Outgrowing Skyrim

“Riverwood calls for aid.”

“Riverwoods in danger too? You’d better go on in. You’ll find the Jarl in Dragonsreach at the top of the hill.”

And with that they let me in. I stuck to the script and didn’t deviate. I could really screw this next part up. The Dragonborn needs the Jarls' support to move forward, the logistics are just bad without him. It’s even worse if I’m not the Dragonborn. The Jarl might forgive a powerful demigod of an odd guffaw, but a foreign peasant? Not likely. Unless I want to be like the Khajiit outside I need to play it as close to the dialogue as I can so I say the right things to move events forward in my favor.

Beyond the gate is another bridge that lets the stream flow through the culvert to the outside. It’s definitely Whiterun, but stretched and twisted into a city two or three times its in-game appearance. The blacksmiths, Warmaiden, is still the first building you’ll pass going in but it's vastly bigger than I remember. The house itself is a little bigger but the smithy takes up most of the space as it's actually spaced out properly and not crammed along the wall outside the house like it used to be. Outside the house are two figures haggling over an order.

"We'll pay whatever it takes. But we must have more swords for the Imperial soldiers." says a big blond Nord. He’s thick enough to give Hadvar a run for his money and is wearing a similar Imperial light armor to boot.

"I just can't fill an order that size on my own. Why don't you swallow that stubborn pride of yours and ask Eorlund Gray-Mane for help?" says a much shorter but no less thick Imperial woman. Her skin is dark enough you’d think she was a Redguard. If I didn’t know better I’d say she was obese but I know that it’s probably muscle from the mods reaction to her high blacksmithing skill. She must have some other skills too, her curves are pretty outrageous. She’s dirty from forgework and her clothes are almost as dark as her black blacksmith's apron.

"Ha! I'd sooner bend my knee to Ulfric Stormcloak. Besides, Gray-Mane would never make steel for the Legion." the Nord says huffing.

"Have it your way. I'll take the job, but don't expect a miracle." she says firmly.

I keep walking while they're talking. These aren’t npcs, or highly realistic npcs, so I can’t just stare people down while they talk and lore dump. The timing of their conversation is freaky though, it's the exact same conversation they would have in-game when you first entered the city. Which probably means that I’m in a simulation of sorts, rather than a real world.

Regardless, their conversation presents a real opportunity for me. The blacksmith will be desperate for help, even from a complete novice, and might hire someone like me on the spot. That way I can level up my blacksmithing ability, which is one of the skills I would consider technical.

I don’t know how useful it will really be though. Time passed as I made potions in Riverwood proving that I’ll need to devote more than just raw materials to the process. I can’t imagine blacksmithing is any faster or easier. It may be sensible to just outsource these crafting jobs to reliable partners, if I can find any. Still I can’t imagine building a foundation in these skills will be worthless.

The lower district is where most of the homes and businesses are. At the top of the district is an open market where you can buy most anything. It’s midday now and the market stalls are at their busiest. I’d be lying if I said I could recognize any of the faces, or even recognize the stalls. I couldn’t even tell which house was Breezehome, the Dragonborns first house, behind me and it was supposed to be the second house in. Buildings have sprouted up like weeds and there are just so many people it's insane. I can’t take it all in because I’m trying not to get lost in a city I should be able to navigate blindfolded.

I do note however, for science, that the womenfolk by and large are pretty universally blessed in the curve department. By earth standards anyway.

Thankfully the city's layout isn't drastically altered, just massively scaled up, so I push past the crowd after finding the stairs I need. I ascend a surprisingly wide staircase flanked by twin water streams carved by hand into the city. Atop the stairs is the city’s second district. I don’t remember the names of the districts, except for the cloud district, but the second district is for the elite of the city and its temples.

The streams circle out and surround a grand pavilion that itself circles a massive white tree. It’s not as perfectly white but the white tree of Gondor from Lord of the Rings ain't got nothing on the Gildergleam in terms of size. It’s easily five times as big and looks like a fake tree you might see in a theme park. The branches are thick in most places but for some reason I can’t remember it totally lacks leaves. The bare branches only occasionally dance in the wind giving it a haunted beauty. Looking at it reminds me of a huge shaking skeleton.

To the left is the temple of Kynareth, Goddess of the sky or wind or something. She’s supposed to have some connection to the tree but how much she actually cares is anyone's guess. It's hard to tell but based on its stripped appearance I would guess not very much. To the right is Jorrvaskr, the great mead hall of the Companions. They were the warriors who fought the giant earlier. A massive viking boat has been flipped upside down and modified to make the roof of the oldest building in Whiterun. Just before Jorrrvaskr is a looming statue of a man piercing a serpent under his boot with his sword in one solid stone piece.

