Sweet Dreams (Oblivion/Fusion)

The Godhead turned in its sleep and the dream trembled.

The seams of reality stretched until a thread popped.

And everything that shouldn't be came pouring in like a flood.

…

“Wait, wait, wait! Hold on! Let’s not do anything hasty, yeah? Yeah?! I’ll have you know that I’ve achieved Chim, and I swear, I will zero sum you in an instant if you don’t lower that boot! To the side of me, to be more specific,” I clarified, looking up at the well worn boot that hovered above me. They stepped in dung some distance ago. Gross. Beyond the oversized boot was a pensive expression of a guy -- stark white hair, scar over one eye, golden eyes with a slit pupil.

He was pretty identifiable, all things considered. Geralt of Rivia, Master Witcher, lover of sorceresses, and trouble magnet extraordinaire.

I’d thought I'd lucked out when I saw him through overgrown grass and shrubbery, walking along a serene shore with the waves gently lapping at a sandy beach. Probably not my wisest decision to call out to a monster hunter given my current… predicament.

“You're a rather strange form of undead. No wraith, no zombie… and given that you're just a skull, I doubt you're a ghoul. So, what are you exactly?” Geralt said, his voice a low even growl with his foot threateningly poised overhead.

“The answer to that is a rather complex- Oi! Don't you go rubbing your shitty boot on my head! I’m technically a god of death, you know?! This is some serious heresy going on here!” I protested, trying to get out of the way, but as it was I was kinda in a pickle. On account that I was just a skull that was half buried in the ground because whatever had been digging me up called it quits halfway.

Geralt hummed, “I travel with a troubadour. If you want to bullshit me, try harder.”

“You're pretty rude, you know that? Here I thought that you were sight for sore eyes… though, I have no eyes! Haha!” I laughed, but Geralt didn't so much as twitch at my attempt to break the ice. Oh well, at least I thought I was funny. “As for myself, I am Gravelord Nito! Spelled with an i. First of the Dead and holder of the Lord Soul of Death. Capital letters. Or, at least I was. Something seems to have happened because now I'm in the skull of some nobody that took an axe to the back of the noggin’.” I introduced myself with as much flourish as I could muster.

It was even true, for the most part. Time got a bit wibbly, especially in Dark Souls, but I had been Nito when I got isekai’d to that universe. Fought against the everlasting dragons then fucked off when Gwyn did his thing by linking the fires since he couldn’t be reasoned with. I didn’t fancy getting ganked for my soul by the Chosen Undead, so I left the plot behind, content to wait out the end of the Age of Fire so I could get reincarnated to a universe that didn’t suck.

Then something happened. Something interesting and entirely unexpected.

“That very same something, I suspect, happened to you. So, we’re in the same boat, friend. How about we get along and try to help each other out in these unprecedented and uncertain times. Such as finish digging me up? Please? I’ll bestow upon you a divine favor!” I bargained, watching as Geralt's lips thinned. I had his interest.

Slowly, he lowered the boot and I sighed in relief, even without lungs. “I can do without the favor, friend. An explanation would be appreciated,” he said, squatting down. He still towered over me, his face without expression.

“I have no idea what actually happened- no, that's a lie. I sorta have an idea of what happened, but if I told you, you'd get zero-summed out of existence,” I amended. I only knew that I was in Elder Scrolls because Sheogorath had visited to laugh at me for a bit. Had a little Chim experience, which sorta gave me access to the code of the universe. Emphasis on sorta on account that the code to the universe seemed a little borked at the moment, and the fact that I wasn’t a native of this acid trip of a universe, and thus was unable to fully realize Chim.

Not really sure what that meant for me, but I suppose I’d find out eventually.

“So, don't worry about that. Just consider this a Conjoining of Spheres and that you were one of the lucky migrants, as am I.” It seemed about right considering that we were crossing the streams pretty heavily right out the gate -- Me, a holder of a Lord Soul from Dark Souls, and Geralt, a Witcher from The Witcher, both in Elder Scrolls. The why was less than clear, but I could guesstimate the how.

