Chapter 1

Weyster Aulell, Dragonborn, Harbinger of the Companions, Arch-Mage the College of Winterhold, King of Skyrim and High Rock, and Emperor of Tamriel were his most commonly known titles. However, he was also Leader of the Thieves Guilds, Listener of the Dark Brotherhood, and champion to almost all Daedric Princes. Weyster was the closest thing to a God on Mundus, the mortal plane, but in the end, he was still a mortal. He might've lived for much longer time than any other mortals – thanks to the many Dragon souls he absorbed during his life – but his time came to an end as well.

As the Dragonborn, Weyster was born with the blood and soul of a Dragon, gifted to him by Akatosh himself, the Dragon God of Time, the chief deity of the Divines. As such, Akatosh should've been the one to claim his soul. Weyster should've spent eternity living on the Dragon God's planet. However, due to the connections he made with most of the Daedra – and some of the Aedra – they all seemed very interested in his soul. After all, he was the Dragonborn, and all of them wanted a piece of him. That's the situation Weyster found himself after his death. A tug of war between Gods, all pulling him in different directions. The Daedra pulling him towards their planes, and the Aedra towards their planets.

It seemed like such a good idea when he was alive and well. Make a pact with a Daedra, get an artifact and a power boost, and he only needed to accomplish a task or two in return. Now, his actions were biting him in the ass, as he felt his soul about to split in pieces. And he thought a Dragon's breath was painful.

'If I knew this would happen, I would've taken up Serana on her offer.' Being a vampire just wasn't his thing. Weyster wasn't fond of that idea, but now… it seemed like it would've been such a smart choice. Though he really enjoyed his food solid and cooked.

The soul tearing pain was becoming more and more unbearable, and Weyster felt he was at his end. He accepted his fate, the only thing that annoyed him was that he had to go through this pain before that. 'Couldn't they have just crushed my soul already? I'm sure some of them are petty enough to do that, just so the others can't have me.'

Just before his soul was split apart, Weyster witnessed a magnificent scene he would never forget. That is… if he survived. A golden light covered his being, and Akatosh appeared in all of his Draconic glory. The Dragon God of Time was majestic, there was no other way to put it. His being was enormous, made out of golden fire that gave of a comfortable warmth. At least it felt that way to Weyster, who was basking in Akatosh's presence.

Just as he was thinking that nothing more impressive than the Dragon God of Time could exist, it happened. Akatosh, who was large as the sun and gave of a brilliant golden light, was suddenly overshadowed by another being. It had the appearance of a bird made of fire. It was at least two times bigger than the Akatosh, and its flames made the Dragon's look tame in comparison.

'Who, what is this?' Weyster was in awe, as he felt everyone stop tugging on his soul and quickly scurrying away to their planes. He couldn't believe. This bird of fire scared all of the Daedric Princess away? By itself? Which Aedra was this? Or was it a Daedra? It looked like one of the Altmeri Sunbirds, however, they couldn't compare to its majesty. But how come he'd never heard about it before? Weyster had so many questions, but no one to answer him.

'You were fun to watch over child, although you were very unruly.' Weyster heard a male voice in his head. He turned his head towards Akatosh, assuming the Dragon had spoken to him. Disagreeing with that statement was hard, as he hadn't been a very good person per se. He did, however, save Mundus by defeating Alduin. That had to mean something, right?

'It did.' Akatosh sounded amused, or at least, Weyster thought so. 'I wish you luck.' He then continued, perplexing Weyster with that statement.

'Wish me luck? For what?' Weyster asked in his head as he watched Akatosh flaps his wings once and simply vanish, leaving him alone with the majestic bird of fire.

'Um, hi? I don't believe I've offended you during my life.' At least Weyster didn't think so. Unless the bird was one of the Altmeri Gods, then… yeah, he butchered so many of them when they decided to break the peace treaty and attack the continent. He was royally fucked if this was an Altmeri God. The only response he received was a torrent of golden flames.

'At least I had a good life.' Weyster though as the flames engulfed him. Instead of the scorching pain he expected, what he felt was a soothing sensation that fixed his soul from the small tears caused by the earlier tugging.

'Huh? So, maybe I haven't offended you?' Again, Weyster didn't receive a verbal response. He felt as if he was suddenly squeezed in a container way too tight for him.

'Maybe I have.' Next thing he knew; he was suddenly falling towards the ground. Gathering his magicka, he took control of his flight and slowed down, gently landing on the ground. It's not like this was the first time he had an experience like this one.

"What the Divines? I'm young again!" Weyster exclaimed looking down at himself in wonder. He didn't even care that he was naked as the day he was born. Again, it wasn't the first time he stark naked and somewhere unknown. Dragonborn he may be, but outlasting a Nord in a drinking contest wasn't something easily achievable even for him. At least he could drink his fellow Bretons under the table without even trying.

