”You remember what I said, little sister.” Mire said, inclining his head towards the boats, “Keep your head.”

“On your shoulders and your wits.” Brittle said, looking at his knife as he rubbed it with an oil cloth, an easy smile on his face as if he'd only wished his farewells.

She frowned, which given her face these last few days, her visage barely changed. Turning around, she felt like she'd ran into a lantern post, but shaking her head and looking up, found it was instead her father. It was the first time they'd met eyes for any more than a moment. He held hers and she forced herself to return his gaze. He laid a hand on her shoulder and that reassuring weight, that warmth, that feeling of caring and love despite all she'd done to warrant the chopping block... it almost broke her all apart.

“Come back to me safe, my little Thane.”

She nodded, then realized her eyes were closed. She'd dozed off on the boat and rose to her feet, bogged down by the weight of her fatigue. She growled, slapped at her face to wake herself up and stretched her neck out on one side, then the other. She stood there, nothing but the creaks and moans of the ship rocking and shifting with the waves. Somewhere above her, Keegan was heaving up whatever meager rations he'd put in his belly. She let go a sigh and picked up her waterskin- the one that was filled with water- and poured herself a mouthful to gulp down before going to the topdeck. What she saw there was enough to take her aback. The destruction was so complete that if she had never known the College was neighbored by a town called Winterhold, she would have thought the little clutch of huts and houses were never there. “Shor's bones.”

She stood staring, wondering what the chaos was like in those moments, the fear that gripped each unexpecting citizen. It brought her back to those moments in the caverns, the feeling of complete helplessness as she felt the rope bridge snap, the feeling of defeat as she felt herself become weightless, then the furious surge of her will to live as she grabbed onto the stray rope. The rest, she shook from her head with a grimace like she'd bit into shit. When they began filing into separate parties to get onboard two dinghies, she decided to go with Roze and Sevine. Those two she knew, at least. One, a hero, the other... the other... well, she was an amusing presence, at least. As some of them conversed, she stayed quiet. She stayed like that for an uncomfortable while, weighing out the choice between talking and not as if it were choosing which one of them would die. In the end, she picked Sevine. To talk to, that is. She struggled for something to say, feeling of a sudden that she was a stranger and not someone she'd fought death wrapped in metal alongside. She coughed into a fist and bit the blade, as they say, “Shit weather, ain't it?” Good, silver tongued as always, she scolded herself.

From the first dinghy, boats launched earlier could be observed entering the flooded cave. The Thane's men went in first, followed by two more of the EEC. Wind increased tempo rapidly, flinging about thin wooden crafts like leafs. Two boats went in without accident, and one of the EEC boat even returned to its mother ship. The second EEC boat, however, was barely afloat with five heavy individuals and a stack of containers. The leading man on that boat, a Breton decked out in red-stripped metal plates, shouted obscenity at his rowers. Without surprise, his weight and discouragements played against him and his crew. As a large gust blew, every boat at sea tumbled, but the EEC boat in question capsized. Five sailors casted into frigid waters and goods joining bottom feeding fishes.

Four subordinate rowers clung to various floating objects and were immediately picked up by the returning boat. The armored man, however, was carried off-axis by a wave and paddled desperately to keep his head above water. At this point, The Courtesan's first dinghy was far closer than everyone else.

“Help!” The drowning man screamed desperately. “I don't want to-” He nearly plunked down but a rising current carried him up, giving him the time to shed his helmet and gauntlets. “Don't let me die!” He cried out while wriggling out of his sabatons. Losing several pieces helped him float, though it was clearly a fast losing battle.

“Heavy armor in a tiny canoe, what could possibly go wrong?” Farid sneered. At his foremost position, the drowning figure came within twice of his arm reach. “Ariane, drag him back with your fancy magic?” He suggested, bringing others in his dinghy to attention.

“That's not how magic works.” Ariane shook her head, apparently not disturbed in the slightest.

