I woke to the wood of a rattling cart in my face.

My head ached, my shoulder was jarred from the bump in the road, my wrists had a bad case of rope-burn, and I was cold wearing only a burlap set of clothes and footwraps.

I peered out and saw a forest covered in snow and the sun was beginning to peek over them.

This definitely was NOT my bed.

"Hey you! Finally you're awake", a long haired blonde man in a blue, padded, chainmail vest said. "I thought you would have been up four bumps ago. My name's Ralof. You were trying to cross the border right? You must have walked right into that Imperial ambush same as us and this thief." Ralof gestured to the man sitting to his right.

"Yeahhh..that sucks for you guys, but I was actually trying to enjoy to soft warmth of my bed. Where the fuck am I and why am I wearing this burlap bag?" I asked, still not realizing this was Skyrim's intro scene since I had been using the Alternate Start mod for so long.

"You're in Skyrim?", Ralof said puzzledly. "And I guess they changed you and him out of your civilian clothes for some reason."

"Yeah you're in Skyrim alright", a dejected brown haired man in a similar burlap uniform to mine said, "'The sons and daughters of Skyrim'...HA! Damn you all! Skyrim was fine until you came along, and the Empire didn't give a shit. If they hadn't been looking for you, I could've been halfway to Hammerfell with that fucking horse. Me and him shouldn't even be on this shitty cart." he said, gesturing towards me. Turning back to Ralof with a suspicious look he, continued, "In fact, I'd say we're on it because of you!"

"Lokir I already went over it, even if it is our fault that they were there, it's not my fault that you literally STOLE a horse. You're lucky you didn't just get shot. If anyone's "innocent" here it's that guy right there." Ralof said, gesturing towards me. "Not that it really matters since we're all 'sons and daughters of Skyrim' in binds together...thief."

The Imperial soldier that was driving the cart turned around and bellowed, "Shut up back there!"

Still peeved from my headache, I say, "Say buddy why don't you just shut up and watch the road? You couldn't miss a bump if you were driving on an airstrip."

The soldier looked back angrily and hit the biggest bump he could find in response. I was going to call him out on how that also affected him and how much he looked like Benjamin Button fucked an old catcher's mitt, but I didn't feel it was worth the mental energy to continue on this guy.

What I deemed worth my mental energy however was trying to figure out how the hell I got here. The last thing I remember was going to sleep after playing some Fallout New Vegas. This definitely isn't a dream either. Somehow I was brought to this world, but I'm not sure if I'll be able to go back to the real world...or if I'll want to. Luckily I already have played 997 hours of Skyrim before this so surviving this will be a piece of cake...i hope.

Some time passed until anyone spoke.

"Say why did they gag this noble?," Lokir asked gesturing to the guy next to me dressed in finery adorned with a chest-plate. "What did he do that was so bad to be here Ralof?"

"Watch your tongue horse thief!", Ralof replied, obviously offended. "That's Ulfric Stormcloak, the TRUE High King!"

"Doesn't look very 'kingly'," I remark to the side.

Lokir's eyes go wide and he jumps, seemingly from the realization but possibly from a bump. "ULFRIC? THE FUCKING JARL OF WINDHELM? If they've captured you...Oh gods...WE'RE DEAD AREN'T WE?!"

"I don't know where we're going, but Sovngarde awaits," Ralof solemnly responds, looking at the sunrise through the snow.

"So you agree that we're dead, " I interject. "Cool."

Lokir looks into his now shaking hands, defeated, eyes wide and crazy while he repeats the words, "No. this can't be happening. This isn't happening." over and over quietly as tears begin to well up.

"Hey," Ralof says calmly, scooting a bit closer to Lokir and looking on with kind eyes, attempting to console him,"what village are you from, horse thief?"

Lokir wipes a single tear and looks at Ralof angrily, "Why would you care."

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

Lokir's complexion softens. "R-rorikstead. I'm...I'm from Rorikstead."

Ralof turns to me, "What about you? What's your name? Where are you from?"

"I'm not sure what you would call where I'm from," I reply with a smirk, "And you already have called me by my name."

"I did?" Ralof replies, confused again.

"Yeah. I'm That Guy Right There."