El Dragón of Corto Maltese

An Elder Scrolls/DC Comics crossover

Premise: The Dragonborn ends up in the DC Universe, but instead of the Justice League route, he ends up on the island nation of Corto Maltese that is in the grip of a revolution as freedom fighters fight to free their country from the grip of a cruel dictator.

Chapter 1

The College of Winterhold.

The Dragonborn sliced through another magical anomaly with his sword. The anomaly seemed to scream in pain as it was bisected in half by the blade of his sword, and it fell to the snow in a pile of steaming magical goo. The warrior panted slightly and took a moment to observe the battlefield briefly. Members of the College, both novices and masters were engaging the magical anomalies in battle, blasting out streams of fire, lightning and frost at the anomalies that flew about, slamming their eldritch bodies into the college members. This had all started when Ancano, the Thalmor advisor (read: toady), had taken control of the Eye of Magnus and was using the artefact's insurmountable power for his own ends.

The Psjic Monks had informed the Dragonborn that he was the only one who could stop what was happening. A meeting with the Augur of Dunlain had the warrior travelling to Labyrinthian, the ancient Nord city ruin nestled deep in the frozen mountains, to recover the Staff of Magnus that would have the power to close the Eye before it could potentially destroy the world.

After a long battle with legions of undead and the Dragon Priest Morokei who commanded them, the Dragonborn had recovered the Staff and immediately made his way back to the College. It had devolved into pandemonium as Ancano's reckless misuse of the Eye had caused magical ruptures to split the borders between realms, spilling forth magical anomalies that had begun attacking everything in sight.

The warrior participated in the battle, helping his fellow college members as best he could, slicing apart the anomalies with his sword and providing healing and magicka potions to anyone who was injured in the battle against the anomalies. Mirabelle Ervine urged him to end the insanity and that was what the warrior intended to do.

Tolfdir volunteered his services to aid the Dragonborn in reaching the College and the warrior gratefully accepted the offer of the elderly but powerful wizard's help. Once the anomalies in the town had been dealt with, the pair then traversed the walkway leading to the college and they soon reached the magical barrier that barred the way. Pulling the staff of Magnus from his back, the Dragonborn raised the eldritch staff in front of him and unleashed the power of the staff onto the magical barrier barring entry.

Immediately eldritch energy shot forth from the crystal head of the staff and the stream of magic collided with the barrier in a shower of magical sparks and arcs of lightning. There was a great screaming sound as though the barrier itself were in pain but that didn't stop the warrior as he focussed on bringing the barrier down. Finally, after a tense nerve-wracking moment, the barrier was brought down, and it cracked and broke like splintering glass as 'shards' of magic fell around the College like broken glass.

Putting the staff away, the Slayer of Alduin then charged into the college with his sword at the ready and Tolfdir following closely, his hands wreathed in arcane flames.

Barging through the large oak and iron bound doors, Dragonborn and the Tolfdir entered the Hall of Elements where they found Ancano standing before the Eye of Magnus, his body enveloped in arcane magic.

"Ancano! Stop this madness! You don't know what you're doing!" the Dragonborn shouted. Ancano turned around to sneer dismissively before he replied.

"Foolish whelp! I know exactly what I'm doing!" boasted the Thalmor agent. "With the Eye at my command, the Thalmor has all it needs to wipe out both the Stormcloaks and the Imperial Legion from the board!" he declared.

"Ancano, please! Listen to reason!" Tolfdir cried "There are magics we were never meant to meddle with!" he yelled.

"Pathetic old man!" Ancano sneered, "I tire of your prattle!" Ancano then waved a hand and Tolfdir fell to the ground paralysed.

"No! Damn you!" shouted the Dragonborn as he blasted out a stream of lightning at Ancano but the magical aura surrounding the Altmer easily absorbed the lightning. Ancano waved another hand and it was only lightning quick reflexes that saved the Dragonborn from being struck by a paralysis spell. The hero of Skyrim then drew the staff of Magnus from his back. Ancano's eyes flashed with recognition as he saw the staff in the warrior's gauntleted hands.

"The… Staff of Magnus? You found the Staff of Magnus?!" screeched Ancano.