That got more of a reaction out of him – his eyes widening, nose fairing, while he swallowed down a grimace. “I… see. How bad is it?”

“I'm a skull in a shallow grave. How would I know?” I questioned, my tone flat as can be. “But we could find out. Together.”

Geralt hummed, “Could do, maybe. But lugging around the skull of a ‘god of death’ doesn't sound like the brightest of ideas.” A reasonable concern.

“I'm a god of death, not killing. So long as everyone dies in the end, it's no problem for me. Till then? Live, love, laugh. Become undead or immortal if you don't want the ride to be over so soon. Just know, sooner or later, I'll be there waiting for you. Hopefully to be greeted with a smile,” I told him. For every beginning, there had to be a conclusion and in life, that conclusion was death. My only concern was that ending, so everything that came before it? Fair game, as far as I was concerned.

Geralt paused for a moment, calculating, then he grunted. “Fair enough,” he reasoned before scoping the dirt around my skull. With a wiggle, I manage to pop out of the hole with my jaw intact.

“Freedom!” I declared, getting the excess dirt off. “So, don’t suppose you happened to know where we can find civilization?” I asked, tilting myself up so I could look up at Geralt. He was still measuring me. Watching me. Judging every action and word to see if I was as harmless as I seemed, but we both knew that I wasn’t. We both knew that I was a threat, but he was seeing if I was a threat to him and anyone we came across.

He must have come to a decision because he looked away, “Coast is always a safe bet.” He grunted, turning to walk away and leaving me to hop after him. Wasn’t a particularly efficient means to travel, but I doubt that Geralt would be willing to dig up the rest of the corpse to this body. It certainly left me in a spot of trouble. That being said, I suspect he’d prefer me in a kickable form in case the need arose.

I’d just have to work things out myself when I got the chance.

“So, you never gave me a name. What do they call you?” I asked, making idle chatter as I hopped along the ground, finding that the shrubbery had obscured a well-trodden path. Good sign for us. I’m pretty sure I heard Geralt swallowing a sigh, walking next to me. He didn’t exactly slow down for me, so I was forced to keep up as we headed up the coast.

“Geralt of Rivia. Witcher… though, I doubt that means much to you. I hunt monsters for coin,” Geralt elaborated, scarce on the details but I’m pretty sure I remembered most of them. My memory might be a little spotty after a couple hundred thousand/million/billion years, but I took measures ages ago to prevent my previous life’s memories from degrading too much. As he gave the introduction, he gave me a rather pointed look.

“So I’m in the clear until someone pays you to off me. Good to know! Well, anyhow, it’s nice to formally meet you, Geralt of Rivia.” I replied, after all, it was hardly any skin off my nose. Heh. I would have to remember that one. “I don’t suppose anything stands out to you about your arrival? For me, I was in the middle of an experiment in my lair and the next thing I knew, I was half buried in the ground. Felt like blinking my eyes… if I had any!”

Geralt grunted, “Hm. It was the same for me. I was in the middle of a hunt -- Griffon that had been attacking patrols for an army, and the commander had information I wanted. I was waiting with a friend for it to take some bait… Then I was here, Vesemir was no where to be seen. Then I heard you shouting for me.” He elaborated and I’m pretty sure I knew at what point in the timeline he was taken from. But, he wore a deep frown, “The transfer was seamless. I was still crouched. I wouldn’t have noticed anything if the scenery hadn’t suddenly changed.”

Interesting. Not really sure what that meant, but interesting.

“Well, I’m sure your friend is right as rain. Either he’s back wherever you were, or he’s somewhere on this plane of existence. Probably.” It would be a shame if Vesemir had fallen into a plane of Oblivion, but given that he was a century old monster hunter, I was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt on surviving his stay there. For a time, at least.

Geralt grunted but said nothing. And his silence told me he was more worried than he wanted to show.

