6- The wheel turns on the last Dragonborn.
Arc 1: The Staff of Magnus
-Chapter 1: The Tower-
A bandit charged across the road, a crazed light in his eyes. He struggled through the fresh snow, desperate to avenge his comrades, leaving the deep imprints of his shoddy boots behind him. He was the last one left from the small group attacking the caravan. Soran stood before him, sword still sheathed at his side, and raised his arm. He gripped a small portion of his magicka, quickly transforming the energy with his mind. Before the bandit was within ten paces, Soran lined up and gestured with his palm, releasing a bolt of thunder. The compressed energy sizzled with a loud crack! as it cut through the air and dug into the leather covered chest of the poorly equipped marauder. It vaporized a clean hole in the armor and tore into the flesh underneath.
Energy seared down his nerves and the man toppled mid stride; like a puppet whose strings were cut. There was no cry of pain. Only a soft puff as he hit the snow, then silence. A strong enough bolt of electricity destroyed the nervous system before anyone could shout out. Years ago Soran was unsettled by this instant silence, like the whispers of Sithis in his ears, but after three years living as a hired battlemage, he had learned to appreciate a quick and quiet death.
Better than the sounds of fire. That was terrible to hear.
Thank Shor J'zargo never takes these jobs with me. He thought. I don't need to hear the burning men that fire-mad cat would make.
Skyrim was a dangerous place. Now more so than ever. As the civil war rapidly escalated army deserters quickly turned to banditry. Vampires stalked the moonless nights and a thalmor informant lay in the corner of every tavern. But for Soran this only meant a steady supply of guard work and a constant whetstone upon which he could hone his talents. After living powerlessly for so long, he was now the hunter. And with Onmund at his side, at least for the jobs near Winterhold, he could even say he was enjoying himself.
Onmund and him had quickly become friends after meeting at the college of Winterhold. Two nords, barely men, enrolled at the college after being harshly judged for their magical pursuits. They understood each other well, both recognizing the scorn that was received by nords who stood against the grain of their warrior culture. While all the new mages; J'zargo, Brelyna, Soran, and Onmund bonded as they learned from the masters of the college, Onmund and Soran were inseparable. But even their friendship wasn't enough to hold him back.
After only a brief time at the College of Winterhold, Soran felt stifled. His talents were wasted, and the secrets to true power were tightly held. The answers he needed, the power he needed, they were not here. So he left, and decided to learn from more obscure sources.
What a foolish idea.
There was a reason society shunned those who dove deep into the darkest magical arts. Countless vile acts are made possible through manipulating the Aetherius. And were his need not dire he never would have served beneath them.
And for such meager scraps of knowledge!
His brief foray into the death cult left him disappointed. It was a terrible and violent place where backstabbing was commonplace, and anything and everything was done in the name of magical power.
This he was expecting. But the knowledge gained was trivial at best.
Only senior members were allowed access to the secretive rituals of lichdom and immortality. The rest were treated as disposable fodder. And the leader of the cult he joined was a truly deranged individual. Absolutely mad, but with he enough power to wrangle together the band of murderers.
For such a dangerous environment the risk was not worth the reward and so Soran left once again.
He went off on his own this time, working as a hired battlemage for caravans and wealthy travelers. It was a much better life than the cult. He was safe from conspiring acolytes and was able to practice his magic on anything foolish enough to attack his client. He was even earning enough coin to invest in quality equipment; steel plate worn over expert destruction robes. And a steel sword with a flame enchantment.
It was good steel, nothing like those produced from the Skyforge, but it was the best Windhelm had to offer.
He would have preferred a lightning enchantment. But too much of his arsenal was already based on the electric element. He needed some variety.
One more item completed his gear. An ancient nord helmet he had stolen from the death cult. The horned piece was rumored to have been blessed by Talos himself.
Soran highly doubted that claim. But the vitality enchantments on the helm were beyond reproach.