"I did!" the Dragonborn declared "And with it, your schemes are over!" he said as he pointed the staff towards the Eye and blasted a stream of energy at the Eye. The stream of energy collided with the Eye and the Eye closed. As the Eye closed, Ancano's magical aura faded away leaving him vulnerable. Almost immediately, the warrior was upon the Thalmor agent, his sword flashing. Ancano barely dodged each strike, trying to raise his hands to cast a spell.

The Dragonborn kept to trying to get in close so that the Thalmor lackey wouldn't be able to use any magic. Ancano in an act of desperation drew his dagger and slashed at the man who blocked the strike with his sword, but this provided Ancano with enough time to hit the Dragonborn with a telekinetic pulse which forced him back. Ancano then stretched his hand towards the Eye and cast a spell on it. The Eye opened and Ancano was then covered in magic once again.

Ancano then began throwing lightning bolts and fireballs at his foe for all he was worth. It took all of the Dragonborn's agility to avoid being hit by the destructive spells and he aimed the staff at the Eye and cast the magic of the artefact into the Eye. The eldritch magic of the staff collided with the Eye, and it began to close again. Ancano screamed in rage as he cast a counter-spell at the Eye for it to remain open. But as Ancano's counter-spell hit the Eye, it began to froth with energy and arcs of energy and lightning lashed out and there was a great cracking sound as above the Eye a tear in the fabric of reality opened and began to suck everything in.

Ancano was the first to be sucked into the blackhole and the Thalmor agent screamed in desperation as he scrambled to hold onto solid ground. The Dovahkiin acted quickly; he used his Thu'um to Shout Ice Form to anchor Tolfdir to the floor ensuring he wouldn't be sucked into the blackhole. The Dragonborn then thrust the blade of his sword deep into the ground and held on tight. The warrior's body was raised into the air as the blackhole sucked everything in the room into its gaping maw.

The Slayer of Alduin held on as tightly as he could but before he could react, his sword came free of its from its anchor and the warrior was sucked into the blackhole. The Dragonborn yelled in frustration as he was sucked into the wormhole and he struggled to try and make his way back to the Hall of Elements but as he was sucked into the blackhole, the tear sealed itself. The Dragonborn roared in disbelief as he was now cut off from his own world.

Then there was nought but darkness as the Slayer of Alduin found himself floating in a near all consuming void. The darkness seemed to stretch on forever as far as the warrior's eyes could see.

"So, this is how it ends?" the warrior said dryly before giving a grunt and adding, "Had a good run at least."

Then something or rather someone walked into view and it was a familiar sight. A tall gangly looking man wearing a finely tailored outfit coloured purple with grey-white hair and near whited-out eyes and a grin that never seemed to leave his face walked into view.

"Well, now, isn't this is a coincidence?" asked the strange man with a toothy grin on his lips.

"Sheogorath. To what do I owe this pleasure?" the Dragonborn asked tiredly having dealt with the Daedric Prince of Madness before.

"Well, I was out for a stroll and saw you were in a spot of wee bother here," the Mad God replied. "Or are you not in trouble?" he asked quizzically.

"You could say that," the Dragonborn admitted dryly. "And I suppose you're here to gloat?" he asked lightly.

"Now, what kind of man do ye take for?" Sheogorath said in mock hurt. "After the time you helped me reunite with my servant, while cutting me holiday short mind you, I think I owe ya one," he added. "Unless you want to stay here that is?" the Mad God then asked blandly.

"Where is here, exactly?"

"Och, nowhere you want to be, that's for certain," Sheogorath said. "Would you like a lift?" he then asked with a friendly grin on his lips.

"Some assistance would be nice," the Dragonborn replied with a nod of his head.

"All ye had to ask was ask," Sheogorath replied as he waved his hand before the Dovahkiin could tell him where he wanted to be dropped off.

Pont Vanis. Kovir.

Drizzling rain pattered gently down on the many rooves of Kovir as the citizens made their way through the winding streets of Pont Vanis. One individual in particular walked slowly through the water sodden streets, carefully and calmly avoiding the local denizens. She was a reasonably tall young woman with a slender hourglass figure and deep fiery red hair in twin low buns were hidden beneath the large hood she wore to keep the rain off her head. A pair of bright emerald green eyes were looking ahead, focused on her destination.