There’s a lot to take in but my joints are killing me and I can only focus on one thing. The small stream that circles this space has adorable little bridges at four spots for the main roads. You could easily step over the stream but these have been specifically made to accentuate the beauty of this space. I move to the statue and see the shrine I’ve been looking for, to hopefully heal my disease. It's supposed to be a sword but it's terrible proportions and exaggerated carvings make it hard to tell.

I stand at the little shrine and pray “Please heal me” in my head. The pain fades with a healing light and I get my first taste of truly universal healthcare as an American. Or maybe former American. I’m not sure how that works. To my knowledge I didn’t die in my old world. Regardless I give a silent thanks and continue my quest up to the top of Whiterun.

Dragonsreach is in the final district, the cloud district, and is the only thing up there. There's a rather elaborate set of stone stairs cut into the hillside as it ascends to become quite steep. In-game this was merely an annoyance, in real life its pants filling. The rock is slick in places, there are no guardrails. Only braziers to dimly illuminate the stairs at night. The steps balance a few stories above a small pond with rather large rocks in it. The pond is the absolute shortest distance you can fall from these stares. I reckon I could free fall for a good thirty seconds if I threw myself from certain places on these steps.

Stamina isn’t a problem for this body and I make it up the stairs with minimal physical effort. Taking a moment to mentally breath instead I see a drawbridge that crosses not a moat but the spring that feeds the stream that runs through the whole city. Curved wooden arches adorn the bridge in a latticework ceiling. There are dragon motifs carved at certain points and the boards are just as white as the tree down below, giving the whole place a holy appearance. Honestly the whole place looks like a wooden cathedral rather than a king's palace. Making my way toward the door I get a shock of a lifetime when a guard stops me.

“Stop right there. What business does an outsider have in Dragonsreach?” he says arms crossed.

Of course it makes sense that the guard in front of the Jarls' house wouldn’t let just anybody in. In the game you would just walk on by, I guess the game didn’t want to bother having redundant npcs giving redundant checks. Still surprise human interaction scares me basically on principle, especially from authority. Hopefully they’ll accept the same answer I give at the gate, this guard is looking particularly swole. They all do, now that I think about it.

“Riverwood calls for aid.” I say as calmly as I can.

“Those poor sods don’t even have a proper wall. Can you imagine? Alright you can head on in but no sudden movements in front of the Jarl, understand?” he says firmly, his chest puffed out rather impressively.

“Absolutely.” I say going through the door he so graciously opened, trying not to look too guilty.

The interior reinforces the wooden cathedral image I had from earlier. Great white tree trunks support not only the ceiling but much more intricate pattern work above. I pass by servants minding their business as I make my way towards the widest staircase I’ve seen so far. Above are simple rustic candle chandeliers that even the giant would have a hard time reaching. Two long tables flank me at either end of this great hall laden with food and adorned with fancy tablecloth on rather ruff boards. In the center is a firepit that starts in the center of these tables and ends at the foot of yet more stairs leading to the Jarls throne.

To call it a throne is a bit much now that I look at it. Atop the stairs is an ornately carved wooden chair and atop the chair is an ornately dressed Nord man of average build, for a Nord, and blond hair twisted into large braids. Addressing him from his right is what I know to be a shorter Imperial man of balding dark hair, in fine blue clothes. On his left is a dark ink blot of a woman in leather armor leaning against the wall just behind her Jarl. Above them all is an ancient dragon skull, tall as a man and still wickedly sharp.

The dark elf spots me and immediately moves with lightning practice, getting as close to me as possible while deftly avoiding interrupting the Jarls consul. Her hair is red enough that on earth you’d think it was dyed to be that dark red but I know it's natural. Her blood red eyes are proof enough.

But even her exotic red eyes can't distract me from her most pronounced features. Like all warrior women I’ve encountered so far she is impressively thick, though her armor covers most of it. However her armor cannot conceal the basketballs that are her breasts, jutting proudly from her chest, even if an impressive amount of leather was used to cover them. The only thing that can distract the eye from them is her posterior, which is similarly outrageous. I can see it even from the front. Her body jiggles several seconds after she stops.

"What's the meaning of this interruption? Jarl Balgruuf is not receiving visitors." she says sword drawn, clearly outraged.

I have to remind myself that her ludicrous proportions are because she is a highly skilled warrior and she could probably crush me with those thighs instantly. Kill me instantly I mean. They probably don't even think these proportions are special in this world, I'm actually the abnormal one here.

“A dragon has attacked Helgen. Riverwood calls for aid.” I say robotically, not adding anything that might get me stabbed.

"You know about Helgen? That explains why the guards let you in. Come on then, the Jarl will want to speak to you personally." she says sheathing her sword.

