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(A/N: Hello everyone, new novel here! I know I know I have to much now, literally six novels, but hey as long as I can make it and give it to you guys, who am I to protest right?! Of course this also actually helped clear my head because I have a new source to made, so don't worry and please give me your comments or reviewed if you like it, have a constructive criticism, and lastly, please no need for personal insult if doesn't like it thank you! Oh also don't forget the power stones and put in you library for support if you like it!)
The last thing Alex remembered was the incandescent glow of his monitor, the rhythmic "clink clink clink" of virtual gold coins accumulating in a satisfyingly illegal cascade, and the increasingly desperate gack of his own throat.
He'd been so close. So ridiculously close to breaking the game's economy with a bucket, a vendor, and a prayer. Then, the smell of ozone, a flash of blue, and a sharp, final zzzt that tasted surprisingly like cheap metal took him.
He was dead. He was absolutely dead. No amount of respawn mechanics or quick saves could fix a fried nervous system.
So why did he taste mud?
His lungs, miraculously, worked. He coughed, a violent, sputtering expulsion that brought up a mix of dirt, river water, and what felt suspiciously like a half digested noodle.
He blinked, pushing himself up on hands that felt disconcertingly long and slender. The sunlight was too bright, the air too fresh, and the smell of pine and wet earth overwhelmingly real. This wasn't his cramped, ramen scented apartment. This was... outside. Like, really outside.
Panic, cold and sharp, seized him. He scrambled to his feet, slipping on the muddy bank. He wasn't wearing his faded pajama bottoms with the pizza stains. He was in rough spun tunic, baggy pants, and surprisingly comfortable leather boots that looked like they'd seen a few too many miles.
His hands, still mud caked, were elegant, almost delicate, with long fingers. He looked down at them, then back at his reflection in the shimmering river water.
A gasp caught in his throat.
Instead of his usual pasty, slightly jowly face framed by perpetually messy brown hair, a sharp featured, impossibly angular face stared back. His skin was pale yellow, almost translucent, and his ears… oh gods, his ears were long and pointed, like something out of a fantasy novel. His eyes, though still adjusting, had a faint, ethereal glow.
"No," he whispered, the voice that emerged from his throat a bit more higher pitched, more melodious than his usual voice he knew off. "No, no, no. This is not happening."
He pinched himself. Hard. It hurt. Very much.
He wasn't Alex. He was an Altmer. A High Elf. And judging by the towering pines, the rushing river, and the distant, familiar silhouette of a logging mill… he was in Skyrim. Specifically, he was quite literally in the river just outside Riverwood.
A sudden, translucent blue panel flickered into existence before his eyes, familiar yet jarringly simple. It looked like a badly coded mod from an early alpha version of Skyrim.
[Main Panel] Name: Aerion Race: High Elf (Altmer) Health: 100/100 Stamina: 100/100 Magicka: 150/150 Level: 1 Skills: -
Aerion. His new name. Great. At least his Magicka bar was a decent length. Small mercies. A series of pop up notifications began to cascade, each one punctuated by a soft, almost imperceptible chime.
[Skill Unlocked: Animal Affinity (MAX LEVEL)] [Description: You possess an innate, unparalleled bond with all non Draconic creatures, great and small. They instinctively trust, obey, and adore you. No, this isn't a joke. Don't waste it on a chicken.]
Aerion blinked. "Animal Affinity? Max Level? What even is that?" He wasn't the type to waste skill points on something that didn't directly contribute to sword damage or spell efficiency. His brow furrowed.
Was this some kind of meta joke? And non Draconic? Fine, no influencing Alduin directly, but every other beast in Skyrim was apparently his to command.
Before he could process the absurdity, two more pop ups appeared, making his heart do a surprised little flutter. These, at least, were familiar. These were some his mods that he installed.
[Skill Unlocked: Fast Skill Levelling (MAX LEVEL)] [Description: All non magical skills gain experience at an incredibly accelerated rate. Grind? What's grind?]
[Skill Unlocked: Fast Magic Mastery (MAX LEVEL)] [Description: All magical schools gain experience at an incredibly accelerated rate. Become an Arch Mage before breakfast!]
"Oh, hell yes!" Aerion breathed, a genuine grin spreading across his face. This was more like it! He got some of his custom installed quality of life mods, the ones that removed the tedious grind from the game, had transmigrationed with him! This was a game changer.