Well, it wasn't like we could do much about it now. So, we continued on down the coast – Geralt was right, and it wasn't that long before we stumbled across what seemed to be a small fishing village. A bunch of wood single room buildings just off the white sandy beach. Rather unimpressive, except for the fact that the entire place seemed to be abandoned.

The small cluster of about six building in total looked like the people that had lived there simply vanished. Much like we had appeared. There were little signs of their abrupt departure – meals half eaten, brooms and tools falling in the middle of a task, cooking pots bubbling over from still burning fires.

“Interesting,” I remarked, after we- well, mostly Geralt looked the place over.

“There's a delay of some kind,” Geralt agreed with my assumption. “These people were gone hours ago, but not all of them. I found tracks of those left behind heading northeast, along the coast.”

There was some kind of time discrepancy that could prove… troublesome. I arrived about an hour ago, Geralt about five minutes before we met according to him, while these people seemed to have vanished around three or four hours ago. It was a small discrepancy, but a notable one.

“If you were a peasant and most of your village vanished into the ether, what would your first reaction be?” I questioned because I wasn't entirely sure. I hadn't had a lot of interaction with living people in the past… while.

“Find help. Your liege lord would be best, but a neighboring village could work just as well. Only one thing to do in any case,” Geralt ventured, setting out. I, however, chose to linger for a moment as my eyes caught a grave.

Hopping over to it, I felt an old skeleton inside of it – a dog. Pretty much perfect for what I needed, even if I would have preferred a body of my own.

Souls left an imprint on the body, almost like a fingerprint. It was like a grove that was slowly etched into the bones and flesh of your body – the actions and thoughts that made you who you were. The soul of the dog had long since moved on, roughly six years ago, but the impression I got was… a cowardly dog that whimpered at every dark shadow, yet fearlessly threw itself into the maw of a bear when his owner was in danger. The best of bois.

I was in a reduced state. A far cry from the pinnacle of power I had achieved in the countless centuries of preparation for some determined undead to murder me for my soul. But, even in this state, the act of animating the dead was a simple task. Power flowed from my Lord Soul, offering a spark of power to the skeleton.

“Rise, my most noble steed!” I commanded, the bones in the shallow grave lifting up. They were stained with dirt, stripped of any traces of flesh, but upon my command, a spark entered the eye sockets of the dog. He assembled himself, his stubby tail wagging fiercely, jaw parting like he was panting but he lacked a tongue or lungs. “I shall name you… Courage, after Courage the Cowardly Dog.” Courage made a soundless bark before I hopped onto his back, maintaining my balance with only a little effort.

His body was reanimated, but he couldn’t be called resurrected. It was closer to cloning than a true resurrection -- the spark of power that I put in his body filled it, molded by the lingering traces of the personality left in the corpse. But, that more than suited my purposes for the moment.

“Onward!” I commanded and Courage took off, following after Geralt who watched me carefully. I was missing most of my teeth, so I couldn't really pull off a grin. “No need to be jealous. If we find a dead horse, I'll be sure to raise him up for you.”

“Generous,” Geralt remarked idly, keeping his pace. Courage didn’t have any muscles or tendons, but that didn’t mean his power was limitless. The energy he expended came at the expense to the power I imbued into him, but even then he could have run on for days. But, I felt a little guilty about leaving Geralt behind like that so we fell into a comfortable pace down the well-trodden path.

A path that, we soon learned, led to a city just off the coast. I recognized it as a medieval city -- tall stone walls, guard towers marking every couple of hundred feet, with the walls continuing into the ocean to safeguard the harbor. Within the city, I could see spires and rooftops, but not much else. The size of the city was a bit difficult for me to gauge on account that the last true city I saw was Anor Londo, the city of the gods, and… well, the city we were looking at could have fit nicely in one of its districts.

Geralt, I felt, was a much better judge of the city. “It's a major city. Reminds me of Novigrad,” he remarked, more to himself. Then he inclined his head to the crowd of people that were gathering up in front of its gates on all sides, “Seems like we came to the right place.”

