Skyrim: Became Dovahkiin

On John's palms was a yellow glow. He passed this spell over the injured woman's entire body. The magical light spread across her emaciated form. The Dovahkiin tried to carefully observe her body's reaction. But something wasn't right. He furrowed his brows.

"This spell absorbs life force from the victim. Simple healing won't help here. Potions can't help either. What should I do?"

With each passing minute, the woman looked worse. Sweat beaded on John's forehead, and his eyes were closed. No solution came to mind.

It was good that John had sent her husband to keep an eye on the Breton. Otherwise, things would have taken a different turn. Every second counted. The Dragonborn struggled to find a solution in his head. What could help? A special potion? Magic?

"Damn it. Being Dragonborn is quite a pain... Wait! Dragon blood? I don't think it'll work, but it's worth a try."

In a fraction of a second, John drew a dagger from its sheath. With a light flick of the weapon, John slashed his wrist. A wound formed, and dark blood immediately began to flow from it. He opened the woman's mouth and poured several drops into it. The Dovahkiin was extremely nervous. He had only been this nervous before his strict math teacher in his past world.

"Khah." The almost withered, mummy-like woman opened her eyes.

Her body began to return to its original form right before his eyes. Her once dry and old skin regained its flexibility and elasticity. A healthy blush appeared on her cheeks. And the same spark of life was visible in her eyes. John sat down.

"Phew. Finally healed." The Dovahkiin wiped the sweat from his forehead.

Her Nord husband entered the room. He noticed that his wife had recovered. Tears welled up in his eyes.

"Are you alright?" He immediately placed a palm on her face.

"Yes. Darling, I'm fine."

John had only seen such things in melodramas. This reunion of spouses had a certain cloying sweetness. The Dovahkiin smacked his lips a few times and stood up. He needed to deal with that Breton.

He went to the old man. But he didn't find a body.

"Daedra take you. He escaped. That's quite strange."

John placed a palm on his chin. This Breton was clearly unusual. The Dragonborn's blow should have definitely knocked him out. Leaving a frail old man unconscious shouldn't have been a problem. Thoughts streamed through his head.

Returning, John asked the Nord who that Breton was. Surprisingly, he was the settlement leader's advisor. The situation was different from their first meeting. This hadn't happened during his playthrough of the game. The only thing he remembered was Rorikstead's rich harvest and nothing more.

It doesn't matter. Should he track him down or leave now? John didn't need conflict at this time. Another problem... His brain was boiling from it. And right now...

"Damn." John clutched his head.

Different scenes flashed through his consciousness. How the dragon lived from the beginning of time until the 4th Era. Each new scene was accompanied by a severe headache. Sweat beaded on his forehead. His will, like ice, cracked under the weight of the memories. John closed his eyes.

Tick-tock, tick-tock

Clocks. Monotonously moving their hands and creating noise. John's hearing latched onto this. Focusing on the ticking, John tried to breathe evenly.

Inhale, exhale

John exhaled. The memories slowly receded into the background. The headache was no longer as severe.

After a few minutes, it all passed. This periodically happened to John. These unexpected flashes. The old dragon's memory could make itself known at any time. It was difficult to cope with such a large amount of information. It was surprising how his brain withstood such a load.

Tap tap

The Dovahkiin changed location. Skyrim's cold air was so refreshing. This planet was undoubtedly not as strongly affected by the human factor. The harm was not as severe as on Earth. After all, nature is beautiful.

Looking at the sky, John noticed two moons. The first, a large grayish moon, and the second, smaller and red. Masser and Secunda. Truly a stunning sight. Countless stars were scattered across the night sky. But these weren't just stars.

Stars in the world of The Elder Scrolls are not like those in our universe. Any star here is a portal. The sun also falls into this category. It all happened at the dawn of Nirn's creation. Lorkhan and the gods created this world, and the chief architect (or creator, so to speak) was Magnus. Lorkhan persuaded all the deities to create a mortal realm where there would be fewer limitations for them. But the truth turned out to be different. The mortal plane added even more shackles for them. Magnus, having learned of this, fled. Many original spirits followed Magnus's example and went with him.

So. Magnus punched a hole that leads to Aetherius (Aetherius is the immortal plane from which magic flows). And magic flows from Aetherius, sanctifying the world. Quite an interesting story, isn't it? The developers clearly put in a lot of effort. Especially Michael Kirkbride. What on earth does that man smoke?

"Ahem. Well, alright." John ran to the settlement leader's house.

---

### Whiterun. The Bannered Mare

As always, there were many customers this evening. Everyone was drinking to a certain level of intoxication. Some merely had hazy eyes, while others' tongues were tied in seven knots. A strong smell of stale alcohol hung around many. One simply had to get used to it. But what about the second floor?

"Daedra take him. Why did he disappear so suddenly?!" The young warrior woman angrily recalled the Dragonborn.

"Calm down, Lydia. He'll be back within 1-2 weeks," the Dunmer woman in leather armor said in a calm tone.

"But the Greybeards summoned him! It's such an honor, and he should have set out on his journey that very minute. But no. He just has to drink with a stranger, and then he vanishes. What irresponsibility!" The Nord woman's eyes burned with the flame of justice.

"You need to have patience. Besides, I need to rest after the events at Bleak Falls Barrow." The Dunmer's red eyes watched Lydia.

"Alright. You're right." Lydia exhaled several times and left the room.

Her steel armor rattled as she moved. Yes. She was still in the same steel armor. Lydia thought this foolish Dragonborn would return earlier. The steel breastplate with its fur lining kept her warm. And the steel boots looked quite good on her.

Tap tap. Lydia descended to the first floor. The eyes of drunken men watched the girl. Her armor couldn't completely conceal her body. Some of her curves were visible. Coupled with her jade-white skin and beautiful face... At such a sight, some whistled softly.

Ignoring the men's gazes, Lydia went outside. The coolness immediately cleared her head and thoughts.

Phew

A small puff of steam escaped Lydia's mouth. Her breathing calmed, as did her heart. This John had made her nervous, but worrying so much was excessive. This damned alcohol. Sometimes it seemed to her that all alcohol shouldn't exist in the world. Because of alcohol, many people ruined their lives. As in the case with her father.

"That bastard. I can't even bring myself to call him father. Those beatings. And mother disappeared long ago. Unable to endure the monster's constant abuse, she ran away. And left her daughter alone."

Lydia's white palms trembled. But not from the cold, but from anger at the thought of the past. Memories still haunted her mind. Heavy blows, which could knock down even an adult, were inflicted on her in childhood.

Crack

Her knuckles cracked. Her palms unconsciously clenched. Her knuckles turned white from the force applied.

"What. Memories overwhelming you?" A woman's voice sounded to Lydia's right.

"Who?" Lydia turned and saw a dark-skinned woman. The Redguard was dressed in a cheap white dress.

"Me? I'm Saadia."