He wouldn't have to waste time doing dumb quests for meager skill increases. He could become a master of anything in practically no time.
Then, two more notifications, cementing his nascent power.
[Skill Unlocked: Destruction (Fire) (Level 1)] [Description: Basic Fire spell. Burn things. Carefully.]
[Skill Unlocked: Destruction (Lightning) (Level 1)] [Description: Basic Lightning spell. Shock things. Slightly less carefully.]
"Fire and Lightning at level one, ready to scale thanks to Fast Magic Mastery," he murmured, a cold, calculating spark entering his now glowing eyes. He extended a slender hand, concentrating.
A small flicker of orange light appeared on his palm, growing rapidly into a miniature inferno that warmed his face. He quickly extinguished it, singeing a few of his (thankfully sparse) new eyebrows. Then he tried lightning. A crackle, a brief static shock, and a tiny blue arc fizzled between his fingertips. Excellent.
He checked his inventory. A basic iron dagger, his tattered clothes, and a small pouch. He weighed it in his hand. It felt exactly like the game. He tipped it out. 300 Septims, just enough to get by. His inventory interface now showed, Weight: 1 KG / 100 KG.
Just enough to get by for a bit, but that familiar, nagging weight limit was already a concern. Especially since he doesn't get his unlimited weight limit mod, which was a bummer.
The initial shock of his situation, his hilarious yet fatal demise, and his new High Elf form began to recede, replaced by a cold, pragmatic logic. He was here. He was in Skyrim. And he had some ridiculously overpowered abilities, even if one involved befriending a mudcrab.
A sudden rustle in the bushes nearby. Aerion tensed, rusty dagger in hand. A fox, normally skittish, peered out, its intelligent eyes fixed on him.
It whined softly, then trotted out, nudging its head against his leg before sitting down and looking up at him expectantly.
Aerion froze. "Oh right. Animal Affinity. At Max level." He sighed. "Great. So I'm the Disney Princess of Tamriel."
The fox wagged its tail, a happy, chuffing sound coming from its throat. He tentatively scratched behind its ears. The fox leaned into his touch, practically purring. This was going to be weird.
His first priority wasn't to save the world, or even figure out how to get home. His first priority was information. He needed to know where he was in the game's timeline. He didn't remember the dates at all, only the key events. The most crucial was he needs to know was concerning Helgen and Alduin appearance. The start of the Dragonborn's journey.
He trudged up the muddy bank and into the small, familiar village of Riverwood. The smells of cut wood and baking bread filled the air. He decided to play the part of a lost, slightly dazed traveler.
High Elves weren't exactly beloved in Skyrim, but he wasn't going to draw attention by acting like he knew everything.
He approached the lumber mill, where two men, one burly Nord and a younger Imperial, were working. "Excuse me," Aerion began, pitching his voice to sound slightly confused, "I seem to be... disoriented. Could you tell me where I am?"
The burly Nord, Hod, barely glanced up. "Riverwood, friend. You look a bit green. Long walk from the border?"
"Something like that," Aerion said vaguely. "I've heard whispers of troubles. Bandits, they say? And... conflict?"
"Aye, the Civil War's been heating up," Hod grumbled, chopping another log. "Imperials and those damn Stormcloaks. Makes honest work harder."
"Civil War, yes," Aerion nodded. "I recall hearing about it. Rather intense, I imagine. Has there been... any talk of anything stranger? Large, winged beasts, perhaps?" He tried to sound casual, dismissive even.
The Imperial, young and eager, piped up, "Winged beasts? Like dragons? You been sniffing too much skooma, elf? Dragons are a myth." He laughed, a high
pitched, irritating sound. Hod just shook his head.
Aerion inwardly scoffed. Classic NPCs. Oblivious to the end. He pressed on, subtly, "No, not dragons. Just... strange occurrences. Loud roars? Villages suffering sudden, catastrophic events?"
"Only catastrophic events we've had lately are those damned Stormcloaks raiding caravans," Hod spat. "Or Imperials shaking us down for coin."
Aerion moved on, feigning a need to purchase supplies. He entered the Riverwood Trader, the familiar scent of dusty shelves and stale ale greeting him. Lucan Valerius, the owner, was busy chastising his sister, Camilla. Aerion waited patiently for their argument about a stolen claw to subside.