I gratefully follow behind her admiring the craftsmanship of her armor as it bounces to and fro. The leather creaks constantly and I imagine that the majority of the craftsmanship went to the repair rune. I tear myself away from those leather hills before I’m caught drooling by the Jarl himself.

"My lord. Please. You have to listen. I only counsel caution. We cannot afford to act rashly in times like these. If the news from Helgen is true... well, there's no telling what it means." I catch from the Imperial steward as we approach.

"What would you have me do, then? Nothing?" growls the Jarl.

"My lord. Please. This is no time for rash action. I just think we need more information before we act. I just..." the Imperials bleating is cut off when the Jarl spots his dark elf servant with me in tow.

“Who's this, then?" the Jarl says, gesturing at me.

I'm made to wait just five steps below the Jarl and his court. The platform I’m on is clearly designed to put the Jarl in a position of power while still being close enough to communicate. The dark elf leans in to whisper something to her Jarl. It’s a practiced move that prevents her from outright smothering him with her tits. Once the Jarl has gotten the gist she straightens up and flanks his left side again, this time in a more proactive position.

"Well. I trust you have something vitally important to tell me. What's this about Riverwood being in danger?” the Jarl says, relaxed in his chair.

“A dragon attacked Helgen. Riverwood could be next.” I say calmly.

“And you're sure Helgen was destroyed by a dragon? This wasn't some Stormcloak raid gone wrong?” the Jarl says, leaning forward on his throne, looking me in the eye.

“Yes I was there. They were about to execute Ulfric Stormcloak when a dragon showed up and destroyed the town. I only just made it to Riverwood, I don’t know what happened to anyone else.” I say unbothered by his intimadation.

“I should have guessed Ulfric would be mixed up in this. By Ysmir, Irileth was right!" he says, leaning back with agitation. "What do you say now, Proventus? Shall we continue to trust in the strength of our walls, against a dragon!?!"

The diminutive Imperial man hesitates. I don’t blame him. There are no books on how to handle a dragon crisis. Even the people who defeated the dragons the first time couldn’t actually do it, they had to use an Elder Scroll to buy time. Granted it was thousands of years worth of time but still the most powerful scroll this mans probably ever touched is the one he uses to wipe with. The dark elf, Irileth, or Dunmer as they call them sees her chance in his paralysis.

"My lord, we should send troops to Riverwood at once. It's in the most immediate danger, if that dragon is lurking in the mountains-"

"The Jarl of Falkreath will view that as a provocation!” Proventus says, having recovered. “He'll assume we're preparing to join Ulfric's side and attack him."

"Enough! Irileth, send a detachment to Riverwood at once." barks the Jarl.

"Yes, my Jarl." she bows and exits.

"We should not-”

"I'll not stand idly by while a dragon burns my hold and slaughters my people!" rumbles Balgruff.

"If you'll excuse me, I'll return to my duties." Proventus says, defeated.

"That would be best." the Jarl huffs. He straightens up in his chair before addressing me. "Well done. You sought me out, on your own initiative. You've done Whiterun a service, and I won't forget it. Here, take this as a small token of my esteem."

He holds out his empty hand, like he’s waiting for someone to give him something. For a moment I think he wants me to do some kind of weird handshake, as if that would be reward enough for a peasant like me, but then I feel one hundred gold pieces fall into my inventory.

 That's wildly convenient.

“I’m sure you’ll be needing to report back to General Tullius, assuming that dragon hasn’t got to him. Give him my regards and thanks for the warning.” he says, smiling slightly.

“Actually I’m not an Imperial sir. They abandoned the keep when the dragon attacked and I needed protection so I picked up what they left lying around. Apologies for my deceptive appearance.” I say bowing my head. I completely forgot about changing my clothes.

“Really? Not a soldier and still survived Helgen?” he says, eyes gleaming as he ponders. “In that case…there is another thing you could do for me. Suitable for someone of your particular talents, perhaps. Come, let's go find Farengar, my court wizard. He's been looking into a matter related to these dragons and... rumors of dragons.”

He practically leaps out of his chair and guides me to the right, past some of the great oak pillars flanking the feasting tables.

"Farengar is probably puttering around in his lab. Day and night. I'm not sure he ever sleeps." Balgruuf says. “He can be a bit... difficult. Mages. You know."

Oh I know. I'm still coming to terms with the fact I can shoot force lightning out of my hands, and that's not even close to one of the powerful spells in this world. All that power can mess with your head in strange ways. I'm only keeping sane by way of disassociation.

We make our way through a large open door way into the wizards lab. The room itself is largely reminiscent of the rest of the palace with its white wood and ornamentation but the furnishings are really what set it apart. A large L shaped table holds all manner of arcane components in various states of care. There’s an alchemy lab and enchanting table that have clearly been modified to suit this particular wizard's needs. A great map of Skyrim flanks the space making a room inside a room. The map has all kinds of notes and markings on dragon sites. I think.

