Hello everyone,

I know I literally just told everyone that I wouldn't start a new story right off the bat because I would be working on my own original story but I lied I guess, deal with it idk. This story has an aspect that I really want to try so I'm going to do it. It will definitely be bigger than Stronghammer, and most likely Voleur D'âme also. With that being said I will try to update once a week to

I have actually made a lot of progress with my original piece of work with the character and plot, which is the hardest in my opinion. I just have to worldbuild now and flush it out a little bit before I actually start writing chapters. So don't worry about me not doing it because I am!

Anyway this story is about a realistic take on someone from our world (me) getting thrown into the body of Hadvar while he was being stationed in Markarth. It will get AU really quick to be honest.

Let's see how it goes!

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

I woke to the sound of banging throughout the barracks. I jumped out of the small cot and grabbed the blade leaning on my cot, unsheathing it in one full motion, ready for a raid. It took me a moment to regain my bearings and look around the barracks.

Dwemer architecture. "You're in Markarth now Hadvar, get a hold of yourself." I mumbled to myself as I sheathed my imperial iron sword back where I grabbed it from.

Wait what? Blade, barracks? I'm not in the military. A part of my mind called out.

I felt the cot encompass me just as an mind splitting pain ran throughout my whole body, originating from my brain and traveling down through my torso, arms, legs, and finally feet before shooting back up.

My head shot up and I realized that I had fallen back down onto the cot. I looked back to the room for the second time, taking it in with greater detail than I did only moments ago.

Wow, Dwemer architecture in real life. That can't be gold, right? Some type of alloy? Or maybe just painted gold. I thought to myself trying to come to terms with myself.

I shook my head and looked down at my body. I wore the same imperial light armor that all Auxiliary's are issued by the Imperial Legion. I wore the same armor that Hadvar wore in the games.

No not games, this isn't a game Hadvar. I thought getting my thoughts straight and in order. This is your life now.

The realization hit me like a ton of bricks. I almost fell back onto the cot once again but managed to keep my balance.

I'm in the Elder Scrolls, specifically Skyrim. I thought before panic set in. Oh Talos ...Alduin returns, the Dragonborn, Civil war, vampires, the first Dragonborn. Skyrim is about to go through hell!

I shook my head once again and tried to focus on my thoughts. Focus on what you can control. What's going on right now? Guard duty, patrol, graveyard shift until the sun comes up and I'll be relieved.

I grabbed the sheathed iron blade still leaning on my cot. The leather felt familiar in my hands and I relaxed a moment, using it as strength. I inhaled and exhaled.

"Start moving, distract yourself." I mumbled as my other hand reached out for my water skin and wrapped it over my shoulder. It came to rest on my right hip, like a satchel.

"That's right Auxiliary!" I heard from the entrance to the barracks. "Get your ass moving!"

I sprang into action, obeying him as almost six months of training kicked in. I ran the sheathed sword in my hands through the belt loop on my waist with a practice motion.

"You may be good with a blade, but I won't have any men slacking on my watch!"

I nodded just as I passed the ugly scarred nord and into the next room that served as the mess hall. "Yes! Legate." I said trying to placate him.

I must have been laying there for longer than I thought. I realized as the bowl that the barrack cook set out for me wasn't steaming like normal.

I grabbed the bowl and kept walking towards the door that would lead into the night air and towards my patrol duty. I didn't even bother using the spoon in the bowl and instead brought it to my lips, getting a mouthful of chicken, potatoes, and broth.

Protein and carbs. A soldier's meal for sure. I thought, passing the threshold out of the kitchen.

"You will wake with the bell next time auxiliary, or you will deal with me." The Legate of the night shift called out just as the door closed.

In the games, Markarth was a smaller city divided by a river. One side held the reachmen, the other side held the nobles. This basic principle was the only thing that even remotely matched the description of the city in front of me.

To my left, hundreds of lights dotted the mountainside, each one, the light from a window in a house carved into the side of the mountain. And those were only the ones that I could see at this time of night. I knew from my memories that there was a whole other city inside the mountain, at least five thousand nobles called the mountain their home. Rarely did they venture into the streets and on the other side of the river.

I turned right thinking about the river and looked out past it. Buildings lined the streets in a surprisingly orderly fashion. As orderly as can be expected on a mountain.

