The Derpy-Verse

Arc I
The Cat and the Nord

Far away, over soaring, snow capped peaks that thrust themselves into a cold, slate gray sky, past winding rivers and deep green valleys and long verdant plains, filled with quaint villages and castle keeps, and landscapes that deserve nothing but a full sixty piece orchestral suite playing their theme, in a mystical land on the other end of the multiverse, a hero walks. . . .

Slightly drunkenly, but he walks.

Nameless, his face hidden behind the nasal guard of the horned helm on his head, this great hero strides . . . staggers, down the path from an old river village, it’s lumber mill working tirelessly, and comes to a halt at the bridge out of town. He stops, tilting his head back, the harness of his iron breastplate creaking a bit, and turns his cool gray eyes up to the very top of the mountain ahead of him, the highest peak in the land. Upon careful contemplation of the Thousand Steps that must be walked in order to reach the top, and the age old temple of mystics that will teach him the power of his voice, he clears his throat, steels himself, and speaks.

“Ah, shit, here we go again.”

With that, the great hero known throughout the land as Dragonborn, Dovahkiin, Slayer of Alduin the Terrible, strode forth on his latest journey to the top of High Hrothgar, boots stomping down as he tread towards the bridge that would start him on this fateful journey. . . .

And right into a female Khajiit who had been trying to sidle around for a short while. The Dragonborn was quite broad (big bones, he'd assure you) and even somecat of her lithe build found it difficult to get around him and on to the bridge.

"Hey! Watch where you're going, cat.". He snapped in a fairly thick Nordic accent.

The Khajiit snaked back her ears, glaring at him. She stood just a hair over five feet in height, with dark, golden brown fur and green eyes, with a mane of hair that was shorn to the length of her fur around the sides and back, while the top hung in a long, dark braid down the back of her neck. A set of gold earrings hung from her left ear, and she wore armor similar to that of a hold guard, but with a sash of dark gray/green, not matching any of the holds in Skyrim.
A steel sword and a small hide shield hung from her left hip, and she had an Elven bow and arrows hanging on her back, as well as a short knife.

In contrast, the Dragonborn stood some seven feet tall, though he was taller in his head, wore a full set of iron armor, and had a gigantic Skyforge steel greatsword slung across his back. Though outwardly he maintained a veneer of looming imposition, internally he quailed a bit at the look in the Khajiit’s eyes as she stepped up to him, tilting her head back to try and see his face better.

“What?!” She snapped, her accent a strange mixture of snarl and hiss. “What do you mean, ‘watch where I’m going’?! You’re the drunken fool that nearly ran into me!”

“Mind your tongue! Do you know who I am?!”

“Let me guess, some drunken mercenary off to fight some Draugr?”

“What?! I’m the Dragonborn!”

She went quiet, and he felt his chest, and head, swell three times its size at the fear and awe that his title could insp-

She started laughing, and he deflated. “Why are you laughing?! I’m serious!”

“You!? You’re the Dragonborn?”

“Yes!”

“The Slayer of Alduin? Defeater of Miraak? The one who brought down the vampire invasion and accepted the challenge of the Ebony Warrior and won?”

“Yes, yes, yes and yes!”

“. . . . Piss off.”

"No, really!"

She crossed her arms over her chest, narrowing her eyes. "Prove it."

He stared at her for a second, blinking, then stepped back, mouth thinning, before he turned and looked around, before stepping up to the edge of the bridge, facing out over the river, away from town or anywhere else that might be populated. He took a deep breath, eyes narrowing.

". . . ." He suddenly clenched, and held up a hand, turning and bending over. A long belch sounded, echoing across the river in every direction.

The Khajiit lowered her arms, one eyebrow climbing up her forehead. "Wow. I'm impressed."

He took a breath and motioned for her to wait. She began to give a slow clap. "No, really! Truly, only the great Dragonborn could have done something so . . . manly."

He sighed, turning and looking at her over his shoulder with a silent glare. She lifted her hands defensively. "What?!"

"You done?"

"Are you?"

With a growl under his breath he spun to face the river. "Fus . . . ro dah!"

The back blast nearly knocked her off her paws, and the force of the Thuum sent a massive spray of water flying up off the surface of the river, almost revealing the bottom of the riverbed in places as it traveled out over a small islet in the middle of the water. From out of the bushes, with a cry of fear and panic, a simple villager, his trousers down around his ankles, went flying off and fell into the river with a splash.

The Dragonborn grimaced, stepping back and dancing in place for a moment. The he leaned forward and cupped his hands around his mouth. "Sorry!" He yelled, cringing a bit, before turning around to look at the Khajiit, who was standing, hair mussed, eyes wide and mouth hanging open in the most dumbfounded of expressions.

"See? I told you." He said, looking as smug as a human being possibly could. Which meant almost as smug as an elf looked all the time.

She blinked rapidly a few times, shaking her head, before she reached up, rubbing her face with her hands, and then locked her eyes on him. "You . . . What . . . You really are the Dragonborn!"

His chest swelled, and he put his hands on his hips, tilting his head at what he figured was a heroic angle, and awaited the fawning admiration.

"How the fuck are we not all dead already?!" She asked, and, once again, he deflated, turning to look at her with his mouth open.

"Well, that's not very nice, is it?!"

"Nice? Nice?! Well, I'm sorry, mister 'Aren't I Special', but I just feel a bit of trepidation at the fact that the hero responsible for saving the world on multiple occasions is a fucking drunken idiot like you!"

"Hey!"

"I should have listened to my mother . . . 'Stay in Cyrodiil', she said! 'Nothing but drunken fools in Skyrim!', she said!"