This young woman was named Triss Merigold of Maribor, a powerful sorceress who formerly belonged to the Lodge of Sorceresses, a political and magical cabal of the world's most powerful mages who had been involved in more than their share of cutthroat political backstabbing and the like. So much so, that it had led to the mass killings and witch hunts in the Northern Kingdoms by Radovid the Stern, King of Redania.

But much of that was in the past now due to individuals who had brought about an end to the insane Radovid, not to mention the business with the Wild Hunt.

Initially, Triss had set up shop in Novigrad but was quickly forced into hiding due to the Church of the Eternal Fire declaring all mages to be witches and traitors and with eager assistance from Radovid, they had started exterminating anyone who so much as had a whiff of magic or even the slightest modicum of learning about them. Triss found herself the head of an underground movement looking to free all the mages of Novigrad and with some help from Novigrad's underworld bosses and the assistance of the Witcher Geralt of Rivia, Triss had spirited away the mages of Novigrad to Kovir where they were given sanctuary by King Tancred.

Geralt…

Geralt was a… complicated subject for Triss to put it lightly. For years she had been in love with the Witcher, unhappily so. When Geralt had been found outside Kaer Morhen with no memory of his past, Triss had, ashamedly, taken advantage of the man's amnesia, and also partly due to the belief that Geralt's other half, Yennefer of Vengerberg, was presumed dead, to pursue a relationship with him.

But as time went on, Geralt's memory came back to him and Yennefer was revealed to be alive and subsequently, the pair had gotten back together and were now more in love than ever. Of course, Geralt had forgiven Triss for deceiving him and taking advantage of his amnesiac state as he too had believed Yennefer to be dead.

But still, it was a bitter sting to Triss's heart that Geralt and Yennefer had now gotten their happily ever after. Last Triss had heard, Geralt had been given a vineyard of all things as part of a hefty reward for a monster contract in Toussaint.

But in all respects, Triss didn't have too bad either herself; she no longer had to hide her magical abilities, was in service to a sympathetic king who had given the mages shelter and the whole mess with the war with Nilfgaard and the Wild Hunt was now over.

Still, Triss did often think about her life with Geralt before. To tell the complete truth, she was lonely. The house she had received in Pont Vanis was a tad empty of human company, despite some of the servants who tended the estate and as bad as she felt, Triss felt herself pining for company.

Sighing to herself, Triss made her way through the streets as she neared a brightly lit tavern. She had decided to get out of the house and spend an evening at a tavern, hoping the mood and nearby presence of people would cheer her up. At the very least, she could get blind drunk and stumble back home with someone.

Entering the tavern, Triss felt the warm air brush over her as she lowered her hood and took in the sights of the tavern patrons, eating, drinking, singing or other such activities one would partake in a tavern. A troupe of troubadours were in stage playing a lively and merry tune and some space in the middle of the floor was cleared away for patrons to dance.

Sitting herself in a small but cosy booth, Triss gave her order to a serving girl who came back moments later with a bottle of fine Est-Est and a glass. Murmuring her thanks, Triss poured herself a glass and sipped slowly; giving a small hum of appreciation of the fine wine, Triss settled back in her seat to observe the crowd. She spotted some young couples dancing together or enjoying private intimate moments with each other; her heart panged at the sight.

Sighing heavily, Triss took another sip of her drink, hoping the alcohol would kick in and she could forget about her own heartache for a while.

"Excuse me, lassie, but is this seat taken?" a voice suddenly asked, and Triss looked up to see a rather peculiar man standing before her. He was clad in the most garish ensemble of orange and purple clothes, but they looked to be finely tailored and fit the man like a well-made glove. He had windswept silver-grey hair and his eyes where a pale silvery colour that almost made Triss think he was blind. An almost manic looking smile was on the odd man's lips as he looked at her expectantly.

"Um, no, not at all, feel free," Triss said to the odd man who gave a wide grin and sat opposite her.

"Ah, thank ye, very much, lass. I've travelled quite a long way here," he said as he leaned back in his seat and pulled out from his jacket a large wedge of orange cheese and bit into it. "Would you like some?" he offered the wedge to Triss who shook her head in response. "Hmm, more for me than," he stated as he took even larger bite of his cheese.

