Breedall, Bosmer Breeder

Kent’s vision started to blur. He yawned as he watched the text populate from the behavior program he used for Skyrim. “So far, so good.” He lamented to himself, watching the program generate the animations for his latest perverted mod list. ‘When did it get to be so much?’ Kent thought to himself. He scrolled over the mod list, briefly reading the various names and double checking for any conflicts. He chuckled, seeing some of the more perverted spells and heavily porn specific mods. Taking a sip of his energy drink, he tried to attain some form of wokeness, his head bobbing a bit as he set his half full cup down.

After what felt like ages, he saw that the generator had completed its task. Kent stretched out his arms and started the script extender. He waited patiently, knowing that he didn’t have the best equipment for modding, but he made due, and was proud of how it looked anyway. As the game loaded, as the drums and logos started to appear, Kent felt a big yawn approach. He let out an almost deafening yawn as he stretched out his arms again, accidentally bumping into his cup, spilling his energy drink all over his computer. “Shit!” Kent exclaimed, trying his best to pick up the cup again and minimize damage, but it was too late. He watched as some of the liquid went into the vents and started to short circuit his computer. “Shit, fuck, shit!” he continued to curse.

Suddenly, a vortex appeared on his screen. “What the fu—” is all Kent could say before he was pulled into the vortex. He screamed, feeling his entire body spark, as though he became a conductor for the electricity that surged through him, then darkness.

***

Kent moaned, “What the hell happened?” he asked himself. As he sat up, he felt…different. He sat up on what seemed to be ground and looked at his hands. “Why am I…gold?” Kent had always been a rather pale Asian kid, but this was an almost unnatural color of gold, only possessed mostly by a certain race in Skyrim. He continued to inspect his body. He saw that his hair was long enough to show that he had a very autumn colored orange. He felt his face, a bit pointy, mostly on his ears, confirming he was one of his elf characters, a scar under one of his eyes. He felt his arms and chest, the power that came from his beefing up this elf in bodyslide. He could see his legs were rather slim for someone of his build. “He, I guess I made him skip leg day.” Kent chuckled to himself. “Probably cause of this third leg right here.” He gazed at his own creation, the dick of his character. Even soft, it reached his knees, the girth even more impressive, almost being as thick as his own forearms.

Kent finally looked around, noticing the trees and rocks around him. He recognized the foliage but did not know exactly where he was. He knew one thing though; he was in Skyrim. As he tried to figure out which file he got sucked into, his head exploded in pain. Images and scenes started to play out in his head. He saw himself in a river reflection, confirming he was of the Bosmer, or wood elf, race. His name was Breedall. His life was very plain, but he bothered no one. He was a farmer in his former life. Being Bosmer gave him some advantage for nature, and therefore agriculture. It was one night when he was laying down to sleep when his farm was invaded by Nords. They busted down his door, yelling to get the pointy eared bastard. He could tell they were Stormcloaks by their bear themed armor. Breedall tried to jump through the opening of his house, but was grabbed by one of the men by the ankle. The nameless nord struck him with the blunt end of his hammer, knocking Breedall out.

Breedall would awaken later, his vision clearing up as one of his cart mates spoke. “Hey you, you’re finally awake. You were trying to cross the border, walked right into that imperial…” Breedall stopped paying attention, not caring what the man had to say. He was angry at the Nords. Before he set out on his own farm, he wanted to defy so called “customs” of his people and try to make it in the city in possibly the most polar opposite of where his people are from. He knew he was the, ironically, largest minority, but he wanted to make a difference in the world. Unfortunately, a lot of the nords did not have a fondness for elves of any kind. Some were kind, but many believed him to be part of the Thalmor and therefore, the Empire, the very group that was trying to change their precious traditions. It became so bad that Breedall had to move away, and he settled near what was known as Southfringe Sanctum. The fact that despite this, they invaded his home, he had to do something.

The next moments seemed to run faster in Kent’s/Breedall’s head. Images of fire, dragons, and running through the underground of Helgen with Hadvar. Then Hadvar telling him to meet him in Riverwood.

Kent, or rather Breedall, was breathing fast, having taken in so much information in such a short amount of time. He stood, stretching out his body, Kent could feel the power coursing through him. What should be virtual, was very much real now. Kent scratched his head, what was he to do now?