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Welcome!

Come one, come all, come and read what I decided to write while bored at work one day. I love Skyrim, I love RWBY, and I think I've read every good 'The Gamer' fic out there so now here I am making my own.

I'm always looking for someone to beta-read my work, so if anybody is interested, please let me know.

I also don't typically do Author's Notes, so I'm really out of things to say.

Review if you feel like it, or even if you don't feel like it. I got about 6 reviews for 40k+ words on my last story so I don't really expect it. I'm also not going to promise on an update schedule, at least not until there's some interest in the fic.

Other than that, enjoy the story! Or don't, but if you don't enjoy it and read it anyways, you're kinda odd.

HHR, OUT!

"Our hero, our hero, the Dragonborn comes."

I still haven't figured out who wrote that damn song about me, but whoever it is deserves a very large, and very sharp sword. In and around the face area.

I never asked to be a hero. I never asked for the situations I was thrust into, where it was kill or be killed. Mostly, I never asked to have the fate of the world thrown onto my shoulders, yet bear the burden I did. For if I hadn't, who else would have?

I digress. My name is Torga. No last name, not that I know of. Over the course of my life I had accrued many names but Torga has stayed throughout. I am a Nordic male from the small town of Riverwood. I worked at a mill for a nice old lady named Gerdur. She was kind, if boring beyond all belief. Back then, I hadn't thought a second about the lack of excitement in her life. I was just an honourable Nord with the intentions of earning honest coin and drinking the days away.

Then I became the Dragonborn after almost getting my head cut off and witnessing the beginning of the end of the world. Cue the complete change of lifestyle.

Whereas at the onset of my 20th year on Nirn I had been a mellow man simply trying to eke out a living, I am now a warrior the likes of which had apparently not been seen for years. A hero.

I'd simply been scouting out some more trees to float down the river to the mill when I was assailed from all sides by fucking Legionnaires. Apparently I had walked into an ambush, and despite being clad in simple garb and having naught on me but an axe, I was a Stormcloak spy. That actually was the most logical conclusion reached that day, and by those half-wits in skirts no less. Then that bastard Alduin showed up, destroyed the town and ironically saved my I killed him. Quite literally argued him to death.

In fact, I killed him, then he was too craven to face his death like a dovah so I chased him to Sovngarde and killed him again. Since then it's been my go-to intimidation phrase. Just imagine a tall man walking up to you with the legendary Wuuthrad strapped to his back, and full steel plate armour hiding all of his features.

"Bitch, I'll cut off your head then follow you to the afterlife so I can do it again."

Usually got me what I wanted.

Anyways, the chase to find the scaled kitten that was apparently the "Eater of Worlds" was stupid. Underground caverns, invading the Thalmor Embassy, going back in time. It was crazy. But I did it, because destiny or something like that.

The Civil War was much easier to deal with. After completely ignoring how I was supposed to be stealthy at the Thalmor Embassy and slaughtering the weakling elves, I had time to plunder the place. You wouldn't believe what some of those knife-ears had, and most of it got sold to the same merchant. I heard he was framed, but that's his fault for buying clearly stolen merchandise.

Anyways, going through it I found out how the Thalmor were manipulating Ulfric Stormcloak into the war, and used Alduin as an excuse to get both him and General Tullius into the same room. I then locked myself in with them and made them talk it out.

Took two damn weeks, but peace was reached. Ulfric was given Skyrim as a sovereign nation, on the conditions that he continue raising an army to protect the Empire should it be needed. He wasn't happy, Tullius wasn't happy, but again, I was the Dragonborn. I can kill them at any point in time with one well-placed Shout. As a sovereign nation allied with the Empire instead of a part of it, Ulfric was free to legalize Talos worship, and then Tullius could go home. It was a win-win, and it boggles my mind that neither had thought of it earlier.

That done, I killed the werewolf pack hiding in Whiterun, took their mead-hall as my own base, and started recruiting my own little army. For years I took contracts, made money, and gained esteem within all of the holds.

Which brings me to today, my 50th birthday. I'd been married, had children, grown old, and was on the back of a random horse I'd bought at the gates of Whiterun. The man charged me double as I always ended up coming back without a horse so he felt he could charge me more for getting them killed. To be fair, I had money to burn,even with leaving the majority of it behind at Jorrvaskr, so his request was annoying but not too bad.

I'd ridden for a few days, once more making the trek up to the Throat of the World. Here I stood, alone. My horse had been killed by a frost troll. Paarthurnax was off doing dragon shit. In my hands, I held the cause and likely effect of my ascension to the role of hero: the Elder Scroll.

Those things were tricky. They weren't made, not exactly. They existed because I held it, and I could only hold it because it existed.

In hindsight, maybe it wasn't the greatest idea to use again, but I was bored.

I was bored because in my time of adventuring, in dungeon diving and in saving innocents, in brutally destroying those who I considered evil, I had grown accustomed to fighting for my life, fighting for a reason.

Now it was just "Hey Ralof, take a few men and kill those Giants." Or "Oi, Jon, get your bloody boots off my table or I'll cut off your legs."

There was no excitement anymore! Even when a rogue dragon would come around looking for food it would only take a shout to bring it down to my level then a couple well placed blows with Wuuthrad to kill it. I had absorbed as many dragon souls as I could, but now I didn't feel the rush of power and understanding I used to. It was just an annoyance to deal with.

Thus, I was about to read the Elder Scroll again. All of my greatest adventures had involved them, and I was itching for another one to break the monotony.

As I opened the scroll, the crackling sound of a Thu'um rose from behind me. It was too late, as the patterns burned themselves into my eyes I felt a piping hot dose of Unrelenting Force send me flying of the tip of the mortal world, and all faded to darkness.

For about 2 seconds.

I was tumbling through the air as I felt my protection disappear. Wuuthrad was torn from my back, my plate armour stripped from my body, my satchel torn from my grasp and the Scroll ceased to be. It didn't fade, or magically explode, it was simply gone. The province rushed by beneath me, faster and faster, ignoring all laws of motion.

As I flew on, trees started uprooting themselves, the stars fell from the sky, the water boiled out of the sea, and I honestly believed I accidently had taken Skooma again.

Then everything went dark again, this darkness ushering me into a very odd dream that I had no memory of having yet remember as clear as day.

Damn Elder Scroll.

Greetings to any new readers. Before we get too far into this, I'm going to answer a few of the most frequently asked questions in a little QA section here.

Q: Why is this story so bad?

A: It's not. It's old, and I was young, but I still had a loose plan.

Q: Your MC is a prick. I don't like him and I cannot finish the story because of it.

A: Okay. He's supposed to be an asshole at first, but you do you.

Q: What happened to Jaune?

A: He got soul-swapped. I've flirted with the idea of writing a sister fic to detail Jaune's adventures in a post-Dovahkiin Skyrim, but that wouldn't be until after this fic. I don't have the time to write multiple at once.

Q: *Literally anything about any of the fandoms*

A: This is fanfiction, written based on a collection of fictional universes. I try to stay as self-consistent as possible, but if you ask why my MC doesn't do that thing they do in that universe, well, I've got a reason. Some things were adjusted, added, or removed, based on where I needed the story to go. Give the story the benefit of the doubt, please and thank you.