.
.
And it served as another way to get one over on those worthless cult bastards. He was petty like that.
His current detail was escorting a wagon caravan moving goods from the Windhelm docks up to Winterhold. It was a cold journey but normally sparse with threats. Not many men live this far up north.
Not many sane men at least.
Honestly Soran was surprised they were attacked at all.
His current caravan was well armored. Obscenely so. It wasn't often bandits would attack a group like that. And they'd at least be prepared.
Not like these fools that lay quickly cooling in the snow. Clad only in animal hides and holding rusty weapons.
There were fifteen hired guards for gods sake! What were those maniacs thinking, chasing down a courier even into our kill zone. Seven against 15 and they persisted. The men must be mad. Soran thought, he replayed the short fight in his head and once again came away bewildered.
There can't have been a normal thought in their heads. Must be the time out here... It takes an odd breed to stay in this awful stretch between Windhelm and Winterhold.
He looked around at the vast ice sheets that separated the road from the sea. As he watched the horizon, where the ocean met the sky, he shivered, despite his nord blood. Even after spending much of his life here, he was still cold in Skyrim's north. Once again, he was grateful for the destruction robes he had on under his armor. They had a small heating enchantment in addition to their usual effects which blocked out the worst of the chill.
The wind was blowing harshly now, drowning out most noise. Where seconds ago the sounds of men fighting and dying was present now there was only the wind. The crack of electrocution that had marked the sudden end of the skirmish, and had also seemed to signal the start of a storm.
Still pondering irrational bandit actions, Soran continued looking over the sea. Soon he could scarcely see the ocean from their perch on the main road. The wind sprayed snow up from the ground in large plumes. Clouding the landscape.
But the sky was still cloudless. Thank Shor.
Back before the caravan, away from the wind whipped snow, the source of their skirmish came out from his hiding place behind the wagons; the courier.
He began to approach the merchant who hired us.
"Thank you kind folk for -" The courier began.
"Damn you stranger" cried the merchant. He was an awful sort, paranoid and perpetually angry. But rich enough to spare money on the high price protection detail me and Onmund work as. It had paid off today.
Well, honestly he definitely had enough guards even without us.
"You led those marauders right to us, it's lucky we were able to take them out without casualty. " he said.
Despite six of his guards not even participating in the fight. Soran rolled his eyes.
The courier's grateful expression quickly soured at the harsh treatment and his gratitude was replaced by righteous indignation.
"You expect me to die on my lonesome then. Not to struggle for life when I am set upon?!"
"Shut the fuck up!" The merchant roared, stepping closer, like he'd swing on the man, before stopping and storming off. No doubt to talk with the soothsayer he traveled with. He consulted her constantly. Her supposed fortune telling abilities were said to be the real reason behind the merchants wealth.
Soran smirked from the sidelines. But inside he was unimpressed.
So the merchant rages once again.
It was an often occurrence which had him rethinking the duration of his contract.
The merchant is a fool. Expecting a man to die without a fight.
A hand on Soran's shoulder turned his thoughts. He couldn't even hear an approach over the cold winds.
"We're almost to Winterhold now." Onmund said loudly. Straining over a brief gust before continuing on normally. "Only an hour more. I know these roads here. Been here many a time."
You better know these roads after living at the college for 5 years. Thought Soran as Onmund rambled on, talking about his plans for this paycheck. No doubt he'd spend it all on restoration spells for him and Brelyna to study.
As the two hired mages spoke the wagons were hitched once more. Resuming their trek towards Winterhold after the short battle. 15 hired guards facing a mere 7 poorly equipped bandits. It was a fight with a clear outcome from the beginning. All to chase after a courier who probably had a purse of just 20 septims.