"Hey, you take that back!" He said, stepping up on her, and she turned to face him, a snarl curling up her lip.

"Or what, big guy, gonna shout me to death?"

"I could!"

"Try me!"

The two were practically at each others' throats, the Nord doing almost as good a job at snarling as the Khajiit, when they suddenly became aware of a strange sound. A sort of . . . beeping, blooping sound, that quickly became overlaid with a heavy humming, vibrating feeling and a deep thumping. A blue light suddenly bathed them and they stepped back to look around.

They became aware of a large blue . . . thing, not really a shape, more just a pulsating orb of light, pulsing and throbbing in the air across the river. They watched as it moved back and forth, slowly lowering until it disappeared into the thick trees on the other side of the river, and the sound slowly died down to a low hum, even as the glow continued to filter through the trees into the fading twilight.

They both glanced at each other, eyes wide, before turning and starting across the bridge, the Dragonborn reaching up to slip his greatsword off his back, while the Khajiit slid her bow around, nocking an arrow as they both stepped off the road and into the trees, following the glow.

They stepped cautiously through the trees, both of them keeping a safe distance between them as they moved closer and closer to where the pulsating glow was coming from, the strange sound that accompanied it slowly lowering in volume until it was naught but a low, ambient hum. Stepping out of the trees into a clearing just beside the river, they both stopped, staring in confusion at what lay before them.

It looked like . . . a tiny house? The word ‘Box’ would have come to mind, were it not for the small windows that sat high up on all four sides. Those sides swept upwards into a peaked roof, atop which the glow coalesced into a flashing light, like some sort of magical lantern. There were characters from a language neither man nor Khajiit had ever seen written above the windows on all four sides.

The two looked at one another, and began to circle around the strange structure, the cat taking the left, the Nord taking the right. They walked all the way around it without incident, until they met back up on the opposite side, where they found themselves faced with a pair of double doors, one of which had a sign or plaque mounted on its face, with more strange characters written on it.

Courageous as he was (some might say ‘foolish’) the Dragonborn was the first to step forward towards the doors, much to his feline companion’s concern.

“Hey, whoa, whoa, what are you doing?” She said, stepping in front of him and putting her hand against his breastplate.

He glanced down at her and lifted an eyebrow . . . an effect which was lost on her, due to the helmet obscuring his face. “I am going to check it out.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Why?”

“Um . . . What?”

“Why are you going to ‘check it out’? This is clearly some form of strange magic, which I’m pretty sure neither of us knows how to deal with. We should contact a mage, and get them to come out and take a look at it!”

“Are you kidding? I’ve dealt with all sorts of strange magic, and never needed some namby-pamby mage to tell me how to do so! I guarantee, whatever that thing is, and whatever might be inside it, it won’t be anything I’ve not seen before!”

So saying, the Dragonborn unknowingly triggered the Multiversal Law of Unintentional Verbal Causality, which is the same Law that makes it a bad idea to say things like ‘it couldn’t get any worse’. Simply put, the multiverse is more sentient than most realize, and it is often paying attention to what you are saying. And it’s a bit of a dick.

And so it was that both Dragonborn and Khajiit snapped there heads around at the sound of the doors opening on the strange structure. It wasn’t an ominous sound, really, just like any other wooden door being opened. There wasn’t even a squeak, which the Dragonborn somehow felt should be against the rules. Nonetheless, both warriors stepped back, readying their weapons in preparation to battle whatever foul, abhorrent, monsterous, horrific beast might come forth from the darkness beyond the opening door.

So imagine their surprise when a small, grey horse tumbled out inside, landing hard on its chin and sliding a few feet, before coming to rest in front of them, a pair of wings sticking up from its back. It pushed itself up, and slowly opened its overly large eyes, revealing golden irises the size of tea saucers, that were quite crossed, and shook its blonde mane out of its face.

“Ah, muffins.” It said, in a high, breathy voice, blinking owlishly at the world around it.

The Khajiit blinked, staring at it for a long, quiet moment. “Well . . . that’s . . . unexpected.”

She heard heavy breathing, and glanced aside at the Dragonborn, to see him staring at the strange equine with eyes wide enough she could see it past the face guard of his helm. “You okay, big guy?” She asked, vaguely concerned, before the voice of the small horse, perhaps ‘pony’ would be a better term, pulled her eyes back to it.

“Um, I don’t mean to be a bother, but could one of you tell me where I am?” It said, looking up at them with its big eyes, which seemed to be focusing a bit more on the two of them, now, rather than everywhere at once.

The Khajiit opened her mouth, although to say what she wasn’t entirely certain, and that was perhaps for the best, as at that moment, her thoughts were cut short by a high pitched squealing sound, like a young girl, and she looked around sharply to see the Dragonborn drop his sword and, hands held to his face, dance a little jig. “Eeeee! Its. So. CUTE!” He exclaimed before rushing over and falling to his knees, hugging the small grey pony tightly.

The Khajiit stood and stared with a blank expression for a moment, before sighing deeply. “Somehow, that wasn’t unexpected at all.”

The pony looked at the big, dumb Nord hugging her for a second, before putting one of her wings around him and grinning, her eyes shutting. “Aww, thank you! But . . . That doesn’t really answer my question.” She opened her eyes, having gone quite wall-eyed again, and looked rather sad. “Ohhh, Doc, I think somethin’ went wrong.”

What an odd scene it would have been for any passersby to witness, a big strong Nord making cutsie baby noises while hugging a strange grey pony with wings while a baffled and disgruntled Khajiit stood by, shaking her head. But such is the way of the multiverse, that strange meetings may happen, and from them, stranger alliances are formed, on a quest of great importance!

Well, to someone, at least.