The barracks stood closer to the mountain than it did the entrance to the city. So I had a good vantage point over the mid to lower class citizens. I could see the gaps in between the buildings that made up the roads and alleys on the way to the front gate. At least another forty thousand citizens lived in the direction.

Something tells me that Skyrim is more massive than the games even hinted at. My brain supplied. And that something is my memories.

My body moved forward, to the district I had been assigned two weeks ago when I arrived in Markarth, fresh out of basic training.

"Well, time to get to work."

The sun peeked over the horizon, sending its rays into the city and bringing about the start of a new day. A new day for people who hadn't already been up for six hours.

I was just relieved by another guard who would serve another six hours. This whole schedule would be mirrored in the different districts of the city by close to twenty-five hundred guards. And some said we were undermanned.

My feet moved but not in the direction of the barracks, I just walked, looking at the city and taking everything in. I had yet to memorize the layout so this was a part of that and also an excuse to think.

Helgen hasn't happened yet. I know that for a fact. I thought, trying to find my place in Skyrim's timeline. No word from the College of Winterhold either, no news of the companions change in leadership. Stormcloaks have gotten more bold but nothing big and nothing about the thieves guild. Definitely nothing about the DLC's.

I continued to ponder, not coming to a conclusion. So it's fairly safe to assume that I am before all of those events, by how long? I'm stationed here in Markarth for the next six months, then they may rotate me and they may not. Such is the life of an auxiliary in the Imperial Legion.

I stopped walking. Alduin, the first dragonborn, Lord Harkon, all of them are so powerful. Hell even Ulfic could blow me away with a shout right now. My mind told itself.

I could go to more important, more powerful people, but would they believe me? Would they try to interrogate me for everything I know? I can't take that chance.

The whole night during my shift I came to the same conclusion. I can't tell anyone.

But then what? I may be from another universe, but I am still Hadvar. In fact I might be more Hadvar than anything else. And I love my homeland. I'm a nord through and through. I refuse to just stand by and watch as my people burn because of the actions of powerful men. I only had one option.

Get powerful, and quick.

But how? The most broken thing in the games was the Thu'um right? But only the dragonborn could get strong, fast with the Thu'um. For everyone else it takes a lifetime of study. I pondered as I went through my options.

No, not the Thu'um. I ruled the option out quickly.

Magic is the only other option. I thought to myself and I raised my hand instinctively.

I breathed in deep and closed my eyes. I summoned my own magic to my skin, just as my uncle taught me in Riverwood. Just as most nord children are taught. A euphoric sensation washed throughout me and I realized just how long it had been since I tapped into that side of me.

Heat, the sensation, the feeling, focus, feed it your magic and finally…

A flame appeared in the palm of my hand.

...Will it into existence.

The flame was a small one, about the size of a candle. Has it really been so long since I lit a campfire? Since I lit the forge with his uncle in Riverwood?

"Every nord knows this, son. I use it everyday for the forge, hunters use it for campfires at night, and magicians use it for much more terrifying things." Uncle used to say.

"But uncle, I thought magic was bad?" I would ask him.

"You're right, but we must do this to survive."

I shook my head, breaking myself out of the tiny flashback.

This couldn't light parchment. I thought, seeing the tiny flame in my hand.

The magic in my skin left quickly and without warning. The flame died out with it. I blinked at my hand in astonishment.

Already? I ran out of magic already? I realized.

I could already feel my magic start to fill back up. If I could compare the feeling to something it would be like a water faucet slowly dripping into a bowl. It might fill up in a day…

I frowned.

This is going to take some work.

My feet kept walking until I soon found myself in front of a building that looked eerily familiar.

It was the crypts. Nord's are notorious for their reverence of the dead. Death isn't the end for Nord's. It leads to Sovngarde, and your deeds throughout your life define where you go after that.

Shor's Hall for me. I thought immediately. I spent a millisecond pondering on the fact that I still believed. Well if the games are to be believed, it's real.

"It's closed, milk-drinker."

I looked to my left and saw a nord. He wore blacksmithing garb, something I recognized from my time living with my uncle. He looked like he was nursing a hangover.

Must have just woke up with the sun. Stormcloak supporters, they're the only ones with big enough stones to call us milk-drinkers to our face.

