Prologue: Portals

It had been at least a good two seasons since his escape from the dank, rat infested hell-hole known as the Imperial City jail. Truly it had been amazing that he'd never been recognized by the authorities for his prior offences- especially concerning the one that headed him to the chopping block. It shouldn't have been so hard to find such a pale, red-head Breton as himself among the crowd of usual Bretons. Ha, he would have scoffed if not for the recent events.

Ever since the Battle of Bruma he'd not been quite right in the head. It was always there. That incessant drone of noise: the clattering and tinkering of grand gears turning, opening a gateway to another bloody bare field of Oblivion. It never ceased. Day and night, it didn't matter- it's not like he could afford to sleep anyways. When the tri-faced gate appeared in the Niben, the Breton welcomed the change in appearance. Though apprehensive at first, with the witness to the miracle magic of madness it might have been the cure.

"Surely it must," he kept reassuring himself, "for what else could I be but mad? Surely no one but a madman would run purposefully into a flaming gate steaming with daedra." With that ideology established, the constant timbre of Oblivion began to muffle: and with the defeat of Jyggalag, even more so. However, even the newly acclaimed Sheogorath had his mortal jobs to achieve.

Making good on his promises, he returned to his soon-to-be emperor, Martin, with the necessary components to open the portal to Paradise.

"Paradise…. What a joke!" He cackled just as the ominously peaceful portal snapped into existence. Just as fast as the portal had appeared, it was gone with the Hero of Kvatch inside.

Paradise was the farthest thing from what he had thought it would be. The façade of the arrival grounds was most certainly impressive- and the Alyied ruins a nice touch- but the torture chambers were new; new to the fact they weren't like any of the ones in the Oblivion gates he'd encountered. The desperate cries of the victims swam into the ever-so-vigilant banter in the hero's brain.

"Hahaha!" he cackled manically, running Mankar Cameron though with his bi-polar blade and dousing his ebony armor in blood.

"I'd say it's time for a party," with a sickening rip, out came the intestines- the majority of which were being dragged about on the ground. "It's a bit long, but no matter." Bemused, he proceeded to skip rope with the entrails of his detested enemy as the palace came crashing down around him.

It was almost like traveling between the Shivering Isles and Mundus, really. Not nearly as chaotic as Oblivion portal transports usually went over but not as smoothly as others. Well, that was until he smashed his face into a rock upon his return to Tamriel.

"Hey you," the hero could feel a slight shaking and could barely register what was happening. He cracked open his eyes. Above him was an oddly armored man- and he would know odd armor, he had every set of it. There were horns protruding from the sides of the man's helmet and his upper armor was rather reminiscent of the Blade's. Immediately realization hit the Breton that he was no longer in Paradise, and from what he could gather, not at Cloud Ruler Temple either.

Snapping himself upright in a form of a stance- albeit a rush of blood to his head- he reached for his sword which was not at his side.

"Where is it?" He glanced up at his new aquatinted,

"What? Your sword?" The other raised an eyebrow, "it's over there."Grumbling to himself, the Hero gritted his teeth and shifted to grab it.

"Bit of a nasty shape you're in. You probably should not be moving about much, if at all," the opposing man commented offhandedly. From the viewpoint of the ground, the hero could see a rather well hidden dagger drawn by the stranger. Carefully he grasped his fallen weapon, not removing his eyesight from the stranger. His sword quickly followed said path in suit, but said man did not seem the least bit uncomfortable being in the threatened position he was.

"Where am I, stranger?" The hero staggered slightly, not willing to let his turbulent balance make him crash back to the solid portion of Nirn.

Said man nearly stepped back, as if to stand down. "Skyrim of course, home of the Nords and delicious mead."

"Skyrim? Quite a fantastic happenstance it is indeed."

The partially disoriented Breton lowered his sword slightly, as to accept that violence was unwarranted and unneeded with this fellow. Suddenly the natural noises of nature died. It wasn't in a way it would seem after the pillaging of a village or a forest fire- no, the injured man was quite familiar with these- it was one that the wilderness would only spawn when something feared was in its midst. It couldn't have been daedra again, could it? The other figure merely started scanning the skies, as if expecting something, Then suddenly, far in the distance there was a roar; an unfamiliar call, to the Breton, but quite the opposite for his companion. As the beast came into sight, the madman gasped, both in amusement of the insanity of the situation and of the sheer awe.

"What is that magnificent beast?"

"That, fellow adventurer, would be a dragon."

It's been a while since I've actually written a fan fic, multiple years in fact, but I digress. It occured to me one day that there are nearly no stories on here that explore the prospect of "what if two of the heros met?" Thusly, it piqued my interest to create one with both the Champion of Cyrodill, and the Dragonborn. Excuse my manic writing, but as some may say, to explain madness, one must be mad themselves.