“Right, ropes then?” Farid glanced back and forth. “The climb kit!” He noticed. “Solveig, get the ropes out and get the poor sod in.”

Quick thinking saved life in the end. Ariane threw a feather spell to lighten the drowning man. Even so, the dinghy could only drag, not carry the EEC employee forward. As undeserving as the fool was, getting him safely inside the cave made Farid feel better. “Feeling all cool now?” Farid gloated after dragging the EEC man with the help with two others. Despite his cutting words, Farid gave out his own jacket to staff off hypothermia.

"Th-thanks." The Breton man's teeth clattered involuntarily. "I, I feel lightheaded."

"Side effect of feather spells." Ariane told him.

Interior of the cave was a lagoon paired with an equal sized platform. There were no stairs, no rope cleats or anything safety related. It was mostly torches brought from boats that provided illumination. Seven sailors stood on a narrow land strip. The lagoon stretched just over a dinghy's length, matched by width barely capable of holding three rowboats side by side. On the ground of the platform was a handful of reflective dust. For some reason, the sailors held their weapons in alarm.

“Magic anomaly.” The sole person with magic knowledge in their group explained. “This one wasn't tough, but it stings like a giant hornet.”

By the time Keegan came in, the scant few dry land were most filled up by a dozen standing people, and one shivering Breton scrunched up half-alive. “He needs heat.” Ariane told the second dinghy. “Farid will light a fire once we clear the area, but warm food, drink or spells could do him good.”

“Does hot sauce count?” S'riracha presented a compact can of what could only be his favorite condiment. “I guess not.” He retracted it when some shot him looks reserved for risque children. “Take it easy, just trying to help.” He shrugged.

“Do'Karth? Almad?” Keegan remembered there were at least two person well-versed in healing. “Can you do anything?”

When it finally comes time to move on minutes later, the way forward would be up. There laid a vertical opening of three to four stories not far ahead. Three person could squeeze up, but the only form of ascension were unstable wood rungs nailed into icy walls. These rungs could have been an improvised ladder, but its present state was not functioning at all. In fact the rungs would serve as guides at best. The natural surface were slippery rocks combined with unmelted icicles; nothing but peril.

“Ashav said you're in charge now. What are you going to do?” Having assessed the situation, Farid approached Ariane.

“Levitation? I doubt anyone here knows it.” Ariane responded. “I'm not sure,” she admitted, “bouldering isn't really my specialty.”

“Don't worry, lass, we've got it covered.” A rugged Nord sailor joined in. As he was talking, the sound of bow drawing, arrow flying, ropes unfurling and metal clinging into stone could be heard. “We've got a grappling hook up there; you just need to tie yourself in and scramble up.”

“Looks solid.” The sailor gave the rope a good tug. Something shook above and chunks of ice came down. The way up felt anything but solid. “Anyone up for the first go?”

Farid shot his hand up faster than everyone else. He volunteered, but not for himself. “How about Sagax?” A smug grin plastered to the Redguard's face.

Twice fortunate, you are, Almad thought about the Breton, and equally foolish. Donning weighted armor on a small boat rowing through icy water was a sure way to dally with death, but he was not there to torment the man anymore than necessary. Dibella knew that smirking Farid would be more than willing to oblige.

"He needs heat," Ariane proclaimed.

He glanced at the Breton man—soaked and quivering—and wondered if the lass truly believed herself to have made a genuine keen observation, or perhaps she spoke the common tongue of this crew, that of sarcasm, or "a waste of words" as his mother called it. A peculiar manner of speech for an unbecoming people, he thought as squinted his eyes. The mercenary folk he was accustomed to spoke plainly, and he saw nothing indicative of nobility or having knowledge of the inner workings of a court. Duly noted, he thought.

"Almad," he heard a man uttered. He turned to see it was Keegan, the tall golden skinned elf, who spoke. "Can you do anything?"

