcloak shuts his eyes, grimacing in a tight sad smile, and shouts out.

"Come on, I haven't got all morning! My ancestors are smiling at me, Imperials. Can you say the same?"

A single tear slides down the man's cheek and drops into the bucket. He swallows, and tenses his muscles before relaxing them.

The Headsman raises his axe and swings it down. With a heavy *shing!*, the head of the Stormcloak splits off the body and drops neatly into the basket and rolls around to face the sky. His eyes shut one last time in that final second, and his face looked to be at peace. Less than a second passes in a tense silence, and a female Stormcloak's voice screeches out. My eyes flicker to her as I swallow a weird feeling in my gut.

"You Imperial bastards!" She falls to a knee, clutching her chest and crying. Who was she to him, to feel such pain at this death? A lover? A sister? Could she have been his wife?

An Imperial-supporting villager yells out, "Justice!" It's a Nord. Glares from other witnesses stare at him, and he puts a hand on the axe on his belt, silently threatening them. They turn back to the scene of the execution, and he crosses his arms again.

Another villager agrees with the one from before, shouting, "Death to the Stormcloaks!"

Unlike the others, Hadvar holds some respect for the man, when he says, "As fearless in death as was in life."

Now, normally, I'd be going next on the chopping block, but since I effectively freed myself…

"Next prisoner," the Captain called out.

Next was… some unnamed Stormcloak who would've died a death that was unfit for a true warrior of Sovngarde, but then the second roar came.

It echoes off the snow-capped peaks, causing a minor avalanche to occur. The wall of snow flows down the mountain, and into a hidden valley. This time the roar was much, much closer. Alduin was going to attack soon. I can feel it, and it's not just me. The stabled horses buck and stomp the ground again. They shiver and neigh loudly, pulling away from their ropes.

"There it is again. Did you hear that?" Hadvar asks, nervously.

"I said, next prisoner!" The Captain ignores him, her voice shaking slightly. She can feel it, too. She glances to me, before shaking her head, and gesturing to the horses, telling a soldier to calm them.

Hadvar shakes his head and shivers, letting out a breath and speaking up to a Stormcloak, gently putting his hand on their shoulder.

"To the block, prisoner. Nice and easy."

'Oh, boy'. Alduin's coming soon. Like in 10 seconds, soon. I edge my way away from the tower and towards another building, as quickly and stealthily as possible.

The Captain pushes the next guy to the block. This man too, looks at me, just as the Headsman raises his axe.

Then, of course, it finally happens.

Alduin roars, and becomes visible as he banks around a mountain to the east and crashes into the tower. When he hits the tower, the top half blows into rubble and is thrown over everyone's heads. Along with the rubble was a gust of wind from his massive wings that throws nearly everyone off their feet, crashing into buildings, parts of the fort, and to the ground. It blows away a lot of dust and dirt, practically creating a sandstorm.

The sky turns dark as he spreads his wings, then bright again as he pulls them in, hooking his clawed wings into the tower as he crawls close to the scene of the execution. His head lowers and waves around, looking from person to person, and I realize: He's looking for something. 'Me.'

Alduin's black scales and horns were even sleeker in person. They sparkle with an onyx gleam against the sunlight, and he takes a breath before roaring, shaking his head like the T-rex from Jurassic Park. I run forward and fall into a roll next to the block, where the second prisoner had fallen down. By now, he's gotten up. His face was not only confused but deeply, deeply disturbed. I pull him to his feet, and he runs off, heading to one of the towers.

Shouts ring out, as people are waking up from their stupor and reacting to Alduin's appearance. Alduin takes off, and starts flying back around for a second attack.

"What in Oblivion is that?!" General Tullius yells out. He, as well as the majority of his little posse, had been thrown to the ground by the gust, but had now gotten up.

"Sentries, what do you see?!" The Captain shouts.

"It's in the clouds!" A sentry screams.