"Farengar, I think I've found someone who can help you with your dragon project. Go ahead and fill her in with all the details."

A man in blue robes looks up from his book at the table. Impressive sideburns frame his angular face, his large nose and blue eyes giving away his Nord heritage despite his skinnier frame. He ambles up awkwardly to stand as if burdened with a heavy load.

"So the Jarl thinks you can be of use to me?” he says, sounding bored. “Oh yes, he must be referring to my research into the dragons. Yes, I could use someone to fetch something for me. Well, when I say fetch, I really mean delve into a dangerous ruin in search of an ancient stone tablet that may or may not actually be there."

“Cool. Where?” I say, already knowing the answer better than he does.

"Straight to the point, eh? No need for tedious hows and whys. I like that. Leave those details to your betters, am I right?" he says smiling.

“Yup.”

"I, ah, learned of a certain stone tablet said to be housed in Bleak Falls Barrow - a 'Dragonstone,' said to contain a map of dragon burial sites. Go to Bleak Falls Barrow, find this tablet - no doubt interred in the main chamber - and bring it to me. Simplicity itself." Farengar explains.

"This is a priority now. Anything we can use to fight this dragon, or dragons. We need it, quickly. Before it's too late." Balgruuf cuts in.

"Of course, Jarl Balgruuf. You seem to have found me an able assistant. I'm sure she will prove most useful." Farengar says, not hiding his sarcasm.

"Succeed at this, and you'll be rewarded. Whiterun will be in your debt." Balgruff says.

The Jarl walks away leaving me with the mage. I internally sign. Why does the first real access to magic we get have to be such a weirdo? Regardless, with the payday I got from the jarl I should have enough gold for a new spell.

“Do you have any spells for sale?” I pipe up.

“Hmp. I had you figured for a mage. I think you’ll appreciate this.” he says.

He has a lot. It doesn’t take very long before I realize I am very poor in wizard land. Only the bottom bargain spells are really available to me, of which there are a few. Out of all of them only two really catch my eye. Candlelight and Fury seem the most useful to me now. With Candlelight I’ll never need a lantern again but Fury might be very useful in situations where I’m outnumbered. I ponder for a moment and decide to go with Fury. I’ve got a lantern so I should be fine for now. I give him the gold and thank Zenithar I’ve got enough for a night at the inn. Barely.

“Now did you have any questions or can I get back to my research?” he says impatiently.

“No, I'm good.” I say, ready to go. “Unless you want to teach me how enchanting works.”

"Ah, a student of the craft. You'll need to start by learning an enchantment. Take an enchanted weapon or piece of armor, then use the Arcane Enchanter to learn its secrets. The item is destroyed in the process, so be wary. Once you know an enchantment, you'll need a filled soul gem, and something to enchant. You'll use the Arcane Enchanter for that, too. Of course I have everything you need for sale, if you have the coin." he explains, surprisingly eager.

“It’s just that easy?” I say doubtfully. “I don’t need to know how to work the enchanter?”

“Just so. Intention and magickal inclination are all that's required for basic enchantment.” he says.

I move to his enchanting table and take out the mage robes I got from the dead mage at Helgen. I was never planning on going full mage anyway so disenchanting them is probably more useful to me now. I take the hood first and try to will the table to teach me the enchantment. To my surprise the hood unravels and evaporates but I somehow gain an understanding of its nature at the same time. I can now enchant things to hold magicka. I do the same with the robes, gaining the knowledge for replenishing magicka. Easy as that. I guess the alchemy lab and enchanting table really do most of the work. Whoever invented them was beyond a genius.

“I don’t suppose you’d have a filled soul gem lying around that you wouldn’t miss?” I say hopefully.

“Not for free, no” Farengar says curtly.

“I don’t suppose you'd be the only wizard in town with access to soul gems then?” I ask, hopeful that maybe someone else might be a trifle more generous or careless than the court wizard.

"I believe I am, yes. Technically speaking, of course. The city is also home to a priest, priestess, an alchemist, and I'm sure others who practice.” he says, nose in a book. “Ah, that reminds me. Speaking of alchemists, I have some frost salts for Arcadia. She asked me to obtain them for one of her potions. Would you be so kind as to deliver the frost salts for me? Normally this task would only be worth a few gold but I’ll offer you a small gem as I’m feeling quite generous today.”

“Fine”

“Excellent. You’ll find your gem behind the alchemy lab. Don’t worry about the substance coating it. It’s only minorly corrosive.” he says thoroughly unconcerned.