"Why?" I asked, ignoring the insult. I tried not to let my shock at my deeper but still smooth voice show.

"Che. A guard in the city and you don't know about the desecration of our dead? Fucking imperials." The nord walked off, obviously having enough with the conversation.

It didn't bother me, I knew why he thought of us that way. The legion abandoned Markarth during the war against the Aldmeri Dominion, allowing the rebellion to happen. Then Ulfric Stormcloak conquered it again, bringing peace to the city before we strongarmed him into giving it back to us.

The nords of the city, which made up ninety percent of the population, resented us for it. I didn't blame them.

My memories flared of a quest in Skyrim that resembled the same issue. Something about cannibalism?

I took a long look at the crypt and memorized where it was in the city.

I'll take a look at it tonight.

Finally. I thought to myself as I walked up to the crypts. Apparently I didn't memorize the location as best as I could because it took the better part of two hours to make it to the location.

"Alright, let's see what's going on." I muttered as I walked down the steps to the front door.

I pushed on the stone door, expecting it to be barred on the other side. It swung open without hardly any effort.

The noises hit me immediately.


"Mmmmmmmm, yes!"

I walked forward with a frown on my face. I took two steps into the crypt before I saw a glint and a fast moving object to my left.

I reacted and ducked the swing. My fist curled instinctively and I noticed the body in front of me, moving past with the momentum of their swing. I lashed out and my fist connected with what felt to be the attackers ribs.

No shirt?

I felt and heard the cracking of a couple ribs sound out. My attacker hunched over in pain and I drew my sword in preparation.

They whirled around with a hand on their ribs, bringing their sword around to point it at me. My brain pointed out the flaws in his footing and balance. I knew this would be an easy fight.

I brought my sword to mirror him and pointed it at him before crouching into a stance that had been beaten into me since I was a boy. He took that as a sign to charge.

A straight stab directed towards my face.

"Never backwards, move side to side, get the angle."

I moved towards my left and redirected his blade to my right. My wrist twirled and I thrust. His body sunk to the hilt on my sword, right where his heart should be.

The man, obviously not a nord, grunted and looked down at the sword impaling him before meeting my eyes. He fell to the ground dead in the next few seconds.

I pulled with a grunt of my own and his body slid off my blade, lifeless.

"What was that?" I heard farther into the chamber.

"Imperial Guard. You're under arrest for the desecration of these bodies. Please come peacefully." I called out into the shadows.

What I wouldn't give for a magelight right now. I thought looking into the darkness.

Luckily a torch appeared from behind a pillar and a person shuffled into the room. Followed by two more. All three had blood around their mouths, as if they had been chewing flesh, which they most likely had been doing.

Two male, one female. Two axes, and a sword. I sounded off in my mind as they took a look at their fallen companion. The lookout.

"Put your weapons on the ground." I said, hoping they would obey and I wouldn't have to fight the three of them alone.

"You killed skeeter." The man to the right said in shock.

Skeeter? What a horrible name.

"He attacked a member of the Imperial Guard, he would have hanged anyway." I told him confidently.

Fear clutched at my gut, the adrenaline that was coursing through my veins slowed down for a moment and I glanced at the body to my right. Bile rose up in the back of my throat. Sure I had seen people die, in both lives, but to actually cause it? It was unsettling, revolting.

Steel yourself. I told myself and my eyes hardened. The bile in my throat slowly slid back down my throat. He attacked you.

There were no more words spoken. The two men behind the women drew their axes and approached. As they got closer I could see the manic look in their eyes.

The woman stayed back watching with an ecstatic look on her face.

I expected them to come as a team but that was thrown out the window when the man on the right charged the last ten feet wildly, leaving his companion behind him. He swung and overhead chop with his axe.

I mirrored him and charged forward, into his guard before he could bring his axe down. I swung parallel with the ground and connected with his ribs. I felt a little resistance with my blade but with a little effort I cut through leaving him with a deep cut that severed his right lung. He'd bleed out in seconds.

The second man was smarter and attacked just as my sword left his friend's body. I had to contort my body to avoid most of the damage and his axe found my stomach. Luckily my light armor absorbed most of the blow. I spun away with a thin cut and a tattered piece of armor.