"Who are you, sir? What made you want to sit here?" Triss then asked, curious as to why this odd fellow wanted to sit her booth when there were others that were available.

"Well, I saw ye sitting there alone, looking like the loneliest bairn in the world and I thought I'd come sit a spell with ye," the man replied with a grin. "As for who I am, I am called Sheogorath Cheeseman, Lord of the Never-There," he then said with a bow of his head.

"A pleasure to meet you, Mr Cheeseman," Triss said, feeling a little baffled at this odd man's name. Was this man a sorcerer? If he was, she'd never heard of him before. And as for his title, Lord of the Never-There, it sounded quite made-up, yet there was a little feeling that told Triss that it sounded like a real place. "I am…" she then tried to introduce herself to Sheogorath who cut her off with.

"I know who you are, lass. Triss Merigold of Maribor, the Fourteenth of the Hill and former member of the Lodge of Sorceresses," he said with a knowing grin.

"My reputation precedes me it seems," Triss said dryly. "But I must say that I've never heard of you before, nor have I heard of any place called Never-There," she added.

"Oh, but everyone does know me, lass," Sheogorath said with a mysterious grin. "I lurk in the back of everyone's mind, beneath the surface of every rational thought I wait, and I can bring to one brilliance or their wit's end," he added.

Triss raised an eyebrow at this; this conversation had taken a very strange turn indeed. This Sheogorath seemed to be brimming with madness and she had half a mind to cast a spell to calm the man down and bring him to a doctor.

"I wouldn't bother trying to cast one of your spells on me, lassie. Ye'd only annoy me, and you really don't want to annoy me," Sheogorath said with a grin and another bite of his cheese.

"Telepathy?" Triss asked in a guarded voice as she mentally threw up some defences around her mind.

"Oh, ye could say that, little lass," Sheogorath said with a secretive little grin. "The mind is a specialty of mine," he added.

"What is it you want from me?" Triss asked, staring at the odd man with a flat look on her face. "You obviously have a reason to be sitting here when there are other booths available. So, what is it that you want from me?"

"Truth be told, I'd like to play a game with ye," Sheogorath said.

"Gwent?" Triss deadpanned, wondering if the man before her was just plain insane.

"Oh, nothing so trite as that, bonny lass," Sheogorath said a cackle. "But if ye play this game of mine, ye could learn more about yerself and, dare I say it, perhaps even find love," he offered.

"And if I'm not interested?" Triss asked lightly, playing devil's advocate.

"Well, ye cannae do much worse than ye are right now, can ye?" Sheogorath said to her. "It's all in good fun and you might find yerself enjoying it," he added.

Triss thought about it for a moment before shrugging and said, "Well, what harm could it do?"

"Knew I liked ye for a reason, bonny lass," Sheogorath smiled as he waved his hand at Triss before she could even say anything, and she felt herself be pulled from the world and fell backwards into a void.

The Xavier Institute for Gifted Youngsters, Westchester County, New York.

"Do you, Scott Summers, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?" Kurt Wagner AKA Nightcrawler asked the groom, Scott Summers AKA Cyclops.

Scott smiled widely and said, "I do." A simple but powerful statement for everyone present to hear.

Kurt nodded in satisfaction before turning his head to the bride and asked her, "And do you, Jean Grey, take this man to be lawfully wedded husband?"

Jean Grey beamed and replied, "I do."

In the relatively small crowd of X-Men members, students and family and friends, a beautiful woman with ash blonde hair and wearing a well-made pure silvery grey dress-suit sat in the crowd, seemingly apart from everyone else and watched the nuptials of Scott Summers and Jean Grey with a sad look of longing in her icy almost electric blue eyes.

Emma Frost, formerly the White Queen of the Inner Circle, watched with a pit forming in her stomach as she watched as Scott kiss his bride and claim her in marriage. Almost everyone stood up and clapped and cheered as rice was rained down on the bride and groom as they made their way down the aisle. Emma stood up and clapped politely, though her expression was one of indifference.