"This job is great" Onmund exclaims, mirth on his face "that paranoid bastard hired more men than anyone could ever need"
"Just you and me must've cost 1000 septims. He spent a fortune on us all just to guard two wagons? And then he brought on more guards?" Onmund, ever the miser, couldn't even fathom spending the kind of money it took to get 15 elite bodyguards to travel the snowy road to Winterhold. Every coin of his was judiciously saved to spend on spell tomes and tuition.
"Ahh, but you underestimate the depths of our merchants paranoia. He even travels with a soothesayer as his second in command. He constantly consults with her." Said Soran. "I heard he got bad tidings about this trip but decided to continue onwards with more men. His greed got the better of him."
"Greed for what, ice? How can he even pay all these guards? He's sending two wagons to Winterhold; the poorest of all Skyrim's holds. Who in Oblivion even trades with Winterhold anyways? All thats there is the college." Onmund continued ceaseless. But Soran was used to the enthusiastic storm and weathered on.
"But the college is what he's here for." Soran said pointedly. Looking at his friend like one would look at particularly dim-witted dog. "He's made a fortune selling new magic artifacts and tomes from Cyrodiil. How did you not know the cargo were transporting? We're almost finished with the job!"
"What!? How did I not know this until now?" exclaimed Onmund, agreeing with his friend in overdramatic fashion. "Brelyna and me have been saving money for some of the new illusion research out of The Arcane University. Been looking for a while. It's hard getting anything useful nowadays. Nearly everything that gets in has to be sanctioned by the Thalmor. And they don't allow for anything combat worthy. They have got the southern border locked down tighter than a horkers cunt! Ha!"
Onmund cackled while Soran looked at him tiredly.
"Why the fuck would you say that?" The spell sword said deadpan.
Soran looked at his friend for a moment more before continuing on like he wasn't friends with a cretin, "That's why he's got the coin for us. It's harder than ever to get contraband across. The imperials are out in force looking to stop any support going to the rebels. But luckily, our jolly boss has got connection among the smugglers. He's brought new research and artifacts, unfiltered by General Tulius or any pesky elves and he's sending it up for the mages at the college of Winterhold to get first picks. He knows you fools will pay any inflated price he wants"
"Damn right we will I need some new spells." Says Onmund. "Speaking of which." He moved closer to Soran, "How did you punch a hole through that bandits chest with your thunder? I haven't managed that trick even after your pointers last we met. Let me hear your thoughts once more. "
"I told you last time Onmund, there is no secret you only need to condense the thunder further. Making the broad bolt into a thin spear."
"Shor's tits Soran! That all you said last time. Give me some instruction" whined Onmund.
"That's all there is you horker. Do I have to teach you to breathe too?"
"Fuck off" Onmund retorted.
"Gentlemen." The soft voice of the courier interjected, turning both friends attention to the thin man. "I hope you will receive my thanks more gracefully than your employer"
The bandit's would-be victim still appeared shaken. He gave a slight bow to the the pair.
"Haha" Onmund burst out proudly. "I don't know about gracefully, but you are welcome all the same."
"We'll it certainly was impressive" the courier said "you two killed those men without even touching them"
"I only got the one. Soran here killed 3 with one spell!" Onmund slapped Soran's shoulder and he grunted in affirmation. The moment the bandits charged, Soran took first blood with a chain lighting spell.
"Yes that certainly set the tone of the encounter. It's a wonder the rest of them didn't run off after that." The courier responded.
"There's only madmen who raid this far north." Soran announced. "Living on this cold empty place. They were desperate for any prey. Even a poor courier like yourself."
"Madmen indeed." Agreed the courier. Then his expression changed. He leaned closer to Soran with a sly grin, as if sharing a secret, but he spoke loudly, "Speaking of such things as madmen and raiding, I've heard news that Helgen was destroyed. Terrible business, the whole town was killed." he spoke the last part with a grave tone and grim face. "But some fools" he scoffed, quickly changing his tone to derision. "Claim it was done by dragons. Ha! A dragon in the 4th era." His laughter was black with scorn and his statement ended with a condescending smile.
