Tonight, Matthew, I'm going to be the Dovahkiin... DRAGONBORN! -- A Skyrim LP --

[Revising Ocelot]

A few disclaimers before we start:

I've never played Skyrim or any other Elder Scrolls game before.
I'm pretty much going into this blind.

Thus, many decisions will be left to you guys. I trust in your ability to not steer me towards the nearest Giant looking to abuse the laws of physics.

The main character's thoughts will be defined with 'Blah blah', and his actual speech will be "Blah blah", for clarification. Second-person narration gets nothing at all. Yeah, I'm not good at writing.

Any additional notes will get spliced into here.










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An individual wakes up in a cart heading down a snowy trail.





He is not sure exactly why he is in the cart. Or who he is. Or what he is. Or if he's actually a she.

It strikes this individual that they really don't know much of anything at all.
'That was some damn strong alcohol last night. Was it even alcohol? I vaguely remember some mentions about 'dragon piss', but that's all. Bunch of mammothshit anyway, because I'm quite sure that dragons don't exist, and that I had 68... er... pounds? Credits? Gold? Sestersii? Ugh, whatever. Feeling more sober than ever now, at any rate. May as well take stock of the situation.





'Man, you've got hair like a douchebag.'





'What border? Where the hell is this? Are you even listening to me?'
'...no you aren't, are you, because I'm not even saying anything. This whole 'drunken memory loss' issue is incredibly stupid, in more ways than one. For now, I'm just calling you Douchebag.'





'Your name shall be Douchbaggier.'





'At least this guy has a more legitimate reason for not saying anything, so he won't get renamed Ulfric Douchebaggiest. At least for now.'





'From the sound of things this cart caravan isn't going anywhere pleasant. Ugh - it's starting to feel like there's a fire up in the ol' cranium, which is clearly not related to the walrus piss I've been quaffing. It was walrus, right?'





'What a dump. Town of douchebags. The things I could do here... if I had any idea who or what I am. Blech.





The mysterious monologuer had a seriously bad feeling about this... or possibly a good feeling. It's kinda hard to tell. Let's just hope these douchebags feel what happens before s/he does.







'Well, that... just about says it all, really. Don't feel like running anyway. Not on this bladder. It's like a pool party down there, except filled with flaming dragon piss. Wait, dragons? Why the hell are I thinking about such moronic flights of fancy, anyway? Wouldnt it be better to contemplating my life, the ups and downs, triumphs and regrets, victories and failures, and... oh yeah. Memory loss.'

Well, to hell with it. You're going to try to start fixing that.





Starting right now.








So, let's choose a race, gender, and maybe even facial features for our dragon-obsessed, hungover uncertainty.
Racial choices are:

• Altmer - High Elves
• Argonian - Lizard Freaks
• Breton - Humans
• Bosmer - Wood Elves
• Dunmer - Dark Elves
• Imperial - More Humans
• Khajiit - Giant Cats
• Nord - Even More Humans
• Redguard - Humans, And More Of Them
• Orsimer - Orcs