Great. I look behind the lab and find the white iridescent gem coated in a sticky green substance. I take out my ragged robes and use them like an arcane potholder to take the gem over to the enchanter. Since this is practice I may as well enchant the rags. I focus my intention over the table and enchant the rags with a very minor magicka regen enchantment. The soul gem evaporates just like everything else with magick but some of the goo remains on the robes. Nothing tossing it into the void can’t fix.

Farengar has taken to ignoring me now and I don’t need anything else here so I leave the palace. I’m headed down to the smithy now to see if I can’t pick up a new job as a blacksmith's assistant. It’ll be the last of the crafting skills to learn and possibly the most useful. I don’t know a lot about the resize and repair mechanic but I can tell from my own fit that it’s nowhere near perfect. In-game the best armor was usually stuff you crafted yourself. My armor is fine for now but future equipment might require drastic modification. Not to mention smithing's field applications are pretty vast.

Even with how useful the skill is I still might have to outsource smithing to someone I trust depending on how much time the process takes. In-game items were created instantly with the correct skill and materials but I can tell from the alchemy I did that's probably not going to be the case now. Enchanting takes almost no time so I’ll be able to practice that no problem but I might have to find a trusted alchemist and smith if I live long enough. Still today I’ve got all the time in the world to devote to the literal grindstone. I’ll even spend a couple of days as needed to learn if that's what it takes.

“I don’t have time for a new apprentice. I need someone who's capable enough to be my assistant.” says the dark skinned Imperial blacksmith. “Come see me after the wars over.”

“Ah, okay…”

She gives me a shrug before returning to her work and I wander off aimlessly. Eventually I find myself under the branches of the Gildergleam, sitting now on one of the white oak benches that circle the great tree. I take out a head of cabbage I got from Helgen and start munching on it, leaf by leaf. It would be total tranquility if not for Heimskr constantly bellowing about Talos off in the distance. I sit there like a sad turtle munching on my lettuce, dealing with the shock of unexpected rejection.

“Miss, can you spare a coin?”

I’m jerked out of my depression by a little girl in a dirty green dress. What should be a young round face is sunken in, making her look like a tiny starving adult. Her hair is as well kept as a child alone could manage but it still needs a wash. Her braids have grown out significantly, making it painfully obvious how long she’s been alone. Dull green eyes peer at me from her dirty face, hopeless.

So you’ll understand when I hand her five gold pieces without thinking. With a gasp her eyes light up like the stars. Those shining emerald orbs beam up at me with a wide smile.

“Thanks miss! You’re the best!” and she runs off toward the marketplace.

As I watch the small back of the little girl I realize how foolish I’d been. There would still be chances to pick up smithing and still useful things for me to do while I’m in Whiterun. I turn to stare at Jorrvaskr, the great mead hall of the Companions and make my choice. I turn my back to that hall and instead make my way to a different one. The Hall of the Dead.

The Hall of the Dead is a Nord mausoleum where a priest of Arkay presides. This is so Nords can more easily honor/pray/remember their dead, rather than let the elements have their way with the grave site. The priest performs rites not only for the soul but also for the body. Since the bodies of people preserved this way tend to last longer these rites are very important in a world where necromancers exist and where the bodies could just self animate after a time. This particular priest of Arkay here in Whiterun has lost his Amulet of Arkay and with it the power to quell undead spirits.

I’m not headed there to help the priest. I’m headed there to help myself. The Companions don’t believe in using magic to fight which is unfortunate for me as I am now. I was going to wait until after I had seen more action to try and join them but seeing that little girl take all my inn money has caused me to reconsider. There should be a few skeletons roaming the hall to practice my melee skills and get mentally pumped to join the meathead Companions.

The building that sits on top of the hall looks like the temple of Kynareth but on a much smaller scale and with a small house attachment. The lawn is a raised circular graveyard divided by a path that cuts down into the hill. At the bottom of the hill are two heavy wooden doors that I push open to get inside.

The battle is much more brutal than I expected. I ignored the priest in the entrance hall and headed straight to the hall proper where seven skeletons were waiting for me. Over double their number from the game.

If wolves and mudcrabs are the easiest enemies in the game then skeletons are the champions of easy. They can deal more damage than the other two but they normally go down in one hit, maybe two at lower levels. These bastards are taking at least three or more swings to beat. The only saving grace is that they aren't swarming me.

I emerge from the catacombs bloody and panting. The priest is understandably shocked but thanks me when I give him his stupid amulet back. I get a few gold pieces for my troubles and head back to fresh air. I don't know that tomb raiding is for me.

I also leveled up. I put a point into conjuration because the wolf familiar is just too useful. I could have doubled down on another warrior skill to sure up my acceptance into the Companions but I thought better of it. The Companions might reject me but they won’t be there to help me at Bleak Falls. My wolf will.