He nodded and rummaged through his bag. He pulled out a rectangular box that was too large for one hand, untied and unwrapped the string, and grabbed a small wooden vial that had three marks—two vertical and parallel, and one laid horizontally in the center—carved in it. After uncorking it, twisting his lips when the pungent odor hit his nose, he covered the hole with a finger and directed a meager amount of magicka into the fluid he knew held a rich incarnadine hue that glowed slightly.

"Pardon the taste." He held the Breton by his trembling jaw and the emptied the vial's contents without giving him a chance to protest, after which he aimlessly looked around and sighed. "The magic will warm you, but you will need to change your garments." He removed his robe and laid it over the Breton's shoulders. "There is enough cloth in this one to protect you from the elements and most cuts, and—"

The man's feet. Of course, he said to himself. He pulled a long dry cloth from his bag and removed the man's boots and wet socks. The cloth was cut in two and wrapped around his feet such that it was thick enough to withstand the cold though not to the point it was inflexible.

He stood up and exhaled as words churned in his mind. "You may want to consider guarding whatever entrance we find," he said. "Such an experience can leave you... hesitant when something unexpected happens."

In truth, the Breton had not been in the water long enough to let the cold take him. He needed only a change of clothes and a moment of respite, and although Almad did not yearn to dampen the man's spirits, he did not want to entrust his health to someone frightened and so reckless either. As helpful as he may have been, his true intentions where to use the Breton's unnerved disposition to make the treatment and the suggestion seem more dire, and he hoped he did.

“This one cannot help with the cold; Do’Karth knows how to mend a wound, not brew a potion of warmth or cast a spell.” The khajiit responded when prompted by Keegan. He involuntarily shuddered, reflecting on what had happened to the Breton man, and while he was gladdened to see the man saved from drowning, hypothermia was still a very real threat, although not one of the worst ways to go. He watched as a Redguard he was unacquainted with, but knew to be Almad, both from Keegan’s inquiry and from listening to the others in the company talk to the dark-toned man with long, semi-kempt hair and no beard. After living amongst the Nords for long enough, it was becoming strange to see anyone without facial hair. Skyrim’s climate all but demanded it. The khajiit watched as Almad, evidently a mage, work his literal magic to try and comfort the now stripped down Breton. Do’Karth imaged the women of the company were rather enjoying themselves.

Ice tumbled down, striking the ground with enough force that Do’Karth’s ears shot backwards out of reflex. The faces around Do’Karth suggested that very few, if anyone, were willing, to attempt the climb. He set his staff against the wall, shed his heavy coat, and stood in his budi and foot wraps, clawed toes protruding. “This one will climb.” Do’Karth said, looking up the harrowing shaft. It was perhaps about 12 meters? The khajiit had never really climbed on ice before, but he was an accomplished climber; it was, after all, how he infiltrated the Mane’s palace, and much of his youth bad been spent climbing rock faces and trees to enjoy a natural view of the surroundings. He reached out to the ice and tested to see how well he could dig his claws into the ice; as it turned out, not much. It would be enough to keep him from sliding somewhat, but not enough to stop himself if he slipped.

Do’Karth approached the climbing kit, looking for anything that would help. Settling on a single crampon that strapped somewhat securely to his bare foot, the iron spikes giving some reassuring traction along with a crudely made ice axe, which simply looked like a hatchet that had been filed down to the point where it could break into the ice and stick with a leather lanyard hanging off of the bottom. All in all, not the most reassuring thing.

The khajiit approached the rope, gave it a solid tug, half expecting to be blinded from the falling grapple. When it didn’t come loose, he let out an annoyed sigh and wrapped the rope around his one leg, and let the bare one provide the friction necessary to hold himself in place as he ascended, Do’Karth began to pull himself upwards, allowing the rope to slide between his legs as he inched ever upwards, clamping down in his position as needed to break, or reached the end of his pull. The ice creaked menacingly above, and Do’Karth was fully expecting it to give out on him.

