Life Outside of Skyrim

I slept deeply on the night of November 10th. It was an unusual experience. It was rare that I slept, even rarer so deeply, but my body was not one to reject good rest. My brain is not the most functional organ when sleep-deprived, which has been heavily documented in my previous writings. If only I had known how precious every drop of energy I absorbed that night would be. It had been heavily advertised before that day what would come. We all knew what it was and we cheered and got excited about it. It was coming.

Tens of thousands took to the streets all across the world, while I slumbered peacefully inside my blanketed vault. Protected, safe, and ignorant of what was happening on the outside. The world outside was changing while I lay dormant, walled-up, sheltered from the magnitude of a release so huge I could not have ever fathomed what would come-forth from it. For on November 11th I would awaken into a new world, into an entirely new life, one which no human should ever be forced to traverse. A world where I was the soul survivor of the most devastating catastrophe to plague mankind. A life which I had not chosen but one which had been thrust upon me through a merging of fate, luck, and lack of disposable income. A life outside of Skyrim.

I slept in. Slept in very late in fact. By the time I’d emerged, and prepared myself for the day, it was almost 4pm. That was a full 16 hours after release. I had no solid plans for the day, I’d known well in advance that a majority of my friends would have already purchased their copy, so I had decided to head into Central London for some Red Bull. I didn’t have to make it far out out the door before saw the horror before me. While I had slept the city I once loved had all but burned to the ground. London lay in ruins as the people had long abandoned the streets, shopping centres, public transportation, and all public services. I scoured the city for others. There was nobody else, not even a trace, they had completely vanished. There were no bodies, no remains, not so much as a God damned hair left of a single human. I saw a dog, he even walked up to me and looked up hopelessly before I kept trudging in search of life. I named him Buck. Buck was the only sign of life I had encountered. Even more disconcerting, there was not a copy of Skyrim to be found. I had looted every Xbox, Playstation and PC I came across but all were empty. There was nothing but rubble, fire, and unanswered questions.

I found notes, letters, papers which had been hastily scribbled on after Skyrim had been released among the public. Most were gibberish: endless rants about taking an arrow to the knee with the word ‘FUS’ scrawled all over the pages. Ramblings of man men and women desperate and scared, yet pumped to the very brink of destruction with euphoria. Among the shattered pieces of the world however I found hope; one chance to rebuild;  single document claiming to know the path to enlightenment and truth. It was written by a person who went by the name of ‘A. Erring’, they spoke of a location, far from the centre of the ruined city of yore, in the countryside. Two trees in a field, each one taller than the other, where the right path is wrong. I made haste and left the crippled city of my birth, and searched for answers outside of the city limits. I had to find Skyrim.

I read the scraps of A. Erring’s words as I hiked towards the final step of my journey: the field. I attempted to use the scripture to piece together the timeline of events I missed over those 16 final hours. It had spread so fast, once the midnight launch showed the world just how awe-inspiring Skyrim was, it took less than six hours for the major cities of the country to implode. According to what I could decipher France had held out the longest, Paris had been the final city to fall. The people simply couldn’t resist, the game absorbed them to such a degree that they simply failed to exist in this world anymore. They became part of Skyrim. Twitter near exploded from the talk of Skyrim. Celebrities had even jumped on board and were busy talking about it on live interviews and television. The world was drained of all life as the human race abandoned every basic instinct in favour of the game. They stopped eating, drinking, working, and eventually moving. Skyrim wanted more, though. The life-force an average human burns should have given them a few days. Instead, while playing Skyrim, the game sped up the process. Some took to the streets to stop people buying the game, but upon realising there were no police – they soon gave in and looted. The urges were too great, and the original saviours would start looting a copies for themselves. Then there was nobody. I don’t know if A. Erring was the last to give in, or just the last to have kept documenting the phenomenon, but their writing promised the tree would hold a book. Inside the book there would be answers. Answers which would help to overcome what the others could not. A way to save Skyrim.

I arrived at the field. I walked, among a forest of trees, possibly for hours, pondering the riddle. No two trees seemed any more important than the rest. Then I smiled. Two trees stood, one on either side of the only path. One to the left, one to the right. I slowly stepped over the the left tree, I could smell syntax trickery a mile away, and glanced down to the ground at its foot. A small glimmer, a silver glint amongst the tangled brush and brambles, a book lay. A book which held the key to salvation.

