V
As he closed in, he gently pushed back his hood with his left hand while still holding onto his mug with the other, illuminating his features in the yellow-orangey light of the inn's fireplace. His skin was pallid and his hair and beard, both quite short, were white-grey, albeit his overall complexion hinting at a middle aged Imperial of rather slender stature. His eyes a deep blue, focused and alive. He approached me and reached out, his hand making a greeting gesture. I involuntarily shook hands with him, his face lighting up with pleasure. He took a seat beside me, placing his mug on the wooden, sparsely lit table, when my own order arrived.
Upon observing me and my belongings closely, he inquired as to my destination and whether or not I was headed for the College of Winterhold and, upon my corroboration, he became a little excited, smiling all over his face. Introducing himself as an apprentice member of the College of Winterhold currently studying the magic school of restoration by the name of Marcus, who gained admission to the College only a month prior, he told me he was just returning from a voyage to retrieve some form of special soul gem that had allegedly been hidden in a far-off cave and.
Based on Marcus' preliminary findings, the artifact seemed to be capable of trapping both black and white souls in equal measure without it able to be explicitly classified as a 'black' soul gem, which made it rather curious. As Marcus told this tale he harboured a queer amazement at the notion of the gem's capabilities but I didn't think much of it. Every apprentice of the College is abuzz about their first venture on behalf of the more experienced mages and scholars, after all.
We went on to have a rather lively conversation about the nature of restoration magic as I, too, am adept at the art of mending one's injuries. I revealed myself to be the current prodigy of the Ironstaff clan down in Falkreath hold to the south, telling him my name and explaining as to how and when I discovered my natural talent for the healing light and comfortable radiance Marcus also was proficient in. As soon as I revealed my identity, Marcus became fluttered somewhat, having clearly heard of the fabled iron staff our lineage possessed, and demanded I exhibit it to him.
Obliging in his request, excited to have met a fellow restorician, I handed it over. His eyes widened as he inadvertently tightened his grip around its hilt, in the same fashion I once had, feeling the surge of power rush through him with primordial might. He then returned it back to me in deep gratitude to have experienced such a marvel and proposed that we, on the following morning, would travel the last bit of the way to the College of Winterhold together.
Finishing my meal in agreement, we both went to sleep in our respective rooms shortly after, Marcus looking content at the new and pleasant acquaintance at hand. I slept soundly that night, having met an avid healer such as him, causing great reassurance for the oncoming trip. Had I known prior as to what events would henceforth unfold, I wouldn't have had such a good night's rest. However, I didn't, and as such, when I laid down on the surprisingly soft mattress, covering myself with the coarsely sewn linen blanket the barren establishment provided, I snuffed out the candle on the end table next to the bed and dozed off quickly, satisfied in knowing, or rather believing, to have discovered a friend among the cold, snowy lands and icy peaks and glaciers of Skyrim.
I waked early by dawn of the next morning, feeling refreshed upon having slept well despite the meager quality of my resting place. I got up, packed my things and opened the door to the inn. Marcus already stood at the counter, awaiting most eagerly my presence. When I got close he proposed in an impassioned demeanour we head to Winterhold right after breakfast. And after I ordered a mug of water and some bread whereas he was having some mead and a grilled chicken breast, we ventured forth, leaving the inn, headed northeast for the College. Marcus knew the paths leading to and fro the academical institution well for he was a member of the opulent College. We traversed the roads, ever more frozen, in surprisingly quick fashion so that we, at noon, arrived in the town of Winterhold.
Winterhold was, even back then, 64 years ago, not exactly what one would call a bustling city. Sitting atop a misty, blizzard-ravaged peak concealed from afar by icy clouds, it was almost always snowing there and with all the frigid downpour, not many people were inclined to set foot in this cold, dark place not even the most blazing of daylight could touch for the sun's rays failed to penetrate the thick layer of shades and vapours that hung over the area.
And apart from a scarcely visited tavern opposite of a rundown general goods store, there wasn't anything too significant about the settlement save for its acrid frigidity. The only people who regularly could be seen traveling on the road hither and thither were the guards of Winterhold and the mages of the College, the latter of which rarely leaving the institution's premises.
Without stopping by either the shop or the tavern, we headed straight for the College entrance. Being halted at the precipice of the partly broken, dangerous appearing bridge leading up to the College grounds proper by an Altmer lady, Marcus was granted passage at once whilst I was requested to first prove my ability to even cast any spell in the first place as to not waste their time in granting me passage as well, unknowing whether or not I was worth the effort educating.
Having felt a little confused and hurt somewhat at that remark, fate seemed to smile on me that day, for behind me, a small, limping, injured snow rabbit crossed the road. I approached the fluffy animal, gently lifting it off its paws and into my hands, letting the comforting radiance of my healing hands transform its broken hind leg back into a fully operational limb - painless and within seconds. I set it down slowly onto the soft snow watching it hippity-hop away with joy and turned to face the Altmer woman who, despite my efforts, scoffed at this meager display of healing, proclaiming that "anyone could do that", remarking that I was, in no way, shape or form, special and unfit for the College.
