He opened his eyes. It was sunny, yet freezing. He was in a small village with huge snow-clad mountains in the background. The strange part wasn’t the fact that he had somehow landed up in the middle of a bustling village with a very weird sense of temperature! No, the strange part was that the village seemed ancient. The people seemed ancient even though they looked young. Their clothes, mannerisms, even the grace with which they walked- all suggested that the village clearly belonged to the medieval period. But wait! Why couldn’t he move? His legs seemed to be stuck. As he pondered upon this whirlpool of confusion, he found himself walking. He felt like he was a wind-up toy! Strut Strut! Alarmed, he looked down at his legs. He was wearing iron boots, the ones made especially for knights! He slowly looked at his hands and then is whole body. All covered with iron! Armour, gloves, lowers. Even a sword! ‘Madness’- the one word ringing in his ears like an alarm clock!
He stopped moving. He looked up and to his surprise, he saw a guard staring back at him. Wait, he looked familiar. Wasn’t he-! Then it struck him. He was the guard from Skyrim! Yes, the video game he was playing just before he went off to sleep! What was the guard doing there?
‘You have committed a heinous crime in the city of Winterfell. You are hereby under arrest. Do you have anything to say in your defence?’ asked the guard in a rather rough and husky voice. Yes, yes he had so many things to say! So why couldn’t he? He felt constipated, rigid and weak. Then out of nowhere he heard himself say, “I will not be taken that easily. I can squash you like a little bug right now, if I want to. So back off!”
Oh Boy! He never felt so stupefied! Even before the guard took out his sword, he felt his right hand snatch out the gleaming golden mammoth of a sword out of the hilt. It was a beauty. He recognised the make immediately! Dwarven! Even before he could marvel at this wonder, he felt his hands tightening around it and- WHAM! It came crashing down on the guard! Blood came gushing out of his Imperial Armour but that didn’t stop him. To his dismay, he kept slicing him up till he was only a sack of meat. Needless to say, the guard tried his best to retaliate. The utterly dumbfounded protagonist looked up and found shocked faces looking back at him. The blacksmith, his wife, the local peasants, the Companions- everyone was looking at him like he was the devil’s incarnation!
Without looking back, he started running. Away from the people. This was the first time he did what he actually wanted to. He felt pretty swift for a guy who was carrying around 50 kgs of iron. Then again, he was 7 feet tall in this world. The terrain seemed so smooth beneath his iron boots, the green grass complementing the golden ambience like it was meant to. The World of Skyrim was indeed a beauty, not possible in the physical world whatsoever.
Yet he was incapable of encouraging those thoughts, as many more important ones were weighing down on him. How did he end up here? How can he go back? Will he have to finish the game to get out of this twisted yet beautiful joke? He only had one way to find out. He reached Riverrun, after encountering wild dogs, bears and even a Flame Atronach- all of which tried to kill him. Just a reminder though- all his motor functions were beyond his control so one could imagine the kind of hysteria his already confused mind was in.
Apart from the fine piece of Dwarven steel, he also had an Iron Warhammer charmed with the power of additional Flame Damage! Sounds cool doesn’t it? Well, it was. He paused to gaze at his own reflection in a small pond in Riverrun. He was a Khajit! A fierce warrior race bearing the features of a cat, the Khajit were naturally light on their feet and brilliant brawlers. The claws helped!
But then something happened. It seemed as if the reflection came to life and was staring back at him. Its eyes were filled with malice and unrest, as if it was trying to tell him something but holding back. Then, in a shaky yet scary voice, the reflection screeched, ‘Since eternity I have been trapped here. You have made me run, fight, steal and kill. I had no liberty of my own. The only time I got was when you would pause the game. I made my arrangements during that brief interval of time for this little exchange. I hope you like Skyrim. I am sure an eternity is enough to make you like it. Oh yes, and one more thing. I am not a bad guy; it’s just that I have been here for too long! If you want answers, then head over to High Hrothgar and talk to the Greybeards. They might help.’ And with a final screech, the reflection went back to normal.
‘Greybeards? High Hrothgar? What? How am I Supposed to know my way? How am I supposed to travel so much? Will I feel pain if I get cut? Am I a wanted man there? Why is everyone staring at me as I walk past them? What is happening? Is this even real? Curse that Khajit! Curse that bloody cat! Curse this game!’ He had a million questions which needed to be answered.
As he walked on, a boy approached him. He was wearing ragged clothes with an ugly cap to top off his not-so-fantastic look. ‘A letter for you’, he said, as he handed him a yellow envelope sealed with, what he figured, was wax. He quickly went away. As he opened the letter, he could feel his hands trembling. Everything was happening so quickly. He quickly read the letter. It only had four words.
‘RUN! They are coming!’