-/-/-/-/-/
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The caravan leisurely rolled into Winterhold an hour later. The final trek was uneventful. Save for the incessant howl of the wind and the worsening weather. Another snowstorm was blowing in.
'How in Oblivion Onmund stays in this frozen wasteland I'll never know. The teaching at the college surely doesn't warrant living here.' Soran thought as he counted the money he would be earning in his head.
Well, I guess Tolfdir's alteration classes are worthwhile.
He stopped with the rest of the group at the edge of town. Before them the merchant stood to address the caravan. The ever-present soothsayer stood next to him. Her features hidden under dark hooded robes.
"Alright you lot. Leave off and get some rooms at the inn. Or don't, I won't care. Just be ready when we leave. We'll be here a few days while I barter with those mage cunts." He spat. The merchant looked away from the hired guards to the servants and muscle that made up his normal crew.
"Harald! Get the horses settled and rooms at the inn. Cats! Guard the wagons. Some of the vagrants here got light fingers." He quickly turned and walked towards the college without a second glance. "Soothsayer, stay with me." The woman followed without a word.
Harald ran off to do his masters bidding. While the two khajiit mercenaries glared at the turned back of their boss. Their steel armor was iced over in spots and their fur was wet with melted snow. They were the only guards who stayed with the merchant long term. His attitude made for a quick turnover rate.
'He needs some deep pockets to get the desert cats this far north. Though I can't imagine it would be enough to endure his attitude'. Soran thought. Watching as the two warriors hissed at each other and began appropriating firewood from a nearby pile.
Past the cats and the small rundown city, the College of Winterhold stood out against a dark horizon. Darker than it was mere minutes ago. It was only midday yet the shadows looked longer as clouds covered the sun. And wind continued to whip about and kick up snow. 'I wonder... Is this how ice wraiths are born? No.. they'd need something more... But considering the bandits we killed earlier. Their deaths could've weakened the barrier between planes. Combined with the natural ice storm...'
"Hey" Onmund said, slapping his shoulder and startling him out of his thoughts for the second time today. "We should get going. Clear signs for a blizzard forming."
"Oh, right". Said Soran meekly. Too wrapped up in his musings to consider the other ramifications of the dark clouds and blistering wind.
"You're not even paying attention are you? Come on just follow me." Onmund pushed him by the shoulder back towards the cobblestone road and the crumbling bridge that connected the college to the main town.
Nearly 80 years ago, monstrous waves had pushed most of Winterhold into the sea. Now the college stood separate from the remaining portion of the city. Connected only by an ancient stone bridge spanning the icy chasm.
He could see the merchant and soothsayer were already walking across the bridge, cautiously avoiding the worst sections where broken stone marked the passing of ages.
Soran looked back to the road and saw Onmund staring back impatiently. "Come on!" He waved, gesturing Soran onwards.
-/-/-/-/
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The students dorms had barely changed in the years since he left them. The blue of the magelights mixed with the fire of the torches to create a cool yet homey atmosphere. The stone walls were just as he's left them, three years ago. They were so familiar Soran was hit with a wave of nostalgia as he walked in from the courtyard.
He had lived in these dorms for nigh on six years. It was the closest thing he ever had to a home.
'How would I be if I never left. Never sought any deeper knowledge and just remained here as a student?' If I steadily grew here instead of searching dark and dangerous places for secrets better left unheard. But no... I made the right choice. I'll not cower. I'll not go meekly into the night. Soran's heavy thoughts lightened as he sat and watched the exuberant reunion between Onmund and Brelyna.
Those two liked to think their relationship was a secret, but it was obvious even to casual onlookers.
"This one thinks they are overdramatic. He was barely gone for a week" The smug and raspy voice of Jzargo said from behind him. His former peer had his characteristic smirk on as Soran turned his eyes to the cat. Once again the khajiit attempted to sneak up on him.