Determined to gain admission, I resolved to practice something queer and obscene and, in retrospect, it probably was the stupidest action I ever took, though stupefying it sure was to the mocking, frowning Altmer witch. I grabbed the dagger I acquired a while back and stabbed myself in the left arm, slicing it wide open, proceeding to rend the flesh, completely cutting it down to the bone which I broke by slamming the dripping, hot, gaping wound on the bridge's pole, causing a nastily loud cracking noise, spilling blood on the floor and spraying small pieces of flesh and bone on my own as well as the Altmer's garments, all the while containing the most agony-filled of screams at the wave of numbing pain that spread burningly through my body.
Stunned in shock and almost gagging, her jaw dropped at my mad act, when all of a sudden her eyes gleamed in disbelief as I took out my iron staff from my robe, completely repairing my arm without a trace of there ever being any injury done to it in the first place, thereby also eliminating the sharp and grueling pain I went through.
Reverent, the Altmer remarked how insane I was but offered me passage regardless, telling me that it'd have been enough to just show her the staff, for she knew well of its history and origin. Feeling kind of calvish at my fervent action just a second ago, I thanked her quickly, ashamed as I was, and, together with Marcus, traversed the feeble appearing stone crossing that hung menacingly over a bottomless pit, leading to the College proper.
After having evaded the hostile gusts that blew from either side unrelentingly, the great cyclopean gate to our destination magically opened and I had officially gained admission to this hub of magical learning and rich history.
VI
Marcus and I now stood in the snow-coated College courtyard, before us towering in primordial beauty the partly frozen, stony likeness of Shalidor, the first archmage, preserved in an excellently cut statue. The art of masonry truly impressed me. It stood majestically shimmering amidst a couple of ice-accustomed trees here and there and, of course, the great College building itself.
Marcus was quick to propose showing me around but not before he delivered the strange soul gem to the mage who requested it. So we went up to the College's entrance and opened the gates to step inside, closing the egress behind us. He motioned me to wait just beside the entrance and pointed to a conveniently placed chair of rather comfortable like while he delivered the artifact to its intended recipient.
I complied, taking a seat and hung about for Marcus to return. In my waiting, I closely surveyed the scene in the enchanting halls I found myself in. The blueish illuminated stone making up the walls and floor in conjunction with the prodigiously high ceiling gave off a venerable an opulent impression, overshadowing my own, small presence in the great space of the inner architecture.
Leaning forward spying to the left, I observed an opened gate with the mage's guild emblem sitting on it, behind which I threw a gentle look into the big entrance hall in which I witnessed a magic lecture take place. An older wizard, clad in a red robe, instructed his students to hurl fire balls, ice needles and lighting strikes at him while he deflected them all quite easily using a very simple, albeit highly effective, shielding spell. The teacher went on to explain how to cast this spell, going into much detail about all the kinds of destruction magic this hex could protect one from.
He added, however: "This spell won't protect you from black mages, necromancers or vampires either soul trapping you or tugging at your life force. It will also fail to guard you from physical harm dealt by means of more conventional weaponry. That said, the dreaded and forbidden Soul Siphon spell will, despite its destruction-esque nature, still pass through this barrier; so be on your guard!"
And just like that, I learned how to cast a shield spell only by paying attention and meticulously observing the scene and, at that, ended up knowing a good deal about other, more destructive casts as well as the limits of my protection spell that I freshly acquired. As will be apparent later, this spell shall save my life. The lesson ended and Marcus came back, entreating me to stand up and follow him. He offered me to have a tour and show me around the place, introducing me to a couple mages and guiding me through the College. I agreed and so we went.
First, we walked over to the Hall of Attainment, the living quarters for the apprentices and novices of the College, where we met a young mage by the name of Deimos, a destructionist and small-time enchanter by trade, about my age. His aura was vibrant with destructive power. A polite, albeit shady person. Marcus explained that he is the first outsider to have ever been accepted into the College for the sheer might he was able to display. Moving on, we met a Dunmer youth by the name of Shelivah who was most proficient in the art of illusion and herbalism. She greeted me by offering me one of her healing potions as a welcoming gift. I took it gladly, showing my gratitude by bowing to her and remarking that, should she ever get hurt she must only scream and I'll be there to help.
Even back then I felt some affection towards her so I thought it only fair to offer my help in case a situation gets out of hand at some point. And so it did later down the line. Anyway, after we had met with Shelivah, I said her goodbye and waved and she smiled, forming the word "later" with her lips, before waving back at me. Marcus didn't take note of that, for he was preoccupied with tugging at my sleeve telling me to follow him, since we were going to venture out of our living quarters through the great hall and into the openly accessible Arcaneum, described by Marcus as the great library of the College.
Upon entrance, I was taken aback at the sheer number of books, scrolls and papers this hub of knowledge promised to contain. Everywhere I glanced, I saw towering wooden bookshelves in pristine condition, professionally maintained and kept from disrepair over the ages no doubt.
These gargantuan constructs covered the majority of the walls and went all the way up to the ceiling, those upper levels being only accessible by usage of a nearby ladder, conveniently placed next to a counter, in the middle at the far end of the intimidating room, behind which stood the venerable-looking accountant.