I need to catch my breath and heal. And figure out how bathrooms in the city work. Very important. After making a few strange inquiries of the priest, and a bathroom break later, I finally head to Jorrvaskr. Past the Gildergleam and its tranquil sanctuary, up wide stone stairs flanked by blackened braziers and into the ancient ship-turned-mead hall.

The boards that make up the old ship are a ruddy orange pine wood that colors the interior. Before me is a great fire pit and just behind that is a dangerously placed great table, currently being resplendent with food by what look to be servants and perhaps a few of the warriors. I think they have a feast every night, of a sort. Not really sure. I think it's an imitation of Sovngarde, the Nord afterlife. I make my way past all sorts of weapons, armor and food heading to the right of the hall to locate the stairs that should lead down to the living quarters. The stairs are there as I remember them and above them are the fragments of a legendary shattered axe Wuuthrad, weapon of the first Harbinger Ysgramor.

The stairs lead to another subterranean lair not unlike the Hall of the Dead, only this one sleeps the living and smells better. Mostly its food and equipment down here but also a surprising number of bookshelves and games. I could probably read my fill if I wanted too but I’ll stick to my own private collection for now. The lair runs parallel underneath the hall and was probably carved out before they put the boat on. I hear the faint whispers of a familiar conversation and decide to wait before interrupting. The hall splits off three ways and I wait at the split, catching a few glimpses of the speakers.

"But I still hear the call of the blood." worries a young Nord with dark hair and eyes.

"We all do. It is our burden to bear. But we can overcome." reassures a much older Nord with a veritable mane of white hair.

They both wear a peculiar set of armor. Steel armor atop dark black furs adorned in wolf motifs. A bit gaudy but at least they look warm. They must have smelled me or something because they’ve stopped talking. I wasn’t trying to hide, I just think it’s rude to interrupt a conversation when you don’t know someone. I reveal myself to them and quickly realize there's something off about them.

They are much more immense than I remember, both Nords look like they could lift a mammoth. I don’t remember my mod making them quite so muscular in the game. I can’t tell with the armor on how much beef they’re packing but both look like they could have real world mobility problems, even without the armor. This is a little, ever so slightly, intimidating. One of their legs is easily wider than my torso. To my relief the old man breaks the tension and speaks first.

"A stranger comes to our hall." he says.

“Um, I would like to join the Companions.” I state.

"Would you now? Here, let me have a look at you.” he says, eyeing my stick body up. He spends most of his time staring at my face and I try not to blink. “Hm. Yes, perhaps. A certain strength of spirit."

"Master, you're not truly considering accepting her?" disagrees the dark Nord. His chair protests as his massive body agitates in the seat.

"I am nobody's master, Vilkas.” bristles the old white Nord. “And last I checked, we had some empty beds in Jorrvaskr for those with a fire burning in their hearts."

"Apologies. But perhaps this isn't the time.I've never even heard of this frail looking outsider. ” Vilkas remarks.

"Sometimes the famous come to us." the hulking old Nord says to me "Sometimes men and women come to us to seek their fame. It makes no difference. What matters is their heart."

"And their arm." Vilkas says, leaning back.

"Of course. How are you in battle girl?" The old Nord asks, turning to regard me properly. His chair also creaks under his bulk.

"I killed some risen skeletons in the Hall of the Dead earlier but that's about it. I'm about as green as they come." I answer truthfully unsure of how much to share.

"Did you now? Vilkas here will see how you fair against the living." the old man says cheerfully. "Vilkas take her out to the yard and see what she can do."

"Aye."

And with that the dark Nord gets up and passes me to go back out the hall from where I came. He moves with surprising speed for his size. I realize now as he moves through the hall that things here aren't wide because I'm emaciated, they're wide so people like the Companions have a shot at fitting through doors. I could feel his footsteps when he passed me. When we reach the upper level his steps slightly shake the floor and nearby tables. He even braces a few of the more precarious items as he passes with a practiced hand that's saved these items countless times from his mere presence.

Past another set of massive doors is the courtyard, with a large dining porch attached to the back of Jorrvaskr. More ridiculously thick Companions are resting here, sweaty from training. Even the smallest here look massive but none come close to Vilkas in size. Save for one.

I can only assume that it's Skjor, the Companions unofficial second in command. An older man but much younger than the one below. Despite his mostly bald head he has a vigor that defies his age. What greying hair he does have is tied in a small efficient ponytail. His right eye is scarred and cloudy. He might be the biggest Companion yet, his massive forearms are on display, although I can't figure out if it's on purpose or if his gauntlets just exploded off and killed someone one day. God could I get that big if I live long enough?

"The old man said to have a look at you" growls the massive Vilkas. "So let's do this."

I'm on the ground blind and gasping for air. I tried everything I could think of, even anime samurai nonsense. It made no difference. I was little more than a gnat buzzing on the ass of a bear. Honestly I feel I would have stood a better chance against a bear, bare handed even.