But underneath, Emma was sad and feeling more alone than ever. It had only been a few months since she had been put back together, quite literally, after sacrificing herself to destroy the Phoenix Force that had been unleashed from Jean Grey, all because of what she, Emma, and the Inner Circle had done.

To explain more succinctly, more than a year ago, the X-Men had been disbanded after an explosion destroyed the Xavier Institute and it was only when the MRD had ramped up their persecution of mutants that Logan AKA Wolverine had brought the X-Men back together in response. Not long after, Emma had shown up on Logan's doorstep, trading her telepathy for a spot on the team, using Cerebro to find missing mutants.

It had all been a kaleidoscope of activity, but it all culminated when Emma, acting on the orders of Sebastian Shaw and the Inner Circle finally moved to take Jean Grey with the intention of destroying the Phoenix that lay within the redheaded telekinetic. At least that's what Emma had been told at the time, and it was to her shock that Shaw revealed the real plan was to use the Phoenix to assert their dominion of the world.

Naturally, Emma couldn't let that stand, because despite all things, she had come to call the X-Men her friends and she had seen the destructive power the Phoenix held and its wild nature meant it could not be controlled, certainly not by the Inner Circle.

Emma had then sacrificed herself to destroy the Phoenix, but it was only recently that had been put back together by Jean herself, despite having manipulated everything from the start.

Whether that was because Jean had forgiven her, or for some other reason, Emma did not know and did not wish to ask for fear of the answer. But the blonde had then learnt that Scott had proposed to Jean who accepted it joyously. Jean had graciously offered Emma to be a bridesmaid, but she turned it down as she did not want to ruin Jean's wedding.

Emma was not alone in this regard as she spied that Logan himself was not too pleased with Scott and Jean's wedding. It was no big secret that Logan had feelings for the redheaded telekinetic and it had been a source of contention between him and Scott, but Logan had been the bigger man and did not wish to engage in a fight Scott over Jean, despite the other man wanting to.

As everyone prepared to head for the reception dinner, Emma was roused from her thoughts when a meaty hand lightly touched her shoulder causing her to see Logan looking at her with what she thought might be sympathy in his dark eyes.

"You alright, Frost?" he asked.

Emma gave a small smile in response. "I'm fine, Logan, thank you for asking." Her tone was light and civil, but a slight frown came over Logan's countenance as he heard the turmoil in the blonde's voice.

"No, you're not," he remarked. He then sighed and said, "If you wanna get out of here and not be at the reception…?" he made to offer.

"No, really I'm fine," Emma said with a smile that was slightly forced. "I won't do anything to ruin Scott and Jean's special day. I'll have some food and wine before heading to bed."

Logan nodded his head a little before saying, "The offer stands." He then followed after everyone else, leaving Emma behind.

Emma sighed as her heart grew heavy in her chest. She felt like a lovesick teenager, pining after a man who was now married to another woman. She felt like grabbing the nearest bottle of champagne and crawling into it and never come back out ever again.

Despite what she had said to Logan about attending if only briefly, Emma was considering just heading back to the Mansion and crawling into bed and hopefully never wake up when a voice interrupted her.

"G'evening, lassie."

Emma whirled around to see an oddly dressed man leaning up against one of the columns of the venue. A small manic grin was on his gaunt bearded face as he gazed at her with seemingly blind eyes. He wore an ensemble of purple and orange that looked finely tailored and fit his thin frame like a glove.

"Who are you? How did you get in here?" were the first questions Emma asked, wondering if this was a gatecrasher.

"Apologies, lass. The name's Sheogorath, Lord of the Never-There. And as for how I got here, I let myself. Security really needs work 'round here, ye ken?" the stranger grinned toothily.

"Indeed," Emma deadpanned dryly, wondering if the security for the wedding really was lax, or if this odd man was just that good at infiltrating places he shouldn't be in. She was tempted to read the mind of the man before, but as if sensing this, the man stopped her with a raised hand.

"I would nay read me mind if I were you," he told her. "You'd only give yerself a headache, and that's if you're lucky," he warned.

"Why? Something you wish to hide?" Emma snarked.

Sheogorath grinned widely and replied, "Oh, believe you me, lassie, those who've tried to read the book that lies in my noggin have only doomed themselves to madness." The tone in which he spoke did resonate with Emma as if he was trying to spare her any misfortune or trying to goad her into reading his mind.