"Good day," Aerion offered, adopting a polite, deferential tone. "I'm looking for supplies, and perhaps some information. I'm new to these parts."
Lucan, ever the businessman, brightened. "Welcome to Riverwood, traveler! What do you need? We have everything. As for information, well, we get all sorts of folk passing through."
"I'm curious about the state of the land," Aerion said, leaning casually against a counter, feigning interest in a dusty potion bottle. "It seems... unsettled. The Civil War, of course. But are there other... more widespread calamities? Any news of large scale destruction, perhaps towns simply ceasing to exist?"
Lucan furrowed his brow. "Ceasing to exist? Only way a town disappears is if the Nords and Imperials decide to duke it out there. Or bandits burn it down. You heard something specific?"
"Just rumors," Aerion waved a dismissive hand. "From afar. It sounds quite grim." He probed further, subtly asking about specific recent events, any grand arrests, any unusual prisoner transports. Nothing. No mention of a prisoner convoy ambushed by a dragon. No mention of Helgen being incinerated.
He purchased a loaf of bread and a couple of apples, basic sustenance, light on the inventory. As he left the shop, he felt a cold certainty settle in his stomach. The main quest hadn't started. The Dragonborn was still just some unknown prisoner, likely about to be captured, on his way to Helgen.
The Civil War was definitely active. That much was clear. Imperials and Stormcloaks were already clashing. This was good. This was opportunity.
Aerion found a quiet spot near the river, the friendly fox from earlier still trotting faithfully at his heels. He sat on a fallen log, nibbling on an apple, his mind racing.
He was in Skyrim. He wasn't the Dragonborn. That was a relief. Being the world saving hero sounded like a lot of work and public speaking, neither of which appealed to him. But he had the potential for immense power, thanks to his gamer mod skills. And the main story hadn't begun.
This was his chance to rewrite the script. He didn't want to save Skyrim. He wanted to rule it. Not in some grand, overt way, but from the shadows. To be the true power behind the throne, while someone else took the glory, and the arrow to the knee. And what better way to do that than to get control of the Dragonborn?
The Dragonborn was a force of nature. Unstoppable. But also, as he remembered from the game, easily manipulated by various factions. The Greybeards, the Blades, the College of Winterhold, and many really, everyone wanted a piece of the Dragonborn like she was a hot lady. Aerion would simply be another, more subtle, and far more effective, influence.
His thoughts solidified into a ruthless plan. General Tullius. He was the key to getting close to the future Dragonborn. Tullius was the one who captured Ulfric Stormcloak, and consequently, the Dragonborn, right before Alduin's dramatic entrance.
By joining the Imperial Legion, Aerion could be strategically placed. He could rise through the ranks quickly with his absurdly fast skill leveling. He could become an indispensable asset, gaining Tullius's trust and respect.
And then, when the time came, when the real hero of Skyrim emerged from the ashes of Helgen, Aerion would be there. Not as a direct ally, but as a silent puppeteer. His Animal Affinity would still be incredibly useful here. Imagine a pack of bears acting as his personal shock troops, or a flight of hawks providing aerial reconnaissance.
He could appear as a mystical benefactor, a wise advisor, or even a rival who forces the Dragonborn to acknowledge his superiority.
He took another bite of his apple, a thin smile gracing his lips. His High Elf features, once a source of mild disgust, now felt like a natural extension of his newfound ambition. He, Aerion, the exiled, mod loving gamer, would subtly take over Skyrim.
He looked at the small, friendly fox at his feet. "Alright, little guy," he murmured, "we're going to Solitude. And then, we're going to conquer a kingdom. One carefully calculated step at a time."
The fox wagged its tail, apparently in full agreement. Aerion stood, dusted off his peasant clothes, and began the walk towards Whiterun, his mind already spinning intricate webs of future influence. The Dragonborn wouldn't know what hit them.
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[Main Panel] Name: Aerion Race: High Elf (Altmer) Health: 100/100 Stamina: 100/100 Magicka: 150/150 Level: 1
Skills: Animal Affinity (MAX LEVEL), Fast Skill Levelling (MAX LEVEL), Fast Magic Mastery (MAX LEVEL), & Destruction (Fire/Lightning) (Level 1/1)
[Inventory Panel]
1x Small Pouch = 300 Septims
1x Iron Dagger
Weight: 1 KG / 300 KG