pt. I
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"It starts with a dream. Always with a dream.
 
"Enough to shake me from my sleep. Sometimes it's just a smell, or the feeling of some strangely familiar ground crunching beneath my feet, soil between my toes. Other times, I find myself standing in an open field. The sun's tone just offset, just different enough to tell me that I'm not in Kansas anymore. It always starts with a dream of... somewhere else. Somewhen else. One impression becomes two. Then four dreams. Each one becoming more vivid. It's funny... as the days go by, I look forward to the next dream. The next flash. 
 
"That's what it is. A flash. 
 
"A glimmer of a memory. A shard of a shattered world. How can it be real?" 
 
The doctor crossly adjusted the glasses sitting on the tip of his nose. "It isn't real, Max. I thought we were well beyond that fantasy. I thought we had moved on from this."
 
"I know, I know... But you haven't seen what I've seen or... Experienced--"
 
"You haven't experienced anything other a projection of repressed feelings, Maxwell. I can't help you until you accept that."
 
"Right," Max replied. "Then why are you asking me about it?"
 
"You know why," Doctor Foster sneered. He had clearly been through all of this with Maxwell before. His patience was paper thin. "Talk it out, Max... So that we can find its root, dig it up, and excise it from your subconscious."
 
Max frowned, slumped in his by-design-uncomfortable chair.
 
"...in those moments, those flashes... I know who I am. I know my name," his voice wavered. "I know my family, the land, the air. I know the weight of... Of a blade in my hand--" 
 
Doctor Foster snapped the glasses from his face, reflecting Max's frown back at him. "Tell me, Max... What is your name in these... Flashes?"
 
Maxwell Denwood's face grew tense, eyes tightly closed. Clenched shut, shutting out this world... this life.
 
"I am Nord. My name," his lips trembled. "My name is Joshuar. Of Lorton. I am ... cold."
 
Foster recrossed his legs, beginning to scribble in his notebook, eyes narrow. "Why are you cold, Max?"
 
The frown on his face spreads, more deliberate. "Snow."
 
 
More scribbling."It... It's snowing," Max murmurs. "It's snowing."  
 
Shifting his weight, Dr.Foster now cradles chin in hand, elbow resting on the arm of his chair. His grimace stretches as he speaks. "Where are you, Max?"
 
Max doesn't hesitate. Eyes still closed, his head lifts. 
 
"The moons are high. Bright. There is..." he stammers. "There is blood."
 
Foster shakes his head. "Focus, Max. Where are you?"
 
"Blood..."
 
"Focus," Foster pleads, sitting up now. "Where ARE you?" 
 
Max answers with only one word. A word that will lead them both on an incredible journey. One which would alter both of their lives; past and present. That word?

"Skyrim."

O.o

I like it. ^_^

I also like it=3
Go for part 2=D

hm, interesting spin on events. I want to see which focus of direction the story takes. (see what I did there?)

i lke it to:D

Author's Note:

Sorry for the delay in the second chapter... I sort of spontaneously posted the first with only a vague idea of a root story. But in the days following its posting, I have really dug in and tried to flesh it out further in my head and to do that, you need an even greater understanding and clarity of... Well... "tamrielic lore". That being said, expect the next chapter within the next few days!

Thank you!

kk.

Wow that was cool. I could see that being a commercial for Skyrim. But ya looking forward to Part 2. Well Done.

pt.II
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"Skyrim... Land of ice and rock, of heart and spirit. The home of my people, from whence my family line first sprang forth, before the First Age.

"To hear myself say that aloud, I know it might seem foolish. Yet it is, at times, the foolish who find themselves in the tomes of history. I wonder... What pages might my name one day fall. Mad man? Hero? Martyr? My saving grace alone is that my story has not been told."

The ground crunched beneath his boots, ice taking hold of soil. Shifting his weight, he paused before crouching.

"To think... To find myself here. And you... there," his voice trailed off, eyes locked. "I have come home. Abandoned my service to the Empire to save you. And yet, here you are."

Joshuar brushed the frozen earth aside, bearing the stone slate to the harsh elements.

"And here am I." Clearing his throat, he stood and brushed his hands off on his rough leather pants. "I'm told that their is need of a courier here. A messenger. You know me, all too well. Enough to know that I'll jump at the chance to play that role. Can't nail me down to one place, eh?"

His eyes narrowed towards the horizon, moons cresting high above. "The work of a courier is simple yet vital. And in a land like this, like Skyrim, where the ice we tread always seems crackling under our feet, with the sky always just about to fall, with the other sandal always so close to dropping... The work of a courier is always interesting, to say the least."