"Dragon!" A Stormcloak cries, pointing to a spot in the sky, before Alduin dives down like a hawk. The Stormcloak tries running away, making it a solid 15 meters, but Alduin snaps his wings out, slowing his descent. He catches the Stormcloak with his legs, and hovers midair, flapping his giant wings and creating massive gusts of wind.

I can feel the wind from my spot, and watch on in a strange trance. 'Something is forming here…' I don't know what it is. Something deep inside me. Hatred? 'No.' Disgust? 'Not that.' Fear?

Alduin throws the body upwards at an angle, snapping at it with his mouth, eating half of the body, then shakes the rest out away before flying off. The remains fall to the ground with what should be a sickening thud. And it is… Not for me. Guards, sentries, soldiers all around me puke, gag, turn away, scream.

They shiver in fear and cower, before being reprimanded by a terrified officer trying to put on a semblance of bravery. Having never seen such a kind of slaughter, I understand why they did that. But I… I do none of those. I don't feel what they do. Why?

'I fear myself'. This scene… It's nearly cinematic. Something I've seen thousands of times before, and yet nothing I've ever seen could ever come close. All of this feels like I'm in a movie. 'Creepy?' Yes. 'Terrifying?' Yes. 'Horrific?' Absolutely. But I feel nothing, as if I knew that behind the horror is just a story being told to me with strong visuals.

'No, wait'. I do feel something… Insatiable. Like what I just saw was no more than a depiction of a hell, that all would turn away from, except me. Rather than turn away, I draw closer to the madness.

'What is this? Am I a monster? If I am, what kind am I, to draw closer? What kind do I need to be, to want to see more? Is this what a psychopath feels? An urge to kill? A longing to see more death? Or is it something else?' I shake my head, trying to snap myself out of this trance. I have to return to a subjective view. 'Before I lose myself'. I am me. I am human. I am not a murderer. I do not wish to witness slaughter. I do not see a corpse, and think more. Why would someone, or in this case, something, do this? Why didn't someone stop them? Why didn't anyone… WHY DIDN'T I STOP THEM? IF I CAN TAKE A STEP FORWARD, WHY DIDN'T I MOVE FORWARD TO STOP THEM?!

My head pounds as thoughts echo through my head. Something warm just hit my head, and is running down me, my eyes, my ears, my mouth. I reach to touch it. It's blood. Coppery-scented, hot, crimson-red blood. It's not just on my head. I look above me, before diving out of the way.

A corpse slams where I was standing, skidding and skipping across the ground, as it fell at an angle. Yet another victim of Alduin's.

I look around me. I stand in a pool of blood, a solid square meter at least, of dark crimson mud. Blood has soaked into the ground. I can feel the sticky, bloody soil through my thinly wrapped feet.

A Nord's head stares at me from the ground, the spots where his eyes should be, empty. It's the corpse that almost killed me. The man's eyes are splattered out of his head in a disgusting white puddle of sclera, less than a foot away from the rest of the corpse on the ground. His skull, it appears, has exploded from the impact. Then I see more red.

The corpses' lower half was entirely missing, his armor snapped in half by Alduin's jaws. Some of the man's intestines slide out from it, and a weird, numbing feeling spreads out from the pit of my stomach. It's not that I can't believe that this is happening… No, it very clearly is, so that can't be the case.

Just like before, with Lokir, the guards, sentries, the victims of Alduin… I feel nothing, or something worse than nothing, as I witness the sight. And that terrifies me more than anything this reality has in store for me.

This is far more graphic than anything I remember, but as long as the majority of the mechanics of this world stay the same, I should be fine… My body tenses up, freezing as I watch Alduin. He flies around Helgen, then Shouts. 'Ah shit, I hate this part'.

Alduin is unfortunately capable of summoning meteors, which he abuses to a disgusting amount. He uses it at nearly every encounter you meet him in the game, and it's annoying, to say the least. I take a deep breath in, and look up.

I watch the sky as it tears itself apart.