Deciding to play it safe, Emma folded her arms over her chest and asked, "So, what is it that brings to a private affair, Mr Sheogorath?" She let the name roll off her tongue, finding the name odd.

"Well, I was in the neighbourhood and I spotted ye standing here like the loneliest bairn in the land," Sheogorath said with a harmless air about him. "Seems the wedding was not to yer likin', I take it?" he enquired.

Emma turned her nose up at this, not wanting to dignify the question with a response, but Sheogorath gave a good natured chuckle and said, "Seems like I'm right on this, but nary a point to dredge it up."

"Then why ask at all?" Emma snapped out frostily.

"Well, in truth, I was actually looking for ye," Sheogorath said honestly.

"For me?" Emma raised an immaculately groomed eyebrow at this admission. "What is it you possibly want from me?" she asked.

"I'd like to play a game with ye, I have a couple of other players already, but I thought I'd make the offer for you to join in," Sheogorath said.

"And this game you call it, what might it be, I wonder; checkers? Cards?" Emma said almost mockingly.

"I'll take that as a yes," Sheogorath said with a grin as he waved his hand at Emma causing her to gasp out in surprise as purple flames enveloped her and swallowed her up before she could utter a cry for help.

The first thing the Dragonborn realised when he awoke was that he was submerged in water. With a start, he flailed around looking for the surface and saw the light above him. With powerful kicks of his legs, he swam up to the surface and gave a large gasp as he broke the surface, gulping in the life-giving air. It was a bright sunny day and the air was filled with sounds of seabird cawing and waves rolling around.

Surmising he was in the ocean, the Dragonborn looked around for any nearby areas of dry land and soon found a nearby beach. With powerful strokes of his arms, the warrior swum over until he felt the sand touch his torso and rose to his feet, water dripping off his body and it was then he realised that he was without his armour or even his weapons.

"Damn you, Sheogorath," the Dragonborn muttered as he looked at himself and saw that he was clad in what could be prisoner's rags, his feet bare and squelching in the damp sand. A pair of gasps alerted the warrior and he looked to see two women crawling out of the water. One had fiery red hair down in twin low hanging buns, and the other had ash blonde hair done in loose beachy waves.

Normally, the Dragonborn wasn't a crude man who judged solely by a person's looks, but if he were such a man, he wouldn't have many negative things to say about these two. Both were very beautiful to behold and blessed with figures that many a redblooded man would kill to embrace and many a woman would die to possess.

Turning to help the two strangers, the warrior asked them, "Are you both alright?"

The redhead looked up at him with emerald green eyes, the freckles on the bridge of her nose making them stand out as she asked, "Who are you?" Her voice was hoarse and ragged as though she had swum a great distance or had been submerged for a while.

"Perhaps a friend," the Dragonborn said simply. "I am called the Dragonborn, Who are you?" he asked.

"Triss. Triss Merigold," came the redhead's reply.

The blonde woman opened her eyes to reveal icy almost electric blue orbs and spoke in a cultured almost haughty voice that was ruined by just how tired and ragged it sounded, "Emma… Frost," she said in answer to the Dragonborn's query.

"A pleasure to meet you both, though the circumstances could better," the Dragonborn muttered grimly as he looked around the beach. With a grunt, he scooped up the two women over his shoulders, much to their surprised yelps, and he carried them further up the beach and into the tree line of scrub and palm trees.

"Rest here, I'll see if I can get us all some food and a fire going," he told them.

"But what about you?" Triss Merigold asked, her voice becoming clearer and less raggedy.

"I'll be fine, I'm used to it," the warrior told her, but then loud voices broke out and marching out into view were men and women dressed in an almost uniform look of cream white and splashes of red, all of them armed with what the Dragonborn could only liken to a crossbow of some kind.

The commander, or someone in charge at the very least, wearing a smooth round metal helmet on his head barked out in a strange language before switching to the common tongue. "Hands up, pendejos! Get on the ground! Now!"

The Dragonborn stared flatly at the man, his hands by his sides clenching into fists as the soldiers surrounded him and his two companions.