But Soran wasn't started this time. There was no wind to drown out the khajiits movements and he heard him coming.
'No wind in here at least' he glanced over at the windows and only saw a rolling mass of grey as the blizzard raged outside.
"Come now Jzargo he was gone for nearly a month" Soran responded turning his head back to face the khajiit. "Must you be so petty."
"But of course." Jzargo smirked toothily. "This one would not change their nature for your convenience. Besides it felt like a week. Nice and quiet. With no one else using the destruction targets."
Soran rolled his eyes.
"So" Jzargo began again, still watching him with lazy eyes, his tail flicked. "Did you learn any powerful Magics since we last met? Come across any artifacts perhaps?" It was the same question he asked every time they met.
It had become a sort of game between them.
"I'm beginning to think you're just using our friendship for power Jzargo." Joked Soran knowingly. Their friendship had been based on the exchange of power and magic from the very beginning. Knowledge for knowledge. They taught each other by trading their own discoveries. The two prodigies feeding off each other. While Onmund and Brelyna were talented mages in their own rights. Soran and Jzargo were always ten steps ahead. More ambitious. More talented. More creative. A dangerous combination.
Looking away from the khajiit back towards Onmund and Breylana; Soran smiled slowly. "As a matter of fact I have" he stated.
Glancing out of the corner of his eye. Soran saw Jzargo's languid smugness slide off like the mask it was. Revealing an eager focus like that of a snake.
"I've been focusing on alteration lately. Or rather the telekinetic aspect of it. And I've discovered something... interesting. Normally it would be impossible to control anything fast enough, like an arrow mid flight. It's too difficult to focus that quickly. But by expanding that telekinetic force into a field, a domain, you can affect anything that passes through. Regardless of speed."
Soran turned back to Jzargo and saw the cats mind working, eyes darting as he processed the new information. But after a moment his lazy facade fell back into place.
"Hmmm... This one thinks you exaggerate by considering this powerful magic, but It is interesting. Jzargo has also been working on something... interesting. A fire spell. Particularly potent upon the undead. Burning away the very soul that animates them. The soul of a typical undead is unshielded by life force or magic. It's vulnerable. Easy to ignite."
Soran looked back warily. 'Of course Jzargo would create a soul burning fire spell. What else would I expect'.
"Does that sound like a reasonable exchange?" Jzargo purred. Looking into Sorans eyes.
"Wait... You would tell me of a secrets of soul burning fire for a telekinetic field? That's too heavily in my favor. I know you're not that generous Jzargo." Soran responded with narrowed eyes. Jzargo broke eye contact. Uncharacteristically sheepish.
"Well... the spell is not perfect. There are still some alterations to be made. Unexpected explosions. Uncontrolled chain reactions." He spoke the issues softly.
"Unexpected explosions!?"
/\/\
Soran and J'zargo talked for a while on their newest deal. They had done this many times over the years when Soran was a student and even when he would return to the college between mercenary jobs. Although he had left it in search of better sources of knowledge, he always returned to the college eventually. His parents had been absent his life from a young age and there was little lifelong friends to be made in the warrens under Markarth. He had lived there with the rest of the poor and sick for nearly a decade but he never considered those old dwemer ruins a home.
Just a bad memory.
And as he considered the College of Winterhold to be his first home, he considered the master wizards within to be the first positive adult influence he had ever had. There had been kindly guards and others, but no concrete examples by which he could base his life. Tolfdir the alteration master and to a lesser extent, the arch mage Savos Aren himself were the greatest examples. He made a point of visiting them and the other masters each time he visited the college, he even spoke to Phinis Gestor the conjuration master despite their falling out leading him to leave the college.
Gazing into Oblivion for so long had left the conjurer a paranoid mess.