I didn't need to go so hard. He even said he just wanted a look at my form but that stupid smug face of his pissed me off. The shouts, jeers and even cheers from the Companions watching didn't help either. I think towards the end he was even trying to silently teach me, that bastard. As soon as I stop seeing spots I'll kick his ass. Somehow. One day. I'm gonna hurl.

"No ability to speak of but there's some small amount of potential there. You might just make it." He says with that same irritating expression. "But for now, you're just a whelp to us new blood. So you do what we tell you. Here's my sword." he says, placing his sheathed blade on top of my heaving body. "Go take it up to Eorlund to have it sharpened. And be careful, it's probably worth more than you are."

This fucker. I swear to the divines that if I get fus-ro-dah powers I will blow your ass off the city wall and blame it on the wind. Unfortunately at his size that might actually be impossible. I inspect my Imperial sword and come to realize I've probably removed more material from the blade than I did Vilkas. It's chunky for a blade, which is good because I ended up using it like a club toward the end. It's a bent and chipped mess.

I put my sword in the inventory and hope the repair rune will do the rest. I struggle to sit upright, the sword Vilkas dropped on me is crazy heavy for a one handed weapon. I can't imagine lugging it up the steps to the Skyforge.

The forge sits overlooking the yard and Jorrvaskr. I can't see the forge from under the cliff per say but I can see the great stone eagle that adorns it, looming like a giant menace over Jorrvaskr. Twilight is starting to set in as I climb another set of ridiculously wide stairs to Eorlund and the famous Skyforge.

It's a large circular platform at the top. Or at least I think it used to be. Most of it has fallen off the cliff side so who knows how big it used to be. There's still plenty of space regardless. Vilkas and I could have had our sparring match up here with only minimal risk of falling. The actual forge is relatively untouched by the years that took its platform. Without the giant fire pit the forge itself reminds me of a massive stone bath. It has an air pump built into the stonework, unseen, but the vents I can see look like they would be the right fit for adding or filtering water. In this case it's sadly air to heat the forge. I could really go for a hot bath. The chill is starting to get to me.

Working this massive pool of heat is yet another white haired Nord wearing sleeveless hide armor. It’s downright skimpy as armors go but that works well for a hot forge. Eorlund Grey-Mane comes from an aptly named family of white/grey haired Nords but despite that I can definitely see he’s an older man. While he lacks the absolute size that the rest of the Companions seem to have he would still be absolutely jacked by earth standards. He’s currently shaping something on the anvil covered in sweat, muscles rippling. If I were into dudes this would probably be grade A material. I guess my preferences haven’t changed with this new body. I’m not sure yet, I’ve never been body swapped before.

“Uh hi, Vilkas wanted his sword sharpened.” I start.

"I'm guessing you're the newcomer then?" he says without looking up.

“Yeah, that was me getting my ass kicked down there.” I reply, heaving the sword with a grunt on the side table built into the stonework.

"Oh, don't worry too much about it. They were all whelps once. They just might not like to talk about it.” he says in between swings. “And don't always just do what you're told. Nobody rules anybody in the Companions."

“That works in theory but I’ll die if any one of them sits on me.”

"Well, I'm not sure how they've managed it, but they have. No leaders since Ysgramor. Kodlak is the Harbinger, and he's a sort of advisor for the whole group, but every man is his own. Every woman, her own… you’ll grow into it." he says pausing to dab his sweat.

“Thanks…I guess. I better get going. You look pretty busy.”

“Wait, before you go I have a favor to ask" he says, putting his project aside to face me. "I've been working on a shield for Aela. My wife is in mourning and I need to get back to her soon. I'd be much obliged if you could take this to Aela for me."

“I’ll do it, but it'll cost you.” I say, sensing opportunity. Eorlund raises his eyebrows.

“Don’t worry, I'm pretty cheap. How about you just let me watch you work sometime? I'm trying to learn to smith a little and I'm sure even a novice like me could learn something from watching the greatest blacksmith in Skyrim.” I say hamming it up

Eorlund exhales and almost breaks into a smile. It's clear his love of the craft outweighs the irritation of dealing with me. For now at least.

“It’s an honorable craft. When you have the time I’ll show you what I can.” Eorlund replies and he returns to his work.

Eorlund, bless him, places the shield in my inventory instead of dropping it on my face. Walking down the stairs with a bit more hope in my step I find my way back down into the living quarters of Jorrvaskr. I hope Aela is here just like in the game because there is no quest marker and I have no idea where she would go. I catch a break as I manage to eavesdrop on another, albeit louder conversation.

"All these younglings scampering around." remarks a gruff male voice.

"Worried one of them is going to take your place?" replies the huskiest female voice I’ve ever heard.