I lay on that field for days on end. I read every single page of information on offer. Every race, every weapon, every area map between its covers. I wanted it more than ever. An unholy dragon blood lust coursed through my entire being. I wanted Skyrim, nay, I NEEDED Skyrim. On the final page, once I had all the knowledges of the lands my brain could hold, it showed me the ultimate goal. It showed me the power and I wanted it. An axe, an axe which lay under the tree to the right, which I would soon call Róta, after the Norse Valkyrie. An axe that could only be wielded by one who were truly worthy. The one who survived the plague inside a vault of solitude and still braved to venture out The one who had the heart and soul passionate enough to fight the plague among the long destroyed lands. Next to that axe, lay a copy of Skyrim.

I was ready. The world around me may have fallen into disarray from this game, but I would not, I would not falter. I would stand and I would fight. I raised my axe to the Heavens above and I screamed a war cry sound so loud the Gods themselves trembled in fear. The trees shook as the mighty roar escaped my lungs and I lowered Róta. I smirked, I had never felt such power before. My voice felt as if I could command the Universe. My mind had access to all knowledge of the world of Skyrim, but now I held the power to go there and fight and become the greatest adventurer of all time – arrows be damned!

With the copy of Skyrim gripped tightly in one hand and Róta in the other I ran. I ran as fast as my boots could manage, like a bat out of Hell towards the city limits. I sprinted back into urban civilisation and searched out the nearest television with a console attached to it. It was an army station, it looked temporary, appeared to be nothing more than a fancy tent covered in camouflage, it was likely a hub for the crowd control riot-squads before they too were overrun with desire to play the game themselves. I ripped off the wrapping and reached down for the disc when I paused… A. Erring. The name, that name which had guided me to this point suddenly felt too familiar. It was a man, I didn’t know how I knew but I did, it was a Mr. A. Erring… Arngeir. Like a flash flood the information came rushing into my head. A. Erring was an anagram of Arngeir, the elder who serves as instructor and mentor in The Way of the Voice, and the axe is one of the most common weapons you receive at the beginning of your journey. I was not the sole survivor – I was Skyrim’s final victim!

I dropped the game case a disc to the floor and slowly backed away from the television. I turned and rushed through what I thought was the tent’s exit, instead I had frantically stumbled into the arsenal section. M4 carbines, M16s, pump-action shotguns, revolvers, MP5s and more all lay in front of me in a beautiful formation of destruction. With my mind still going a thousand miles and hour as I recovered from the shock of my own realisation I saw it. The G36C, the ultimate killing machine, as Call of Duty had taught me, placed on the table before me. I stepped towards it and lovingly lowered Róta down next to it, and gripped it by the Grip. It was only then that I knew what I had to do.

With the G36C still loosely carried in my hand I walked out of the tent. I could feel the pull, the invisible force pulling me back towards the tent, trying to drag me back to the table where I had left Róta and the book. I didn’t need them anymore, those were not the weapons I would need to win this fight. I walked at a new pace, solemn and determined, as I entered back to where this all had begun. The burning, crumbled section of London where I had first encountered this awful disaster. I removed my right glove and raised my hand to my mouth, letting out a screeching whistle which echoed throughout the concrete piles. I stared blankly toward the smoke, waiting, hoping. A minute passed, and just as I stood up to turn away I heard the patter of paws. I turned back and there he was. Buck was back, wagging his tail and smiling up at me. No longer did he have a look of sadness or worry in his eyes, but a sparkle and vigour which had not been there before. I smiled back at him, almost as if he could feel what I was feeling, and patted him on the head before turning back towards the centre of London.

“I’m sorry, Buck. I’m sorry that the best you’ve got is this barely functional fighter with a rusted old gun. You deserve better. This world deserves better. There may be others though, like me, out there somewhere. We’re going to go and see if we can find them. I can’t leave this world, not now, not yet. I must save this world before I save Skyrim.”

I lifted the G36C and swung it over my shoulder and tied it around. I took a deep breath and lowered my hood, feeling the breeze filled with dust and a rotting stench run through my hair, and slowly stepped towards the centre. I didn’t know what was out there, or if anyone was still alive, like me, but I had to be sure. I may not have chosen a life outside of Skyrim, but I was damn sure going to explore the Fallout that Skyrim had left behind.