"Get on the ground! Now!" screamed the commander angrily, spittle flying from his mouth.

The Dragonborn looked around at the situation. Some part of him didn't want to comply with the demand to surrender, but he was unarmed and unarmoured and he didn't know the capabilities of those strange crossbows the soldiers had aimed at him.

Deciding to comply, the warrior raised his hands up in surrender. Then suddenly, one of the soldiers clubbed him in the back of the head and darkness took him.

Swimming in and out of focus were blurry images and vague outlines of people before the warrior's vision focussed and sharpened and he realised he was in a cell with two other others. Rubbing his eyes, the Dragonborn noticed he was a crimson uniform comprised of a short sleeved shirt, trousers and flat slip-on shoes. His cellmates saw that he was awake and spoke.

"Ah, awake at last, huh, gringo?" one of them asked, he had deep olive toned skin with short curly dark brown hair and a the makings of a goatee on his chin. "Took a nasty bump to the head, did we?" he joked.

"Where am I?" the Dragonborn asked.

"You're in prison, amigo, we're all in prison," the second prisoner, a middle-aged looking man with salt and pepper hair and a lined face told him.

"But where am I, exactly?" the Dragonborn reiterated.

"We told you, gringo, in prison."

"Aye, but where? What land? What country?" the Dragonborn clarified.

"Corto Maltese, off the coast of South America, and we're in Jotunheim, prison complex in Esperanza," the middle-aged prisoner explained.

The Dragonborn hummed in thought as he contemplated what he had been told. The locations were not familiar to him, so if he had to guess, Sheogorath had deposited him on another world for some kind of game to amuse himself with.

"There were two others with me, both female, one red haired and the other blonde," the warrior then said to his cellmates.

"The two chicas?" the first prisoner asked. "Think I saw them get hauled off to the women's section of this place. Other than that, don't know where they are," he said. "What's your name, gringo?" he then enquired.

"I am called the Dragonborn," the warrior said honestly.

"But what about your name?" the middle-aged prisoner asked.

"I don't have one. I was found as a baby at the orphanage and then kicked out at thirteen to fend for myself," the hero of Skyrim replied.

"Conjo, that's rough, but not unusual here in paradaiso," the younger of the cellmates remarked. "Name's Javier, and that there's Montoya," he said introducing himself and his fellow prisoner.

"Pleasure to meet you both," the Dragonborn replied as he nodded at them before rising to his feet, his head almost scraping the ceiling.

"Jesu Cristo, you're a big one! You been hitting the Venom or something, gringo?" Javier asked jokingly.

"I do not imbibe poisons, if anything I would coat a blade or arrow in poison," the Dragonborn replied.

Javier and Montoya looked at each in confusion at the warrior's words and shrugged. "Who's in charge of this place?" the Dragonborn then asked.

"That would be El Presidente's lap dog, General Raúl Santiago, nicknamed the Old Dog for how long he's been around and just how fucking ruthless he is," Montoya replied. "If you're thinking of talking to him to let you out, don't bother," he advised.

"And who is El Presidente?" the Dragonborn asked pointedly.

"Antonio Castillo. Coldest motherfucker in all Corto Maltese," Javier replied. "He's got big dreams of rebuilding our slice of home into paradaiso, and he doesn't care how many people he has to kill and torture to do it," he explained.

"I see," came the words from the Dragonborn's mouth. "I suppose El Presidente has his enemies who would love to see him killed?" he then asked.

"Sí, there's the glorious guerrillas known as Libertad, but they're practically on their last legs," Montoya replied. "The fucking FND has been hunting them non-stop and they're winning. Even got the Oh-Gee Guerrilla himself locked up here, though word on the street is that the leader of Libertad is looking to break him and everyone else here out of Jotunheim," he said.

"And who is the leader of Libertad?"

"That'd be Clára," Javier answered. "Used to be a journalist, saw the fucked up shit Castillo was doing to the people and started Libertad to bring back freedom to Corto Maltese," he said.

"And she hasn't been too successful, I take it," the Dragonborn remarked.

"First attack was a fucking mess," Montoya replied bitterly. "A lot of people got killed. The FND was too organised and Libertad wasn't it. Most of them got locked up in here," he said.