After ascending nearly half the distance, the khajiit swung somewhat, trying to grapple his foot onto one of the wooden struts to test its strength. After applying more and more pressure to it, the spike holding it into the wall came loose, and one side slid down, being caught by the other one. He slid down somewhat, wrapping an arm around the rope and using the ice axe’s lanyard to hook around the metal strut, pulling on it until the other strut, already weakened from his weight moments ago, and it came freely a moment later. The plank of wood might prove to be useful for securing the line, if he made it to the top.

If.

Sliding the length of wood into his waist sash, Do’Karth continued his climb, his muscles screaming at the exertion when a sudden crack above his head caused the khajiit to have a minor heart attack as he scrambled to dig the climbing axe into ice and to kick the crampon hard into the ice surface. Moments later, the grapple came loose, narrowly scraping his arm and the sudden stop of the rope still tied to his leg threatened to pull him free. Grabbing one of the wooden struts with his free hand, Do’Karth held on for dear life and dared not breathe, his eyes as wide as saucers.

As luck would have it, he didn’t fall, but he had to try and make the remaining two meters with one axe, one leg, all while carrying the increasingly horrible weight on his tangled leg that he needed to bring up with him if anyone else hoped to reach the top. And so, using struts that dared to break free at a moment’s notice and what equipment he brought with him, Do’Karth struggled with every foot he gained, his muscles threatening to give out with each pull. When his axe reached over the top, his heart soared and with heavy exertion, Do’Karth pulled himself over the ledge and he landed with a heavy thunk on his back, his muscles screaming and his lungs burning for oxygen, but he was safe. Letting out a relieved and nervous laugh, Do’Karth laid on his back, catching his breath. When a voice carried up to him, asking if he were alright.

“Fine! This one has made it. Give him a moment to secure the rope.” He called back. Do’Karth labourously sat up, freeing his leg of the grapple, and he dragged it down the tunnel, surprised to see a door with a torch scone, a very frosted over scone, affixed to the stone next to it. Wrapping the rope around the scone before anchoring it with the grapple, Do’Karth also produced the strut he’d saved and tested the door to see if it creaked open. The seams were frozen shut, prompting the khajiit to curse and bash the pick near the lock until a reassuring crack gave him the confidence to try and pry the door open by sliding the strut in the door handle and using it to pry. It started to flex, but there was progress. Returning to the lip of the ledge, Do’Karth checked the rope again, hoping the scone was firmly anchored itself. “Watch your heads! Do’Karth is dropping the equipment!” he called, checking to see if people were stepping back. Tying the axe and the crampon to the length of rope by the leathers to control their descent, Do’Karth dropped the climbing equipment down, where seconds later they landed with a thunk. “Do’Karth sees a door and has secured the rope. Should he proceed and try to find something to use as a ladder?” he called.

Surprised to see Solveig sitting alongside her, Sevine offered her a flash of a smile, she had only spoke with the young warrioress back at Candlehearth Hall, regardless of that fact, Solveig held a positive impression in her mind, and she found her company worthwhile. Coincidentally, their dinghy was filled with women, Roze, Ariane, Solveig and herself; she found it appealing as it was a rare occasion to be surrounded by the fairer sex as they sat shoulder-to-shoulder. When Solveig made a quip about the weather, Sevine felt her stomach turn, her eyes darting to the sky, scanning for any foul weather that lurked behind the dark clouds brewing in the distance.

“I think my stomach has taken a rough beating, but I’ll survive.” Here, Sevine winked at the copper-haired spearwoman, and turned her attention back to the sea. The steady rise and fall of the waves played havoc on her mind, and on her insides, yet she managed to keep what brunch she had down.