It runs like a smoky silky liquid through my brain

I nearly pass out standing up. I managed stop myself but my knees knock together loudly. Thankfully they don’t seem to notice.

"Some of them might try. But that's not what I'm worried about." the male replies firmly.

"What then?" the female replies and my eyes involuntarily flutter.

"That they might get themselves killed." he replies flatly.

"By you?" she asks.

"They should be so lucky."

I’m holding onto the stone wall for dear life. I’ve never had an ASMR, autonomous sensory meridian response, that strong before. Basically it's involuntary tingles and drowsiness from certain auditory stimuli. I watched videos to help me sleep but never have I been knocked out just by someone's voice in real life before. How the hell am I supposed to have a conversation with her? She sounds nothing like her in game counterpart!

I take deep breaths as the goosebumps start to recede. I need to deliver the shield without being a total weirdo. The drowsiness dissipates almost as quickly and I mentally steel myself against the voice. I continue down the hall and turn left down a mini hall with a room one either side. Of the two rooms the one one the left has its wide doors open and I move to stand in the doorway.

Standing there is the perfect woman for a degenerate like me. Frame wider than any man on earth she would look obese in normal earth clothes. Her armor is ancient and heavy yet revealing where it counts. Several bands of iron protect a healthy cleavage plunge and her upper arms and thighs are exposed for movement. Her arms strain the confines of the armor, bigger than most peoples legs here or on earth. Tree trunks are the only comparison I can think of for her legs, muscular pillars that force her feet apart. A healthy layer of fat protects the muscles giving them a softer look. Cap it all off with a handsome face, red hair and the eyes of a predator. I'm toast.

"I have your shield from Eorlund." I say staring holes into the ground, waiting for the onslaught.

"Ah, good. I've been waiting for this. Are you new here?" she says. Her voice isn't as powerful now, she's clearly using her customer service voice for new people.

"I saw this one training out in the yard with Vilkas." the gruff Nord says and I jump a little, forgetting Skjor was here.

"Ah, yes. I heard you gave him quite a thrashing" she chuckles.

" Don't let Vilkas catch you saying that." Skjor says, also amused.

"Do you think you could handle Vilkas in a real fight?" Aela asks me suddenly.

I take a moment to think seriously. That's a no.

"Maybe if I pushed him off the top of Dragonsreach. You guys are too big for a twig like me." I answer.

"Honesty, I like it. If you make it here you won't be a twig for too much longer." Alea says. "Here, let's have Farkas show you where you'll be resting your head."

"FARKAS!" yells Skjor, shaking the dust off the roof.

And the dust keeps shaking in rhythmic beats as massive footsteps pound towards us. When they stop the largest Companion yet stands behind me. Nearly a carbon copy of Vilkas, this one wears sleeveless wolf armor out of necessity to allow for movement. He's almost too big for these Companion sized doors which could comfortably fit three grown earth men standing side by side. His hair is longer than his brother and he has a bit of a blank expression to him.

"Did you call me?" he asks.

"Of course we did ice-brain. Show this new-blood where the rest of the whelps sleep." Alea explains.

"New blood? Oh, hello. I'm Farkas. Come on, follow me." and he lumbers back down the hall, beckoning me to follow.

"Skjor and Aela like to tease me, but they're good people. They challenge us to be our best." Farkas says. How anyone can tease this moving mountain of muscle is beyond me.

"Nice to have a new face around. It gets boring here sometimes." he chats. We pass a few bookshelves and the books shake slightly with his steps even in this subterranean space. "I hope we keep you. This can be a rough life. The quarters are up here. Just pick a bed and fall in it when you're tired. Tilma will keep the place clean. She always has.”

We make it to the end of the hall and Farkas stands in an open doorway opposite the stairs up. He actually looks like he might be too big for the door and just stands outside. He gestures to it all the same, as if I could get past him. He reminds me of a massive canine that thinks it's a lap dog.

"Alright, so here you are. Looks like the others are eager to meet ya. Come to me or Aela if you're looking for work. Once you've made a bit of a name for yourself, Skjor and Vilkas might have things for you to do. Good luck. Welcome to the Companions.” he says. He starts to move away from the door and then remembers something.

“By the way, if you're looking for something to do..."

Noooo. I’m tired and I wanna go to bed. One of my favorite things about this body, apart from the boobs, is the ability to sleep like a log. I have a very important mission from the Jarl and I need my beauty sleep. I’m a very important person. I have concerns beyond this cosmic sprawl. You want to bother me with pitiful mundane trifles? I’ve seen worlds you couldn’t even begin to imagine. I ponder questions the Gods themselves have no answer for. Do I look like I have time for every mudcrab with a problem? Did someone steal your Sweet Roll?

“Yes?...” I sigh.