Skyrim: The Hybrid - Chapter 1 (Patreon)

It was a chorus of resounding cheers that awoke me. I jerked awake in my bed, head coming up off of my threadbare pillow, my hand shooting out to the side of the bed where two sheathed iron blades sat resting and my hand wrapped around one of the handles on instinct before I realised what I was doing.

I groaned, flopping back and collapsing on my bed once more. 'Fucking Vigilants of Stendarr.' I complained internally in annoyance. They'd been here partying at the Dead Mans Drink since just after I arrived in Falkreath and booked a room for myself for the night. They'd been all over the place with how active vampires were recently and killing the lesser ones by the butt loads and thinking they were amazing for it, despite the fact most of them were civilian turned thralls with little to no training and even then they still had to gang up on them.

So much for all those virtues they loved to preach about. They couldn't even let a guy get some sleep. My head is fucking pounding and I've got exams at school to take in the morning.

Wait.

I blinked slowly. 'I don't go to any schools.' I shook my head. I was planning on heading to Winterhold to join the College of Winterhold and while there I think I'll do my best to get a part time job and fix up my house more, it came already furnished thanks to the council, but it wasn't exactly the best looking stuff and the television was tiny, I had to sit close to it to get a good view when playing my Xbox.

'...No that's not right.' I shook my head again, turning over to burrow my face in the pillow. Nowhere in Skyrim had any electricity, unless you counted lightning magic.

Wait, no that was wrong as well. Electricity?

My temples gave a sharp, piercing throb and my head was consumed by pain. It felt like hundreds of chisels were being hammered into my head and needles piercing through every pore and stabbing into my very brain.

Thoughts. Feelings. Images.

Memories.

They rushed on through my head too quickly for me to grasp or comprehend. My world was just a blur of liquid agony as memory after memory was deposited into my mind.

'It's too much! My head's gonna crack like an egg!!' I thought desperately.

And then, abruptly, it finished and sweet blissful darkness took me.
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Yormin Fafning. A newly orphaned boy, having lost both parents to a skirmish between Imperials and Stormcloaks. Of both Nord and Breton descent, a boy of sixteen winters, who grew up in the countryside around Helgen.

Yarden Odhar. A boy orphaned as a baby. Sixteen years old, fifth year high school student, a resident of Scotland who had left his orphanage behind and gotten his own place not long after turning sixteen.

A golden light suffused my palms as I held them over my temples, massaging the sides of my head gently. 'That was not pleasant.' I grunted as I luxuriated in the healing warmth emitting from my hands and dulling the pain that made it hard to think.

The memories of two people, of two teenagers lifetimes clashing together in my head was not a pleasant experience. The memories were so enter twined, I couldn't even tell where Yormin ended and where Yarden began. I couldn't tell if I was Yormin, or Yarden, or just some macabre fusion of the two.

'My magic power is stronger than yesterday.' I noticed easily enough though. It wasn't by any massive amount, but it was a noticeable increase nonetheless, my wells of magic power deeper. 'A fusion of the souls then, perhaps?' I mused.

For as absurd as it all was, I'd heard of much weirder in passing. I lived in a world where demonic gods regularly appeared and tempted to mortals, and where there were bipedal, sentient lizard and cat people.

It would just take a little bit getting used to.

It was perhaps easier for me to roll with it. For as long as I can remember, my mother, a Breton had been teaching me all she knew of magic, and specifically having me focus on enchantment magic, a type of magic that could make the user rich beyond belief. My parents had placed their hopes on me raking in gold with it so we could leave our poor lifestyle behind.

But alongside that, there was many a lesson on at least the basics of all other branches of magic that she'd learned herself back in her homeland before coming to Skyrim. And the warnings of all the amazing, mystical and downright horrifyingly mysterious things that could happen with magic.

I sighed as the pain faded away finally and lowered my hands from my temples. They weren't throbbing anymore with pain, thank fuck for that.

I flopped back down onto my bed and stared up at my ceiling. 'It's the year 4E 201.' I mused. And if I'm not mistaken, it's only a day or two before the events I learned of from Yarden Odhar's memories.

As unbelievable as it was, I had gained memories of the future from those memories. Memories of the future that came from said boy playing a game called Skyrim, following the adventures of the Last Dragonborn.

That was crazy. I had grown up in this world on stories of the Dragonborn and their legendary power over the thu'um. And right now, as I lay here thinking, they were most likely about to run into an Imperial ambush and wake up to Ralof and Alduin.

My eyes widened and I jolted back up into a sitting position, “Shit, Alduin!” I cursed. The World Eater was going to come out swinging soon and revive the dragons, and if the Last Dragonborn failed, then the entire world would be devoured by Alduin.

If that wasn't bad enough, there was Harkon and his crazy plan to turn the world into one of eternal night, and Miraak the very first Dragonborn.

With those enemies looming, and Skyrim divided with civil war, the odds were heavily against them.

And if that wasn't enough, even if the Last Dragonborn did manage to stop them all and save Tamriel and Mundus alike, there was still the Thalmor and their crazy ass plan to destroy the towers and destroy all of the mortal realm.