Once again he proved why he was the smarter of the two and pressed his advantage. He swung overhead, trying to split my skull in two. I blocked it with my sword on the wood of the axe and spun again leading with my elbow.

His nose crumpled under my elbow and he fell to the ground dazed but not unconscious. I moved with my momentum and stabbed him through his back and out his chest, nearly impaling him to the ground.

I removed it from his body and adopted a defensive stance expecting another attack. I didn't have to, the woman was still standing there. If the look on her face was ecstatic earlier, now it was euphoric.

"Throw your sword on the ground." I commanded as I wasted no time in walking forward to her.

She shook her head. "Join me."

I actually stopped at the absurdity of the suggestion. "What?" I managed to get out.

"We can feast on them, they're fresh, look." She answered me with a point of her finger.

I didn't fall for it. I was close enough to her now that she would have to draw soon or surrender.

Footsteps behind me.

I turned around and brought my sword up. The second man, the one I nearly impaled to the ground, was two strides away with his axe raised. Blood ran down his chest in a river.

In the back of my mind I heard the sound of a sword leaving its sheath.

I knew I had two attacks coming at once. I dropped my sword and once again stepped into the guard of the man approaching. My hands found his wrist on its way down, I lowered my body and braced.

His torso hit my upper back because of my positioning and I pulled the arm down while twisting his body off of mine, hip throwing him. He went ass over tit and crashed right into the outstretched sword arm of the woman trying to stab me in the back.

She jumped back fast enough to avoid his body, but he hit her arm and she dropped her sword. My hand had already wrenched the axe from his hand and I swung without thinking.

The axe hit her neck and I expected my swing to be too weak to push all the way through. It separated skin and bone like a hot knife in butter. Her head rolled on to the floor at the same time the man below me went limp.

I looked around for the next attacker, seeing it in the shadows. I was wrong, there was nobody coming. I sucked in a huge gulp of air and closed my eyes as I exhaled it.


"What the fuck were you thinking!?"

I looked up from my cot, where I had just finished sitting down after taking my shirt off. My Legate stood there entering the room. I jumped up and stood at attention with my hands clasping my forearms behind my back and my chest out, eyes forward.

"I wasn't, Legate." I said intelligently but truthfully to the commanding officer.

There were four other men in the barracks, all of us were preparing for bed because all of us had graveyard shifts. I only knew the blonde man's name, Dagfinn, he prefers to be called Finn.

"Damn right you weren't. That was a right stupid decision going down there alone, what if there would have been more?" He was in my face, spittle flying everywhere.

"Either I would be dead, or they would be, Legate." I told him, getting a little angry.

"Oh?! You think you're Tiber Septim now that you've killed four cultists, huh? Could they even swing a sword properly?" He retorted but I knew it wasn't a question so I stayed silent.

"Now that that is out of the way. Good job out there, every man I sent to check the situation out couldn't get a lead." The Legate, whose name I still didn't know, told me flipping a complete one-eighty on me. "Next time, get another man to go with you, or three."

I stood a little taller at the reinforcement. "Yes sir!"

"Good. The Jarl wants to see you. Apparently the woman was a known leader of a cult of Namira worshipers." The Legate continued and there was some shuffling of the other men in the room.

The Legate's head swiveled around and landed on the other men also standing at parade rest. "Don't give me that shit, auxiliaries. Especially not you Bjorn!" He reprimanded with a point of his finger. "This man actually did his job."

He turned back to me. "That's why, as of this moment, you are now promoted to Quaestor."

I blinked at the promotion. It's that easy? I thought at his proclamation. Quaestor isn't much of a promotion, but they do commision you boots and greaves. The best part is that it immediately put me on the day schedule, allowing me to attend march and weapon training at will. That along with a five coin promotion a month made it worth it. That put me up to two-hundred and twenty coins a month. Not a lot when you consider the price of spell tomes, but we'll take every bit we can take. My purse was already full with the few coins I swiped off of the cannibalists. My purse was currently sitting at about three hundred.

"Thank you sir!" I nodded, happy at the opportunity to work on my sword play with the weapons master. Theoretically I could have done it with my current schedule, but I would be missing out on about two of the four hours he is available in the morning, and I would have to lose sleep to make his afternoon sessions.