What struck me as particularly curious about him was the fact that said accountant appeared to be a young Orsimer. I never took Orcs to be of any greater pursuits than hunting and fighting, much less to pursue knowledge and witchcraft, these professions traditionally reserved for less savage folk. And my doubts and quizzical impressions seemed to become obvious in an involuntary raising of my eyebrows, to which the orc gave me a scoffing look and proclaimed rather aggressively that "Orcs could be scholars too!".
Marcus snickered at his agitated commentary and told me that Urag, as the orc's name appeared to be, took his duty rather seriously.
According to Marcus it was downright impossible to sneak in without Urag taking notice, much less steal one of the books, so he implored me to not even try it, as that orc is a nasty fellow when crossed. Before we went elsewhere, I cast one last, reverential look into the room, soaking in the aura of scholarship and wisdom, secretly craving to have a seat on the commodious looking armchair and candle-lit table in the middle of the Arcaneum and start reading.
Marcus and I returned to the Hall of Attainment in which the apprentice's living quarters lay, gestured me to my resting place and stash, explaining he had already spoken to the head of the College, the respectable and nigh omnipotent Archmage, about me and my admittance to the halls of this place.
Stashing away my apprentice's book of restoration, thereby retrieving my very own College robe from the chest at the foot end of my bed, I stashed away also my garb I've traveled with and proudly donned the enchanted, hooded novice's robe, noticing how the magical power coursed through my body.
Never letting go of my prized staff, however, for I valued it greatly and I wouldn't want to find it in unauthorized hands. As it so happened, and in hindsight no mere coincidence, Marcus' bed was right next to mine, so he went on to show me something of his own making.
He opened the trunk and from it, he produced a big book, bound in black leather with mostly empty pages.
As he handed it to me, I flipped through the pages, intrigued at what they might contain. As I surveyed each one I could discern lots of drawings among even more handwritten text detailing magical practices to maximize restorational spells and such. To my chagrin, I stopped reading short of discovering a page detailing a rather dark ritual that I should come to witness later. Had I read further, I most assuredly would've left the College premises but in that moment, I was convinced of Marcus' sincerity in the matter of benign witchcraft.
Likewise, I was convinced that my time at the College would be an awesome and grand one.
And truly, so it was.
I'll skip detailing every single day leading up to the eventual fateful events that transpired. Suffice it to say that during my stay, the weeks went by quickly as I discovered more and more techniques in the art of restoration, occasionally dipping my feet into other schools as well. Destruction for using and learning more offensive spells to protect myself against attackers, for example. I also spent a lot of time with Shelivah, who not only told me of the basics of illusion magic and practiced them with me. To this end, we started to become close friends, our connection growing ever more intimate as time went on. I guess you could say I've even fallen in love at some point. Together with Shelivah, as it benefitted us both, we also dabbled in the arts of conjuration whereby we discovered how to summon armor and weapons to our aid should we ever meet a foe that proves impenetrable to our less proficient ways of magical assault.
I've also taken to frequent the Arcaneum in quest of greater knowledge and soon, made it my favourite pastime among spending time with Shelivah, in between lessons and lectures. I even became friends with Urag at some point, expertly and avidly discussing scholarly matters of great intricacy such as ancient tales of the Dwemer, Tamrielic history and hypotheses on the nature of magic. I remember a particularly heated discussion I had with the orc on the topic of whether or not necromancy should, albeit outlawed, become recognized as its own school of magic. Urag disagreed with great force, arguing how this would net the black and hideous art of raising the dead more attention and create the illusion that necromancy was actually a viable path to be taken which, according to Urag's belief, would be most terrible and outrageous.
Whereas I agreed to disagree with him, stating that, while it's true that necromancers would most certainly believe their dark art to not be as frowned upon, it'd open up hitherto unprecedented possibilities in the field of researching the art and it may even open up unheard of opportunities to turn this from a black art into a force for good if one would just take it upon themselves to research it properly. I can't remember how our discussion ended.
We tied, I believe, settling on that both our points of view were valid in their own right, even though Urag just didn't like the idea of people raising corpses for research and science.
Conversing with Urag was always pleasant and should you ever visit the Arcaneum, be sure to take a couple minutes and speak to him some time. He may seem grumpy on the outside at first, but trust me when I tell you he is a kindhearted fellow.
In retrospect though, I wish I never had this discussion about necromancy with Urag. Pleasant though it was, I didn't know that a certain mage eavesdropped on the two of us, henceforth taking actions that should've raised a lot of red flags but didn't, probably due to my naïveté at the time and my wrongly guided belief the black arts could be developed into something that is more than unsaintly practices and indignant rituals. But in due time. What I found to be particularly remarkable was that Marcus seemed to vanish quite often at queer times during my stay at the College, in the majority of cases apparently nowhere to be found. And every time he returned, he had this foetor surrounding him, a malodorous aura of decay and humidity. I wondered, then, whence he went all this time. But Marcus made sure I in due time bore witness to it.
Replies