Joshuar of Lorton took a strong step backwards, as if to imply his imminent departure from this sacred place. The mound of dirt at his feet seemed to hum back at him and he couldn't help the smile on his lips.

"I can only hope you'd approve," he sighed. "It was you that brought me back, you know... Back from the pomp and circumstance of Cyrodil. ... and since I'm here. Well... There is always work to be done. Messages to deliver. And stories to be told. We know what the world will remember of you... But what OF me, fair brother?"

Kissing the index and forefinger of his right hand, he leaned down and briefly pressed them to the stone before rising back up and back.

"I suppose time will tell," Joshuar said. "Until next time."

One hand resting on the hilt of the grand iron sword in it's sheath, he turned and began to walk away loudly. Louder than he was accustomed, what with the much colder ground. He had spent the last eight years over the Jerral Mountains, where the sun shone warm. He'd nearly forgotten what Skyrim was like, the chill in the air, the taste of the water. Yet he would grow accustomed once more. In the morning, he would meet with the redguard courier, Barlin, about taking on a paying job. In the afternoon, he would secure the purchase of a horse who might carry him to his first destination.

He was home again, in Skyrim. And life, once again, had changed.

Calling out over his shoulder, his grin somehow stretched further across his broad, Nord face.

"Don't go anywhere."

----------------------
Next Chapter:
We go back to Dr. Foster's office, where Max walks face first into a flash from another world and we learn a bit more about what's going on in Joshuar's Skyrim...

I like the emotion a lot. Descriptive and nice, a very touching sequence that builds character and a modest background. Not too much in history or details OF the background. Just details of the moment, and hints of where he is going but never quite sure. A great start to a long story ahead.
Kudos., I'll rep that up for you.

Thank you! My plan (at the moment) is to use the doctor sessions to reveal the details and the in-skyrim moments to tell a broader story. Using each setting to expand and play off of the same story. That will be the intent.

Thanks again.

Very good I read it once and then chose to read it again but this time as a narrator. and both times I loved it. Well done looking forward to more.

+ rep

Sweet!

pt.III
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"My brother was a traitor, they told me. Joined a growing rebellion to the north," he spoke. "Those of us stationed near the Imperial City had heard whispers of secession wafting over the mountains to the north. We had heard rumblings from those who'd toured the northern Holds that the Jarls of Skyrim wanted to make a statement to the Emperor, but the High King had repeatedly silenced them. I'd heard, but never gave it much credence."
 
Max's eyes roamed wildly under their lids, his voice was different. Markedly colder. Dr. Foster adjusted his glasses before settling deeper into his chair. "Explain to me where, when you are, Maxwell," he asked. "Is this Rome?"
 
Max's brow furrowed, eyes tight with confusion. "I don't know that name. I am in Skyrim. The year is... isn't clear. Late in the Third Age, this I know."
 
Foster set his pen down on the notepad, ever frowning. 
 
"I have been called home... News of my brothers betrayal changed the way my fellow guardsmen looked at me. Changed the air. They said he was a known conspirator in the Stormcloaks--"
 
Foster snapped the pen back up and got back to scribbling. "Tell me about this resistance group. Clearly, this is all an expression and representation of some kind of inner conflict," Foster thought aloud. 
 
"I know little of them. As I said, the only news that came from the North was news the Chancellor wanted to come from the North. When I realized that my peers in the barracks had lost their faith in me... And when I realized that he was in trouble... I quietly left my post in Skingrad aiming northward. I know that I will one day have to answer for abandoning my service to the Emperor... But my homeland called for me and I had to answer. But the journey over the Jerralls was long and difficult. I was too late to save him--"
 
"Your brother?", Foster interjected. "What happened to him?"
bar 
Max shakes his head. 
 
"It is said that the local Imperial Legion staged a massive raid on a rebel encampment. Prisoners were taken," Max paused. "But my brother was not one of them."
 
Foster stopped himself short of offering the obligatory response of: "My condolences." 
 
"I stand over his still-fresh grave. The air bites back in a strangely comforting way. I... Tell him I'll be back. But that isn't true," Max mumbles.
 
"And why is that, Max? Why won't you be back?" 
 
"Because... Tomorrow, I leave for Winterhold bearing an important message for an important person," Max said before swallowing hard. "Tomorrow I meet with Barlin and agree to be his courier. Tomorrow, my journey truly begins."
 
 
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Next Chapter: Joshuar accepts the courier job and sets off for Winterhold... We learn more about the state of the Stormcloaks resistance... and also a bit about his service in the Imperial Guard!
 

Whoa. Why is the text doing that? Stretching across the screen... Ugh. Is that just on my safari browser?

Nope. I'm on my Touchpad, and it stretches out. Nice part, btw!