“Though help is likely to be in short supply,” I observed, continuing the trek forward. I couldn't quite place the city, but I was starting to get an inkling where we were. But, it was only when we joined the flow of refugees and were greeted by a group of men wearing plate armor and heraldry belonging to the city that I became sure.

“Halt,” a man said, the only one not wearing a helm. He was in his mid-thirties and sporting the Mr. Clean look with a clean-shaven face and head. It was hard to tell at a glance, but I'm pretty sure he was an Imperial. “You stand before the gates of Anvil, strangers. By the look of you, you’re strangers to more than just Cyrodiil.” He noted, barely giving Geralt a second look, his gaze focused solely on me.

“On the mark there. I take it we aren't your first unusual guests?” Geralt said, bringing the man's attention back to him.

“It's the first time an undead has arrived, but aye, we've seen some strange folk these past few days.” He said and if I had any feet, I'd have been caught flat footed.

Days? How big of a discrepancy were we dealing with here?

But that was a little less important. “I'm sorry, but did you just call me an undead?” I questioned, making the Imperial flinch ever so slightly when I spoke. “How dare you, sir! The difference between me and an undead is the difference between you and this dog here!”

The man seemed pensive, “I… don't know enough of magic to make an argument. But, you should know this, whatever you are -- necromancy has officially been banned by the Mages Guild recently. So don't go raising corpses, and don't get too shocked when a member of the Guild makes the same mistake I did.” I had underestimated this man. He was so thoroughly over it, with the it in question being his job, that he was willing to just shrug his shoulders at an issue to move it along.

Context clues gave me an idea of the when, and it wasn't looking so great. The Mages Guild had dissolved by the time of Skyrim. The recently in ‘banned necromancy recently’ did a bit of legwork telling me that it happened… well… recently.

Meaning that we were just before the Oblivion Crisis.

Not great. Between Skyrim and Oblivion, I knew the former much better than the latter even if I played the latter more. Simply because I had played it as a kid and reading was optional back then. I just pathologically followed the quest markers and accepted every quest offered. I still knew enough, but not so much that I felt comfortable with the development. Not to mention that the events of Skyrim were… two hundred years in the future?

“I'll take it under advisement,” I replied blandly. If memory served, and it did, then some familiar faces would be around even now. Like Serana.

“This is a serious matter, skull. I leave magic to the mages, but the Mages Guild in Anvil is as staunchly anti-necromancer as you can get. Master-Wizard Carahil will be frothing at the mouth the moment she sees you, outworlder or not.” He warned and he struck me as a decent sort.

“If she manages to kill me, then she’s earned my Lord Soul. But, thanks for the heads up,” I replied, not too bothered.

The guy seemed like he wanted to say more but decided that it was out of his hands and dismissed the issue with a small shrug of his shoulders. “So long as the peace isn’t disturbed, it’s no concern of mine. Welcome to Anvil. I can’t promise you’ll find help here, but word is that your kind is to be directed to the castle. Steward Dairihill will see to you.”

I still had a few more questions I'd like to ask, and I bet Geralt did too, but we both took the dismissal for what it was. Doing as bade, we both finally stepped through the gates of the port city to find that it was full to the point of bustling. The streets were flooded with peasants, and it was pretty easy to mark out who the refugees were from those that actually lived here.

But that wasn't the only thing that stood out.

The main road from the gate led straight to a city square where, under normal circumstances, there would be stalls and what have you with people hawking their wares. Instead, there was a rather out of place building that stood in the heart of the market -- a Gothic style building that wouldn't look out of place in Anor Londo, if it wasn't for the small field of grass that came with it.

It was strange to look at. An otherwise normal town square was shifted out of place as the building and the lawn were stitched into the fabric of reality, making everything else bulge and compress to compensate.

“Huh. That's strange,” I remarked.