"So… where am I? That Firebird God brought me over to its planet?" Weyster questioned out loud and looked around. He was in some kind of forest, which looked pretty normal. The air was warm, at least compared to Skyrim. Though he didn't think there were many places colder than there.

"LAAS YAH NIR!" Weyster's shout was nothing but a whisper that revealed all life around.

"Small animals and lots of bugs. Nothing too dangerous around me," He concluded after spinning around, looking at the world with a unique perspective. The Dragon language was remarkable, there was no other way to put it. Mages studied for decades how to manipulate reality with their magic, but Dragons… they just had to speak their language and do the same. Still, Weyster was a Breton and knew the craft of his people very well.

With a snap of his finger, clothes made out of purple energy covered his body. Weyster wasn't the Arch-Mage for no reason and conjuring clothes for himself was an easy feat for him. He didn't care about nudity that much, but he preferred not to run with his meat swinging around. It just wasn't comfortable. With another snap of his fingers, the appearance of the clothes changed, no longer looking as if they were made out of pure energy, but like simple every day fine clothes.

Weyster had lived long enough to master multiple branches of magic. It wouldn't be presumptuous of himself to even say he'd mastered almost all of them. If the Psijic Order were a bit more open with their knowledge, it would've been a different story.

"So…. What am I supposed to do here?" Weyster asked out loud. Akatosh's last words were wishing him luck, but for what? Was he going to be punished? He really didn't know.

'Find my host… help her.' A female voice rang in his mind, and Weyster looked around, seeing no one near him. Quickly, he concluded that must've been the Firebird God that spoke to him.

"Okay… Anything else?" Weyster asked. He didn't think the Firebird saved him for no reason and completing tasks was his thing. Though he would've preferred some more information. For God's sake, he didn't even know where he was.

Weyster patiently waited for some time, hoping the Firebird would elaborate just a bit more. He'd completed vague quests before, but he at least knew where he was and where to look. The only information he currently had was that he had to help a woman.

'The Firebird called her a host. Hmm.' That complicated things. Was it another smaller Firebird? Or was it a human being? A Mer? An Imperial? A Nord? A Redguard? A Breton?

'Okay... this won't be easy. Even with…' Weyster's thoughts were interrupted by a loud growl. He rubbed his stomach and gave it pat, feeling absolutely famished. "Food first, quest later."

Turning around, Weyster conjured a bow in his hands. He could easily capture and kill an animal with magic, but Aela taught him the joy of the hunt, the pleasure of hunting game like a hunter. Skinning it afterward and enjoying its tender meat, cooked over a fire.

'I hope she's having fun in Hircine's domain.' Daedric Princess were believed to be evil Gods by most humans, but Weyster didn't think so. He even liked some of them. A few of them, he would kill if he had the power and chance to do it. Mehrunes Dagon and Molag Bal were two he would happily butcher. Hermaeus Mora could also be added to the list. Stupid tentacle monster thought he could control him.

Weyster had a pretty good relation with the three Daedric Princess worshiped by the Dunmer. They weren't as evil as most believed them to be. Hell, they were pretty cool even, and his relation certainly had nothing to do with the sexy Dunmer that frequented his bed chambers. No, no, no, it was all about Morrowind, making the nation feel like part of the Empire, and not a kingdom forgotten by it. The sexy Dunmer and their skillful tongues had nothing to do with it.

Thinking about his time on Tamriel wouldn't fill his craving stomach, so Weyster focused on the task at hand. The life force of the creatures around him were still lit up, visible only to him. Some were a bit too small for his liking, so he stepped deeper inside the forest. Finally, he located one that suited his tastes. A deer was nibbling on some grass and didn't suspect a thing. Animals had better senses the humans, but Weyster's steps gave off no sound as he neared it. Raising his Bound Bow, he took aim and fired his arrow. The shot him the deer in the neck, ending its life instantly.

Weyster walked over to it and dismissed the bow, replacing it with a dagger. He cut off the head of the deer and looked at it for a moment. Now, normally, he would hang the deer and drain its blood naturally, but he was very hungry. Weyster took hold of the deer with his magic and raised in the air. Focusing hard, he then squeezed the blood out of it.

Weyster began skinning the deer as branches broke off from the trees around him. Some of the piled up in front of him while two jabbed themselves in the ground. When he finished skinning the deer, another branch flew over to him. It transformed into metal just as he touched, and he used it to puncture his game. The two branched that were standing up also turned into metal with a v-shaped handle at the top.

Alteration was such a useful branch. Though not without its dangers. Transfiguring oneself could end up very badly for the unskilled, and there were some very dumb magicians. He would never forget when one thought it a good idea to transfigure rocks into sweetrolls and eat them. The dumbass hadn't considered what would happen when the spell expired. The magician's stomach certainly didn't appreciate the outcome.

