Skyrim Jump Chapter (Formerly P is for Perfection)

Shmi wailed terribly over the dead body of her son, so I did us all a favor and snatched a rifle from a nearby guard droid and put Old Yeller down.

She'd served her purpose nicely, but without a sadistic need to rub my sexual domination of his mother into the Chosen One's face I didn't have any further use for her.

With my good deed for the day done I called for a massive feast in celebration of my victory. The party was made far livelier by the contingent of young buff hutts that worked as my training partners and fraternity brothers. Much liquor was consumed and words were said, and my fist met Grakkus's face over some petty shit, signaling to Jack that it was time to take me to bed before I could further ruin the party.

"Alright Big Boy, now its just you and me." She grinned as she stripped us down.

That night I made love like a man possessed, achieving sexual heights never before seen in this galaxy, and when my release came the universe itself couldn't handle it and gaped open a portal to another dimension.

As we fell through reality, I realized I'd done it again. Awe shucks.

Jar-Shak had known what he wanted in life even as a young hatchling in Leyawiin. He felt the call of the mysteries of magic and studied as much as he could for the day he would join the Mages Guild. Oh how he would rejoice on that happy day.

A day that never came. When Jar-Shak came to the book store to return a faulty Flames and Healing spell tomes he received the worst news of his life. The book seller, an active mage herself, checked the young argonian with a spell and informed him that it was not the spell tomes that were at fault, it was his own minuscule magicka pool. She told him that even if he trained his whole life he would never have enough mana to perform Apprentice level magic, and would only ever be able to channel novice spells for a brief moment, some not even at all. The most he would ever achieve with his magic would be to heal a small scrape or a bruise, light a camp fire.

Weeping, the young argonian ran to the Mages Guild who confirmed the book seller's prognosis. His fellow argonian counseled him to give up on magic and instead focus on building his life around his exceptional stamina reserves, but Jar-Shak would not be deterred, not when their was still a chance however small to achieve his dream of becoming a mage.

The next day Jar-Shak began his trek up to Skyrim, to the northernmost part of the Empire and to the College of Winterhold, the one time rival of the Mages Guild. Despite the cataclysm that sunk much of the region into the sea, Jar-Shak held on to the hope that the College would have a path for him to follow to his dream. He clutched that hope tightly as he endured the hardships of the road and the brutal cold of Skyrim. And when he arrived at his destination, that hope was finally extinguished.

They didn't even let him inside.

Weeping tears that froze to his scaly face, Jar-Shak withdrew from society and travelled south slowly, living the life of a subsistence hunter and gatherer. In Falkreath he ran afoul the local Jarl and was charged as a poacher. Using his incredible stamina and the wiry body his months of travel had built, Jar-Shak fled faster than the guards could pursue him, even outlasting the horses that attempted to ride him down as he ran thorough the woods.

Completely crushed by his lot in life, Jar-Shak fell in with the outlaws that had taken over Fort Neugrad. Though he never participated in their highway robberies, the argonian found his place in life providing meat and hides for the bandit tribe. He never found happiness, but at least he experienced occasional pleasure with the female nord who ran the group with an iron fist.

His life was tolerable until the sky split open and a pair of terrifying people fell on top of him and began ripping into him with their teeth.

All he ever wanted was to be a mage.

Jack and I gained a lot from the argonian outlaw. Argonians are tougher than the other races with an innate boost to their base health pool, an incredible immune system that protects them from both poisons and disease, and the ability to breath under water which we could use despite not forming any gills of our own.

This was all on top of the incredible strength and durability the people of this world possessed. They could easily swing swords as much as nine times heavier than an earth based human, and could withstand multiple attacks from these weapons. Jar-Shak's natural stamina would always be a wonderful addition, and although we would be just a shit at magic as him, I couldn't care less.

"Holy shit you have a tail!" Jack yelled as she pointed at my girthy orange crocodilian tale topped in my flexible graphite plates.

The tail felt right, I'd always been so front heavy, every krogan is, and for the first time in my new life I felt balanced and agile. Despite the wonderful addition I couldn't peel my eyes away from my hands until I turned to my wife, looked her in the eyes, and gave her the double bird salute.

Jack responded immediately by copying my rude gesture, until she gasped in shock and squealed, "You have middle fingers!"

That's right, people. For the first time in over twelve years I had middle fingers.

I raised my middle fingers to the sky with tears in my eyes and shouted loud enough to scare the birds out of the trees, "I HAVE MIDDLE FINGERS!"

"Well stop lollygagging and put those new fingers to their proper use." my naked wife enticed.

With my long term disability overcome, I joyously complied to her request.

That night I pounced on the sleeping look out placed at the rotted away gate to Fort Neugrad. I wrapped one hand around his neck and used the other to punch his head until his skull collapsed, shockingly taking three whole punches despite my monstrous power. The people in this world are ridiculously tanky.

I took up the man's steel greatsword and gave it an experimental one handed swing. It was nothing special, but it pleased my inner geek to swing the Skyrim styled weapon. We only managed to kill two more people before a redguard spotted us and my swing to his middle failed to cleave the bastard in half. It was a fatal wound if left untreated, but once again the raw amount of punishment everything in this world can take was on full display.

I ran my sword through his exposed chest and moved on as the bandits all ran over to swarm us.

Jack had taken up a pair of axes and now ignited her blue biotic aura, taking the charge to the bandits with explosive results. She started hacking away at a man's neck while I leapt onto the back of a woman and ran my sword through the base of her skull.

Fortunately, critical hits are locationally based and not up to random chance, so we ended our targets and moved on.

The nord woman Jar-Shak occasionally slept with put up the most fight. Her steel plate armor made her so much tankier than any of her underlings. She defended her vulnerable areas adroitly and it was really our speed advantage that kept things from getting out of hand. Of course Jack could have just handled the problem with her biotics, but the feral grin on her face from the visceral combat was a beautiful sight to see.

I'd piled up the bodies and burned them before dawn. They had more than enough food supplies for me not to dip into eating manflesh. Though I'd be getting that Ring of Namira no doubt.

We spent a few days putting together our game plan and making us some comfortable clothes with the leather and hides Jar-Shak had kept these people flush in. I'd also taken all their weapons and armor and reworked it all using the small smelter and forge that had survived from the time this fort was an imperial stronghold.

Years of working with armor and weapons and engineers ensured that I didn't need much time to figure out how to work with the iron and steel of this universe. I started out with a pair of boot knives for us and then a pair of belt daggers, after that a hefty longsword and round shield for Jack and a similar scaled up shield and a pole axe for me. The wide flaring axe head was straight and sharp, with a sharpened underjaw for tearing down a dragon's wing leather. The hammer was thick and knobbed to create intense pressure points. I'd fixed what amounted to a steel dagger on the top and secured it all down the shaft by wrapping the top third in steel completely rather than using langets. I wrapped the rest of the oak shaft in leather and capped it with a piece of steel the size of Jack's fist.

I called her The Mule, and she was beautiful.

Dressed in the leather and fur outfits Jack made for us and strapped into our iron armor and adventurers backpacks we began the long trek to Whiterun and our goal of joining the Companions.