“I don't think you have any right to talk about strange. And what's this about you not being undead?” Geralt replied dryly, subtly weirded out by the presence of the building. As well as the implications. It seemed like a perfectly mundane building. A nice cozy manor home for a local lord. So, what were the odds that something… less cozy got stitched into reality?

“You have to die to be undead. I was never alive in the first place,” I said. And the words were truer than I cared to admit, memories or not. “Personally, I prefer the term alternatively living.”

Geralt hummed before he nodded, accepting the answer. “Something tells me the distinction will be lost on the local mages.”

“Nuance often is with fanatics,” I replied blandly, keeping a metaphorical eye out for any particularly murderous mages. I got plenty of concerned looks from people passing by, but no one was flicking any spells at me. Yet. “Let’s find this castle. Can’t be too hard to spot. Provided that it wasn’t snatched away,” I added, urging Courage to forward. People, naturally, gave the reanimated dog skeleton that was being ridden by a talking skull a wide berth so we had an easy time moving on.

The city of Anvil was pretty. Lacking in comparison to the city of the gods, but still nice enough. Cobblestone roads, several story buildings that were whitewashed with clay brick tiled roofing. If it wasn’t for the ongoing crisis and people generally panicking about their relatives getting control-alt-deleted from reality, I’d give it a solid eight out of ten for a vacation spot.

The castle itself was located on a raised cliffside, standing proudly behind a second set of tall robust looking walls. Probably wasn’t fair of me to keep comparing everything to Anor Londo, but when its walls were a good two hundred and fifty feet high… well, everything else seemed smaller. Geralt took point at the second gate, but given that a runner went into the castle the moment we approached, the guards seemed to anticipate us.

They kept a close eye on me, naturally, but they quickly waved us into the castle itself. It was decorated more or less in line with what I expected -- a bunch of tapestries on the wall depicting heraldry, nice furniture holding up expensive-looking objects like vases, armor, statues, and so on. It was there we were greeted by an elven woman dressed in a green silk dress marked with golden thread.

A Bosmer elf, if I’m guessing right. Probably. Her ears were tapered off to a point, high cheekbones with a narrow jawline with dark brown hair set down. Her gaze immediately flickered down to me, her expression tightening ever so slightly, before looking back up to Geralt. “Greetings are in order -- Welcome to Anvil Castle, home to Countess Millona Umbranox, ruler of the province of Anvil. I am Dairihill Duskgrass, Steward for her castle.”

Geralt nodded, “Geralt of Rivia. Monster hunter.” That caught her immediate interest, her gaze flickering to the swords on his back.

“Gravelord Nito. God of Death,” I introduced myself, and her expression stilled, then narrowed, and I could visibly see her dismissing me. Hurtful.

“Well met,” Dairihill replied blandly, and I got the impression that this wasn’t the first time she had this conversation. “I’m sure that you have many questions, but I will ask that you hold them for now. A text has been prepared that contains the answers that we do have, which… admittedly are few and far between. Fortunately, whatever happened that brought you here has allowed us to understand one another and you will be able to read our languages. The common ones, at least.”

That was no surprise there. But, the how or why weren’t exactly relevant. I was more concerned with the what, when, and where. “How many of us ‘outworlders’ have come your way?”

She didn’t really want to talk to me, but she addressed the question all the same. “A few dozen at the moment. Though, I expect that to change in the coming days. For now, you can expect housing in the castle while you… adjust.” I got the distinct feeling that offer was more directed at Geralt than me. “If you would follow me, I can direct you to the quarters that have been allocated for you.”

We followed while Geralt remarked, “Awfully generous.” He didn’t even hide his suspicion.

“My lady is a generous soul,” Dairihill replied. “Your arrival, as inconvenient as the whole ordeal is, was not of your own volition. You are victims as much as we are, as Countess Millona sees it.” Implying that she didn’t hold that view. “Her generosity is not limitless, however. Failing that we discover a way to return you to your homelands, you will be expected to conduct yourselves as any citizen of the empire should.”