After placing the punctured deer on top of them, a flame appeared in Weyster's hand, and he used it to lit the piled up branches. With saliva dropping his mouth, he started at the deer which slowly started rotation on its own.

Excitedly, he grabbed one of the deer legs when he believed the meat to be ready, easily pulling it off. Not only was he younger again, but he had regained his strength. Being dead was better than he expected. Then again, he thought he would spend an eternity on Akatosh's planet while being revered as a champion of champions.

Gingerly, Weyster took a bite from the meat and moaned in pleasure. It wasn't seasoned, it was nothing special for that matter, but in his famished state, it tasted heavenly. Within seconds, he was holding nothing but a bone in his hand. Quickly reaching out, he took off another leg from the deer.

"If only there was someone to enjoy this with me," Weyster said while eating. Food always tasted better when enjoyed with good company. Alas, he was all on his own on this unfamiliar planet. He still wondered which God was the Firebird.

'Maybe she is one of the Bretony Pantheon?' Weyster mused. 'But that doesn't really make sense.' There were only three female Goddesses worshiped by the Bretons. Dibella, Goddess of Beauty and Love, Mara, the Mother Goddess, and Kynareth Goddess of the Heavens, Sky and Wind. Out of the three, only Mara and Kynareth made some sense, but none of them were ever depicted as Firebirds.

As Weyster was pondering on this topic, he suddenly tensed up, sensing a surge of magical energy around him. Multiple golden portals formed in front of him. Magicians rushed out of them, all wearing robes similar to those the Psijic Order wore.

"Bretons, Imperials, and Redguards," Weyster stated after looking them over. "What a welcoming party for the Dragonborn," He continued as they all raised their hands with golden circles of energy spinning around them.

"And here I thought, I was loved by all except for the Altmer," Weyster laughed out, but inwardly his magicka was bubbling, ready to wreak havoc upon his enemies with devastating spells. He was missing his artifacts and enchantment equipment – all of them were back on Mundus – but that didn't make him any less dangerous. Not only was he the Dragonborn, but he hadn't earned his many positions out of luck. He was a force to be reckoned with even if he was stranded stark naked in the middle of nowhere. Plus, his strongest weapon was his Voice, and they definitely didn't wish to experience it in action.

A bald woman stepped forward. While keeping her hands up with the rotating magical energy, she spoke to him in some foreign language. Now that was a surprise since he was pretty sure he was verse in all languages spoken on Mundus. Plus, the woman looked like a Breton, so for all intents and purposes, he should've been able to understand her.

"Yeah, I didn't understand that," Weyster replied in Bretic, receiving a frown in response. "You don't seem to as well," He continued with Old Bretic, but received the same response.

"What kind of Breton are you if you don't understand either of those?" Weyster asked in one of the Mer languages, but again, the bald-headed woman just frowned.

The rest of the magicians looked just as confused as her, but none of them dropped their magic, ready to react at a moment's notice. Weyster was much the same, and if they made one wrong move, he was ready to unleash hell upon them. Many have tried their hand at killing the Last Dragonborn, and just as many have failed. Time was the only one that succeeded, but he didn't count that one.

The bald-headed woman waved her hands, and Weyster tensed up. His protective spells were on the tip of his fingers, ready to defend himself from any magic she might cast. However, nothing dangerous happened as his senses studied the spell she used. 'Some kind of spell from the Mysticism branch.'

"Do you understand me now?" She asked slowly, speaking in perfect Bretic, as she should've from the very beginning. She was a Breton for God's sake.

"Yes, I can," Weyster confirmed. "Did you pretend not to understand me, or are you able to speak Bretic due to the spell?" He then asked.

"I do not know of this Bretic you speak off," She replied. "I'm speaking in English, and you should hear it in the language you are most familiar with."

"Nifty spell. Would've saved me so much time studying different languages," Weyster said and grinned. "So are you the welcoming party? Or have you come here to join me in my meal? I do remember I wished for someone to share it with, though I don't think it's enough for all of you."

Some of the mages lower their hands and cancelled their spells from his easygoing personality. However, the bald-headed woman stayed ever so vigilant, along a few others who stared daggers at him. 'They could stare all they want to. It won't change the fact that I'm more handsome than they are.'

"We are here to discern your presence here," She answered. "Why have you come to Earth and what are your intentions?"

"Wait… you don't know who I am, do you?" Weyster asked back as he slowly stood up. The mages that had dropped their hands instantly raised them back up.

"No," She replied simply with a blank look on her face.

"Ahh, allow me to introduce myself," Weyster said with a grin and cleared his throat.

"Here before you stands Weyster Aulell, The Last Dragonborn, Harbinger of the Companions, Arch-Mage the College of Winterhold, King of Skyrim and High Rock, and Emperor of Tamriel." Weyster spread his arms wide as his conjured clothes disappeared, revealing him in all of his glory for all to see.