"And this Oh-Gee Guerrilla, he's in here too? What is his name?"

"Herman Cortez, ex-KGB spymaster and the original guerrilla who wrote the book on being a guerrilla," Javier said enthusiastically. "Worked as a liaison for just about any and every revolution around the world. Guy's a legend," he declared proudly.

"If he's so legendary then how did he end up locked in here?" the Dragonborn asked.

"FND was too organised, plus their soldiers were jacked up on something when they fought Libertad. No-one knows what the stuff they're taking is, but it gives them the edge, makes monsters of them," Montoya said with a shudder.

The Dragonborn hummed as he paced about in the cell, digesting what he'd been told so far before stopping to speak. "This Clára and her movement, Libertad, you said they were looking to free their people from this place?" he asked.

"It's what I heard on the street before I was arrested by the FND," Javier replied. "Other things I hear are that the Justice League are going to come and save Corto Maltese from Castillo and his monsters, but I don't know if that'll happen or not," he said grimly.

"Justice League? Are they a company of mercenaries?" the slayer of Alduin asked.

"mercenaries?" Javier parroted before laughing and said, "Shit, gringo, the Justice League ain't mercenaries, they're superheroes, they wouldn't be caught dead doing what they do for money."

"Why wouldn't they?" the Dragonborn asked.

"Cause they're heroes?" Montoya offered. "Truth, justice and all that crap?" he then said.

"Noble of them, but not very smart of them," the Dragonborn observed dryly. "Takes money to do things," he said.

"Shit, you ain't wrong there, gringo, but good luck telling someone like Superman to start rescuing people for money," Javier chuckled.

Then a guard came walking up and slammed on the steel door, shouting in his foreign tongue and the Dragonborn could only guess that they were being told to shut up.

"Best get some sleep now, gringo. Got a long day tomorrow," Montoya told the Dragonborn who asked, "Why is that?"

"Castillo has those locked up in here to work the tobacco fields, at least those who are lucky enough to do field work. Rumour has it that people are being experimented on here in Jotunheim and I don't wanna find out what they're doing to people here," Javier replied as he stood up to walk over to one of the nearby cots and laid down on it.

Montoya did the same whilst the Dragonborn stood there, contemplating what he had learnt so far.

Deciding to get some sleep and figure it out, the warrior took the last empty bed and lay down on his back, but he was already figuring out just how to get himself out of this prison and find a way to make those who took him prisoner pay.

TO BE CONTINUED…

A/N: There! First chapter of this is done and dusted! I was having a serious debate about this story; at first I was going to do the tired old Justice League animated series route of the Dragonborn landing during the invasion and helping the Justice League then joining them, but the more I thought about it, the more tired and unoriginal it sounded.

Then I watched The Suicide Squad movie and the location of Corto Maltese struck a chord in and I was playing Far Cry 6 and I was then struck with the idea of the Dragonborn landing in Corto Maltese and helping the revolutionaries overthrow their cruel dictator and bring freedom to their home.

Now, the likes of the Justice League won't be in this story, at least, not yet, I can do some little excerpts the founding members debating on whether they should step in and help the people of Corto Maltese, but it would lead to political backlash from the UN and the public if they learnt that the Justice League are intervening in affairs they have no business in. Of course, that wouldn't stop the Justice League sending in covert teams to assess the situation and see what they can do to help out. And you can bet that certain factions in the criminal underworld of DC Comics have interests in what goes on in Corto Maltese.

Now as for which DC Universe this is set in, still debating on that, but I think it'll be a mishmash of various incarnations of DC Comics, Young Justice being a prime example, but also some of the OG material like JLU and the like.

I added Triss from the Witcher and Emma Frost from Marvel's Wolverine and the X-Men because I feel like they could help the Dragonborn out and give their own contributions in a revolutionary war as well as help counter certain threats the Dragonborn may not be prepared for.

And other than that, I haven't much else to say about this. In other news, I've got the idea of an Elder Scrolls/Harry Potter crossover on my mind and I've set up a voting poll of what the setting should be, so feel free to cast your vote.

That's all I have so I'll leave this here and see you all in the next one.

Be kind to one another,

Angry lil' elf.