Fair enough. Actually, that was more than fair. Eventually, with enough time, you stopped being a house guest and became a roommate. And, speaking of roommates, Dairihill opened a door to a wing of the castle to reveal a handful of faces milling about. I didn’t recognize any of them, but my gaze was immediately drawn to a dwarf. Small stocky body, bushy beard, but his face was buried in his hands and he seemed to be in emotional distress. Something about shaming his ancestors and the sky.

Now that I looked at it, everyone looked like they were in emotional distress in the barracks. Humans, elves, dwarves, and an orc -- all of them were left reeling by their new circumstances.

“Yeah… I’m not one to rely on generosity,” I swiftly decided, the whole vibe immediately bumming me out. “I’d rather stand on my own two legs. If I had any legs to stand on!” Not so much as a single chuckle. Tough crowd. In any case, Dairihill immediately seemed pensive, telling me that she did have work.

Geralt sensed her hesitation as well, “Neither am I.” I’m pretty sure that it was weirding him out to be the face of the party. From what I recall, the treatment that I was getting was what he was used to. Can’t say that it felt great, but it didn’t really bother me. In a billion years from now, I doubt I’d even remember her or this little bout of unpleasantness.

“I will confess that there is work for men of means,” Dairihill admitted. “The Fighter’s Guild chapter has been overwhelmed while the guards have been left handling the refugee crisis. A contract between you and the city for your services could be arranged.” That sounded a lot better than waiting here and relying on handouts.

In the end, people like me and Geralt were the lucky ones. We had the skills to survive in this world as it was. Most of the people in this room seemed to have been regular citizens before their isekai treatment. If I hadn’t been reborn as Nito, possessor of a Lord Soul, I would probably be in the same boat as them. But I had been and I wasn’t.

“Sounds perfect. We'll take the most dangerous job you have,” I decided for us both.

“You mean the one with the largest payout?” Geralt corrected but I just chuckled.

“That too, if you want to double up. Won't be an issue.” Money didn't really mean anything to me and for the past millennia, the currency of choice for my world was souls. “Honestly, if you want to toss the top five biggest jobs our way, it'd make things simpler. Provided if you have a map to tell us where we're going. Gotta make some money for the road.”

That Dairihill immediately seized on. “You don't intend to stay in Anvil?”

“Can't speak for Geralt, but I don't. I'd rather be at the beating heart of things. The Mages Guild is looking into this mess? They in the Capital of this empire of yours?” I asked, mulling it all over. The Imperial City was pretty much ground zero for where Nirn would face its latest attempt at being destroyed. I would need to find out how much time I had exactly, but the Oblivion Crisis took place in the Third Era 433.

Given that Necromancy was formally banned, the year was at least 431. Assuming things went the way of canon, at most, I had two years. But, given the upheaval and state of things, it didn't seem wise to make assumptions like that.

In any case, the biggest trigger for the Crisis was the Emperor getting murdered. Stop that, draw out the Mythic Dawn, and the whole issue was nicely sidestepped.

Point being, for that to happen, I need to be in the Imperial City.

“The Mages University has announced that they're attempting to discover the source of the disturbance. The Imperial City is a considerable journey from Anvil. On… foot it would be at least two weeks of travel.” Dairihill answered, trying to not sound relieved that I would be someone else's problem. “A map can be provided for you both, at no cost.”

Perfect.

“I see one issue,” Geralt remarked down at me. “You’re just a skull,” he pointed out and I hummed in response. He was right about that. I was, in fact, just a skull. But that could be remedied easily enough. It was even something that I was an old hand at.

“Feels like you’re underestimating me a little there, but if you’re willing to lend a hand, I can make myself a pair in no time!” I said, a laugh in my voice that was directly proportional to the sigh that Geralt let out. He saw what I was about now. I’d just keep repeating the joke until I got a laugh out of him. And I could do this a lot longer than he could. “I just need some bones -- any kind would do. I’m not particularly picky.”