Unlike Sevine, one of the other dinghies in front capsized, and one fellow, with not quite the average intelligence, deemed it suitable to wear a set of heavy armor. She grunted in disgust as the fellow flailed about in the water, Farid sharing the same opinion with his stark words, and had Solveig not thrown a rope out to him, his life would have taken the course of natural selection had they chosen not to. However, Ariane cast a spell, what particular one, Sevine did not know, whatever it was, it made roping him in easier than his water-logged weight would have allowed. They hauled him aboard, and let him sit shivering until their dinghy docked in the interior of the lagoon, if one could call it that. She helped the man out, and to her delight, a Redguard man, by the name of Almad, stripped the poor bloke of his drenched clothes, she had to admit, the Breton they had rescued, had a fitting form. Once Almad covered him with a cloak, Sevine turned her prying eyes away, and focused on the important matter at hand. How the Oblivion were they to scale the wall of ice? Sure they had the climbing kit, but without any supports, it was a near vertical climb, a slip from that height would spell death. At first, when Farid suggested Sagax, she shot him a dark glower of hate, how dare he volunteer someone else, and not himself? Where was the pride and dignity in him? How could he call himself a man? She had every intention to spout off at him, but was dissuaded when Do’Karth of all people, or beasts, in his case, volunteered. Her heart plunged, and words of protest died on her lips as she stared wide-eyed at him.

The climb up the icy shaft was difficult, though he covered quite a considerable amount of ground as he inched his way to the top. Halfway up, as Sevine stood peering up the shaft, her teeth biting hard into her lower lip, she gasped and covered her mouth as one of the struts Do’Karth tested broke free, and clattered away. She felt that at any moment, she would see Do’Karth falling to his death.
’O Mara, blessed mother of all, please keep him safe.’ She prayed, too frightened to utter the words verbally. From where she stood, Sevine watched in horror as the grappling hook came undone, and tangled around his leg. How he would make it up the shaft now with one leg and axe concerned her. The gentle lapping of the waters inside the lagoon helped to calm her, though the frigid drop in temperature prompted her to think about why she had not brought a second layer; of course she answered her own thought by thinking of the Breton man; that’s why.

“Do’Karth! Be careful!” She pleaded, oh why did he have to volunteer himself?!

As fate would have it, Do’Karth succeeded in reaching the top, and when the length of his tail vanished over the icy edge, she breathed a sigh of relief, he made it. When he called down the shaft, informing those gathered below, that he had secured the rope, and inquired if he should locate a ladder, the replaying scene of watching him climb mortified her, and the thought of the ladder coming loose, or falling to pieces worried her considerably. She turned to look at Ariane and Farid instead, for guidance on the matter.

“We could all climb up the rope, and once inside the college look for a ladder to make the descent easier, they will likely have stronger materials as well, unless of course, you want to risk us climbing up a rickety ladder that has been lying around for the Divine’s know how long up there.” She stated, none too pleased with the idea of risking any lives than needed that day, already, they almost lost one foolish man for making a bad decision.

Roze found herself chuckling quietly at Solveig's comment on the weather, but said nothing of it. Normally, sentences like that were uttered when one was at a loss of what to say - and in their current situation, there was plenty other than the roiling skies ahead to be chatting about. Perhaps Solveig was feeling cowed by Sevine? For any other, Roze would have assumed so - her flame-headed friend was in no doubt a stoic figure, but to one as feisty as Solveig? Perhaps it was something other than a feeling of intimidation that the spear-woman was feeling...

Any internal musings over the thought were brought short by a commotion behind them - someone had decided to go for a swim, it would seem. Watching on with a grin as a rope was cast to the poor man, Rozalia couldn't help but make a joke - she had been sorely lacking in making light of situations lately, after all.

"If he was that anxious to get in some swimming practice, he should have tried back at Windhelm. Myself and Sagax found the waters there quite inviting." Said with a wry chuckle, Roze turned her gaze from her fellows in the boat to the wall of ice they steadily approached. That would not be fun to scale, that was for certain.

Docking soon after the near-drowning experience, the groups clambered from their boats and went about their business - for their newest recruit, he went about seeing to the shivering Breton - and what a fun spectacle that was to witness.