"Good work, soldier. Now get dressed." The Legate said turning around and walking into the mess hall.

Oh right the Jarl. He'll have just heard about it. I thought, realizing that the sun had just risen over the horizon.

I'll miss sleep today.

The Jarl sat on his stone throne, deep in the bowels of Understone Keep. It was obvious that the room we stood in was only an entrance for the underground tunnels that made up the real Dwemer city beneath our feet.

My Captain and Legate stood on my right side, with me being all the way to the left. We stood at parade rest waiting on the Jarl to enter the throne room.

He's probably eating a lavish breakfast. I thought, bitter of my own meal of tasteless protein and carbs.

At least my body agrees with it.

It was true, this body was packed with muscles like corded steel, and although I didn't have a defined six pack, my stomach was flat. My new strength was obvious, considering my previous fight where I beheaded a woman with an axe.

"Captain! A pleasure to see you again." A voice said.

I looked to see Jarl Igmund approaching his throne. His gait was not one that proclaimed royalty. Neither did it show that he was a deadly man. It looked like he had been sitting on the throne too long. He had become soft since the war.

"My Jarl." Captain greeted. It was the second time I heard the man speak, and my assessment of him being a soft imperial stood. He was a boy but he was my age, in his twenties. Rumor has it that he got the promotion because of his families connections, not on merit.

The Imperial Legion needs work. I thought to myself after observing everyone the past few days. Not enough discipline, too much corruption.

"Don't give me that, boy." The Jarl said and it took every ounce of my willpower not to laugh. "Have you cleared the Forsworn yet?"

The Captain's eyes tightened, angered. "No, we simply do not have enough…"

The Jarl cut him off just as he sat his soft ass on his throne. "I am not interested in excuses, just results, Captain."

Oh shit. I thought to myself. Funny but neither of these people have my respect yet.

"Of course, my Jarl." The Captain responded. "I have the guard you asked for."

The Jarl's eyes roamed over the Legate to my right and landed on me. I met his eyes like a true nord would and held his gaze. His mouth slid up in a smirk.

"Where are you from kinsmen?" The Jarl addressed me clearly.

I stepped forward, stone faced and with my hands clasped behind my back. "Riverwood, my Jarl."

He nodded, obviously knowing where the small town is. "I heard the reports. You fought well, and did me a service. For this you have my thanks, and a boon of your choice, within reason."

As tradition dictated I denied him. "It was for honor my Jarl. Had I fallen, Shor's hall would have welcomed me."

The Jarl actually smiled, and I could tell I impressed him. Now if he insisted, I would be forced to accept.

"No doubt, you would have dined with heroes." He said traditionally. "But I insist."

I nodded at him, truly grateful. "I have some interest in magic, my Jarl." He didn't outwardly react, but I knew he was skeptical. My superiors behind me looked at me sharply.

"I would request access to your libraries."

It was a bold move, and a request I had no business asking of the Jarl. But nords respected bravery and boldness, so it was a calculated risk. His face didn't immediately turn to disgust, which I took as a good sign.

He leaned forward, looking deep into my eyes. I held his gaze as he thought. It took a good moment for him to make his decision.

"Very well."

I tried not to smile. I managed a grin.

"You will have access to it, but you may not remove any of the books held within. Nor will you teach anyone what you see inside these books. Magic is a dangerous art, son, and is frowned upon for a reason." Igmund said. "You will only be able to access the most basics of the art at first until my court wizard, Calcemo, approves your advancements."

His requirements were expected. If he would have allowed me to remove the books, it would have changed everything.

"My thanks, Jarl Igmund." I accepted respectfully.

"Now leave, a courier will arrive with your writ of entrance."

A/N: And so we have the first chapter of my new story. It didn't take me long to flush out the plot in my notes, and that's when I knew I had to put it out here for you all to see.

Now as you can see, Hadvar will not sit on the sidelines waiting for the Dragonborn to arrive. He has the beginning stages of a plan. For now it's just gain power, as he'll need it. It will evolve as the story progresses.

What did we think about it? Have I portrayed Nordic culture properly? What about the changes made to Markarth? The local issues are still there but the scale will be ramped up to eleven. And the forsworn are a threat also.

Let's talk in the reviews!