To that, Geralt’s gaze narrowed. His thoughts were pretty easy to read -- as a skull, I seemed remarkably harmless given my nature. Perhaps he thought the boasts about being the Lord of Death was a mere boast. A lowly undead putting on airs, puffing myself up to avoid predators, which Geralt would undoubtedly consider himself as to me. But, with a full body?

Then I shifted from a harmless sidekick to a potential threat.

“I might be amenable to helping you there on a condition,” Geralt decided after a moment of thought. Dairihill clearly didn’t like the sound of that, but she didn’t say anything beyond her lips thinning. “You explain yourself. What do you even want? I want to know what I’m getting into.”

“If you provide the bones, I’ll explain as I build my body,” I agreed easily enough. It was a reasonable request, all things considered. And I imagine that his time as a monster hunter instilled a sense of caution when it came to helping out beings like me. For that matter, I was probably lucky he was willing to entertain helping me at all.

Geralt held my gaze for a moment more, looking for some trace of deceit, but bone didn’t exactly lend well to reading expressions. Then his gaze flickered to Dairihill, “Is there a butcher shop in this city?”

…

There was, as it so happened. The scraps of bone were quickly delivered to a room in the castle, and it was in that room that we were joined by the watchful eye of the Court Mage of the name Baeralorn. He was another Bosmer elf wearing robes and a medallion that marked him of the rank Magician. His presence was to make sure that we weren’t doing anything particularly unwise or dangerous, but I got the impression that there was more to him than met the eye because he was looking at me with guarded interest.

The room itself was small with guards outside, a pile of bones belonging to a good dozen different kinds of animals all gathered up. Looking at them, I had to sigh -- it really was a step down for me. The bones of animals.

Needs must, I guess.

“I am Gravelord Nito, possesser of the Lord Soul of Death. That doesn’t really mean anything to any of you, so allow me to give you a little context,” I said as I began the process. The bones began to degrade, aging into nothing until they were mere dust. Geralt watched the process in silence, watching and listening carefully. “The First Flame that sparked into existence gave rise to disparity. Light and Dark. Life and Death. Within that flame were four souls, the Lord Souls. Gwyn claimed the Soul of Light, and with it began the Age of Fire. Izalith claimed the Soul of Life, creating pyromancy magics. The Furtive Pygmy, in the aftermath, took hold of the Dark Soul and with it, gave rise to humanity.”

The bone dust began to take shape, condensing and hardening. “I claimed the Soul of Death, making me the end of all things. When Gwyn’s Age of Fire concluded, it would be me who snuffed out the candles and locked the door behind them to allow the next age to begin.” I said, shamelessly plagiarizing another Death in another universe as my body took form. The skull that I inhabited melted away, reduced to fine dust as I moved on.

The bones had no trace of a lingering soul, a blank slate that I could attune myself without issue. “That was my purpose if Gwyn hadn’t perverted the natural order. He feared the dark and what lurked within. Inadvertently, he feared me,” I continued, my perspective shifting as I settled in my new humanoid skeleton body. The bones were a feeble bunch. Pressure might turn coal into diamonds, but the bones certainly weren’t coal. They were more clay that was being fired and then put under pressure.

The pale white bone began to blacken as my Lord Soul weighed heavily upon them, but they remained whole. Barely. “I didn’t mind much,” I fibbed, but only a little. “Gwyn could extend the Age of Fire as long as he liked, it wouldn’t change anything. A million years, a billion, a trillion. I would be there. Waiting for the inevitable conclusion. But that's not to say that I didn’t have desires of my own. Goals and ambitions.”

Looking down at my hand, every fingerbone perfectly shaped. I was much smaller than my usual tastes -- being fifteen feet tall really sold the image of being the Lord of Death, after all. As I gazed upon my hand, wisps of black and white emerged as I clothed myself.

A cloak of humanity. The black and white wisps of the Dark Soul flowed over my form, obscuring everything except for my head.

Just as Life and Light were helplessly intertwined, as was Death with Dark.