“You've got to be fucking with me.” I groaned, palming my face at the absurdity of it all.

And at the end of the day, there is literally jack shit I can do about it all. I'm a sixteen year old brat, with no authority in Skyrim at all to bring people together.

It's not like I'm useless mind you. My father was a Nord who fought and survived the war. He taught me how to fight, he taught me how to smith and he taught me how to hunt. My mother, taught me how to use all the basic spells of every magic discipline, and both of them did all they could to earn enough money to get materials and scrolls to teach me how to enchant growing up. And I am special in my own way. Every mortal race has an inherent ability, and I'm not talking about the likes of Nords being highly resistant to the cold or the Breton's being highly resistant to magic.

I'm talking about the true racial abilities. Like the Orc's Berserker Rage that briefly doubled all of their physical abilities when used.

It is rare for anyone to inherit their racial ability. Only one in a hundred these days will gain their true racial ability. I am special in my own way, because I inherited both the racial abilities of the Nord race and the Breton Race.

Battle Cry – The ability to exude a battle lust and intent to kill so tangible in can paralyse others in fear.

Dragonskin – The ability to absorb half the power of any spell that makes contact and fuel my own magic power with it.

Useful, handy abilities. But, in the end, not exactly the ability to shout at the world itself and force reality to bend over and take my cock up its fat arse.

I sighed, “In the end the only thing that really sets me apart..” I trailed off, glancing at the pair of sheathed iron short swords resting against my bed. I reached over and unsheathed them.

They gleamed in the morning light coming from my room window, but they really were just a pair of simple iron blades. They weren't at all remarkable in their design or make in any way shape or form.

Except for a pair of little tid bits.

One of them rippled gently with red light, while the other hummed and glowed with a bright blue light noticeable even with the sun shining down on them.

One was enchanted with the fire attribute. While the other was enchanted with the lightning attribute. Normally, they'd both be worth at best around five gold coins each. But with these enchantments? I could probably get two hundred gold for them each.

I enchanted them with the souls of two cave bears I hunted with my father prior to his death.

I admired the pair of blades of my own make and couldn't help but feel pride in them. They weren't ebony masterpieces or anything like that, but they were solid, reliable weapons and easy to recharge. And they were incredibly helpful in combat thanks to the fact I could augment their elemental powers with my own magic spells.

I sheathed them once again and sighed for the...I don't know how many times.

I'm getting way ahead of myself. I know that. I'm jumping to conclusions and fretting over things that haven't happened yet. Letting the memories of Yarden send me into a tizzy.

But, I can't help it. It was easy to confirm my knowledge was at least partially correct. I didn't even have to leave my room. All I had to do was remember something I overheard last night when I reached the Hold of Falkreath.

I overheard a pair of guards talking while they were drinking. Speaking of a small girl who had been torn a part by a beast. A beast that had turned out to be a man. A man who right now was in the holding cells underneath the guard barracks.

That would be Sinding. The Werewolf who couldn't control his transformations at all and who stole the Ring of Hircine.

And there was of course the Vigilants of Stendarr. And how active they were because of the mass activity of vampires throughout Skyrim lately. The mass of activity that was because of Harkon riling them up and forcing them to search for Serana and her Elder Scroll so he can get his hand son the Bow of Auriel.

'Why couldn't it have been the other way around?' I ran my hand through my hair with a groan. Why couldn't the Yormin Fafning half go to Yarden Odhar's world and fuse with him, giving him all his memories and abilities. If that happened, he would be able to live on easy straight in the lap of luxury in a technical marvel of a world with all manners of comfort Skyrim lacked and entertainment in the form of video games and other such marvels.

Unluckily for me, I am stuck in a world and time period, where the only way to be truly relevant and be able to make a difference and change the world, is to have the inborn ability to devour the souls of reality breaking, titanic dragons and gain their power for my own.

I blinked as a thought occurred, my eyes going back to my enchanted iron blades. “….Dragons are definitely beyond me, but it doesn't have to be a dragon I use.” a grin slowly spread across my face as my eyes trailed from the dual enchanted iron blades, to a pouch sitting on the dresser beside my bed.

My pouch of soul gems. And the two special soul gems Father had managed to barter a travelling Khajit trader for last year.

A pair of ebony black soul gems.

Enchantment magic was a very finicky art. It was impossible to enchant spells into the body. And the souls used through soul gems, were merely fuel used to charge and power the spell put into an object.

It was possible to leave out the spell enchantment and flat out put the soul in another receptacle though. For instance, another soul.

It was a dark practice used to increase magic power. And not even by all that much, because the vast majority of the soul tended to disappear to places nobody had figured out yet. No matter if they were used to enchant an object or put in another receptacle.

Well, beyond me now. I now know they go to the Soul Cairn.

Really, with how much Black Soul Gem's cost, it would be an utter waste to use them to get a boost in my magic power I could get after a few weeks of training and effort.

….But, what if I enchant the strengths of aspects of captured souls into my own? Like a curse woven into their very souls by Daedra?