At the moment, several of the more politically involved mages were absent. Mirabelle Ervine, second in command to the arch mage, Faralda the altmer destruction master, and the altmer student Nirya were all gone on a diplomatic journey to the Summerset Isles. They were finalizing a deal to lessen the restrictions on importing spells and other magic items.
Currently the elves had agents along the borders working to ban any magic developments from entering Skyrim. No doubt trying to further weaken the region.
There had been talk of removing some of these restrictions for the college in exchange for stationing a thalmor agent at the college. Personally, Soran thought the deal was worthless, the hassle of housing one of their agents wasn't worth the meager scrolls they would be allowed to purchase. But several of the altmer at the college had ties with Summerset and their thalmor government and thus were inclined to play nice with the bastards-
Slam!
The door separating the courtyard and dorms slammed open, wrenching Soran from his thoughts and letting in a gust of snowy wind and a frantic Colette Marence.
"Mages, to arms!" She screamed. Vibrating with energy her anger was palpable in the air. "Winterhold has been attacked!"
Colette had seen devastation within the city. It looked like any fighting had already stopped and it was now still, besides the roiling blizzard that obscured the town. Through the thick snow, she spotted destroyed buildings and bodies as she walked near the bridge.
Immediately she hurried back to alert the Arch Mage who gathered a group to investigate. It wasn't a complete roster of the college masters with the Summerset expedition still underway. And Drevis Neloren was was off gods know where. But the group was sufficient to tackle any threat this side of Oblivion.
The arch mage Savos Aren,
The alteration master Tolfdir,
The conjuration master Phinis Gestor.
And restoration master Colette Marence, four master level magicians. They went forward into the city to survey the disaster, defeat the unknown attackers, and provide aid.
Onmund, Brelyna, Jzargo, and Soran decided to join them.
The group scanned fruitlessly as they walked across the bridge into Winterhold; searching for an attacker, or survivor, or anything at all. It was impossible to see into the worsening snowstorm. But as the snowy curtain shifted with the wind, images of a ruined town and a broken keep were briefly shown. The stone towers that surrounded the jarls longhouse had been destroyed. Stones blasted through thatched roofs and wooden walls. Many of the buildings had collapsed, covered in thick spikes of frost.
The initial panic and righteousness which filled the trio of younger mages gave way to dread as they walked across the ancient bridge, closer to the mayhem.
What force could have caused this destruction?
As they passed through the arch at the end of the bridge they could better observe the scene. Bodies lay in the street, Winterhold guards crushed by debris and mangled as if by some mighty blow. Men and women frozen. The caravan wagons had been torn apart and was covered in jagged formations of ice. One of the two Khajiit guards lay nearby, bleeding on icy spikes. His fur was covered in frost and frozen blood.
Savos Aren surveyed the scene stoically. He could feel a powerful energy within the city. That of old magic.
"It appears they were attacked by an ice daedra of sorts." He said. Scanning his eyes through the dense clouds of flurried snow. "I feel it here still; hiding within the blizzard."
"Hiding?! Hah hah ha. "
A deep voice rumbled through the street following the arch mage's statement.
"I am merely waiting for more joors (mortals) to arrive!" The voice echoed from the center of the jarls broken keep.
Then the very fabric of reality rumbled and a shout split open the sky.
LOK VAH KOOR (sky spring summer)
A great gust of wind swept the group as the blizzard was banished to the edges of town. Creating a wall of white wind trailing far into the sky in an enormous circle centered about the dragon. For that was the only thing it could be. A great beast of stone grey scales and bat-like wings. It's back was covered in spines and it's head covered in horns.
Despite never seeing one in their life, every mage immediately made the connection.
Dragon.
With the sudden clearing of the air the group could see the full extent of the carnage. Every building in town had been leveled. Two of the three towers surrounding the keep had been blasted outwards. Creating a cone of destruction where the quarried stones broke through everything in their way.
And atop the remaining tower in the center of the leveled city. Perched the dragon. Watching them.
"I hope you will make for better sport."
/
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