“I witnessed memories of what I lacked. The feeling of a sunrise upon my skin. The gentle caress of a lover. Holding a child of my own flesh and blood,” I said, and there was a yearning that I couldn’t quite hide. My human memories were as much of a curse as they were a blessing. They helped shape and guide me, but they were a constant reminder of what I lacked. In my weaker moments, I craved ignorance.

Which was why I engraved the memories upon my soul, so I could never discard them. However much I might wish to at times.

Geralt understood, “You want to live.” He cut right to the heart of the matter and didn’t flinch when I turned to him. Even though I was a frightful sight, far more so than when I was a jolly skull hopping around.

“I do,” I admitted, almost ashamed. “I’ve tried to grant myself a body of flesh and blood, but the weight of my Lord Soul killed my body without fail, even when I divided and weakened it. No matter how robust I crafted it. Even now, this meager body is already straining underneath the weight of Death.” I tried for thousands of years. Countless centuries. I wasn’t even sure how long it had been since no undead ever managed to reach me in the depths of my lair after I withdrew an Gwyn linked his own soul to serve as kindling.

I refined and refined, testing and experimenting endlessly to create a body strong enough to withstand my own power. Yet, every result was a failure.

But that was my world. This world…

This world could be very different.

“Does that satisfy you?” I asked Geralt, able to look him in the eyes now. His expression was unreadable for a long moment before the tension bled out of him.

“Good enough for me,” he reasoned and if I had a face, I would have grinned.

“Then come on! Let’s go adventuring!”

...

You can blame Brosef and Musashi-Chan for this one. Reading their stuff made me want to dip my toes back into Elder Scrolls again. After my stay in Skyrim for Power Corrupts, I wasn't really feeling a return there so I decided Oblivion would be a fun starting point. Just with a twist.

This is a fusion-type story. The Godhead turned in its sleep, the dream churned, and the result is a bunch of characters ended up on Nirn. I'm pulling from a couple of settings: Witcher, Dragon Age, Elden Ring, Baldur's Gate 3, etc. Some settings will just have a character pulled -- Like Mao Mao from Apthocary Diaries because her talent for alchemy would mesh well with the setting. Others, like Elden Ring, will be featured more prominently with a host of the Demi-Gods dropped into Nirn. Then, in other settings like Monster Hunter, I'd pull the monsters from the games. Basically, I'm picking and choosing what I think would mesh best with Elder Scrolls without it losing it's identity. The fusion side of things is meant to enhance the Oblivion side rather than overpower it.

To that end, all but one of the settings I'm pulling from would fit the Medieval Fantasy genre.

Nito is a fun character to play around with -- We saw so little of Gravelord Nito in Dark Souls, and out of every character in the setting, I feel like he's the one we know the least about. But, what we do know paints an interesting picture. The coffins next to him indicate a lover and perhaps a child, Pinwheel stealing the Right of Kindling from him -- which is weird why he has it in the first place, and the fact that Nito couldn't be bothered to walk up the stairs to take it back, all the while actively divesting himself of his Lord Soul. We're stuck guessing at the Dark Souls Nito's motivations, but for this story his goal is to build a body that can endure the concept of Death that his Lord Soul embodies. Such a thing would need to be crafted from powerful components, such as the bones of dragons, which naturally puts him into conflict with some powerful entities both native to the setting and those dropped in.

Such as Mannimarco the King of Worms or Maliketh the Black Blade.

As for the story itself -- I can see this one going the distance. I genuinely don't think that the Oblivion Crisis could serve as the background for the entire story, so the first 'book' would cover the crisis. After that, there are about two hundred years until the events of Skyrim and that time can be filled with exploring how the drop ins change the setting and several events, such as the First Great War against the Thalmor. Not sure if I would cover everything in Skyrim again, but it's up in the air at the moment. So, provided people are interested in it, Sweet Dreams could be a long story.

I think that about covers everything. If you have any questions, then feel free to ask them and let me know what you think of the snippet.