"My my - swimming and a strip tease? All we need now is some wine and music to make this into a party." Roze chuckled, eyeing up both the stripped Breton, and Almad the Redguard. She didn't know all that much about him - he had kept himself to himself for the voyage, it had seemed. She wasn't entirely sure, as Roze herself had spent the majority of the journey above decks, usually atop one of the masts. He didn't seem to be all that older than herself, but was likely more experienced. There was something familiar about the man, in the way he moved - something Roze recognised as one who saw shadows as a friend, and spent more than enough of their time traversing through them silently.

As the sailors announced the supposed readiness of the rope up, Roze's gaze soured as it turned towards Farid, hearing his "volunteering". While before she had seen the man as a good source of friendly - and increasingly flirting - banter, following the siege on the Kamal, her opinion of him was swiftly going down. First, he had remained unscathed from the Kamal - she seemed to vaguely remember him insulting Sagax? - and was just being generally unpleasant and cocky. He had then started a fight on the boat, which had been the last thing anyone had needed, and now here he was, offering up Sagax like a slab of meat.

"What does he have against Sagax?" She wondered, not even managing to get a word out before Do'Karth quite bravely offered to go first. Watching on just as uncomfortably as the rest, an ease was lifted from Roze's heart to see him make it all the way to the top, in one piece. As Sevine talked to Ariane and Farid, Roze walked over, slinging her bow over her shoulders and back as she did so.

"A ladder - or more ropes - would likely serve us better on the way down - but also on the way up." Roze chimed in agreement, looking between the three. "I can head up next - I'm sure myself and Do'Karth could find some more things to help everyone up." She suggested with a shrug of her shoulders. "It's up to you; I'm just not sure it would be wise sending all of us up with just an ice axe and a rope. Not everyone is talented in scaling walls, after all. Especially the icy ones." At this, her gaze cooled as she turned to Farid. "It'd be a damn shame if one of us fell."

On that not-so-vaguely threatening note, Roze made her way to where the climbing equipment had been dropped, grabbing what she needed, and then the rope. The hours she'd spent on board The Courtesan would probably help her here - she just hoped that neither her shoulder nor the ice would give out beneath her. It would be a damn shame for her to fall and die after that scathing remark to Farid - it would be humiliating.

And fatal - but a girl needs to think about reputation first, right?

As it happened, the climb wasn't as hard as she anticipated. It was easy to follow the same path Do'Karth had taken himself, digging the axe deep into the crevices he had already made. Compared to the mast of the ship, it was easier in that she wasn't being thrown and tossed about with a boat upon the waves. However, wood - no matter how slippery with rain - is inherently easier to scale than sheer ice. Roze avoided the wooden struts at first, seeing how easily they had come away from Do'Karth, but as she climbed she began using them as footholds. Being far smaller and lighter than the Khajiit, they were somewhat happier to take her weight. They still groaned and slipped, but hey, she wasn't falling just yet.

The top of the cliff could not have come sooner - by the end of the climb, the air was burning Roze's lungs and mouth, breath billowing out in a cold stream and obscuring her vision momentarily. Roze's shoulder was not pleased with her, but it was aching rather than hurting... for now, at least.

"Phew... that... that was quite... the climb..." Roze panted as she clambered over the edge, darting a tired grin at Do'Karth as she caught her breath. Straightening up eventually, she staggered over to the door, silently thanking the Gods that there wasn't another icy climb. Noticing the strut wedged in-between, she tried the door a few times... it was either locked or frozen shut. And she could certainly help with one of those.

"If my lock-picking "magic" doesn't work here, we may need a mage. Ironic, huh?" She chuckled, glancing up at the college above before taking out her lock-picking equipment. Prior to this, she had thrown the climbing things back down, in case Farid and Ariane followed Sevine's plan rather than her own. Scraping away ice from the nearly obscured lock, Roze knelt down and got to work. There was indeed a lock, and it was indeed still locked, despite Do'Karth's efforts with the pick. It had cracked the metal on the outside, but the mechanism within was still working nicely... however, breaking it open wouldn't do much good if the ice didn't want to shift. They'd just have to wait and see if her efforts were wasted or not. But hey, it's never a bad time to get in some burglary practice.

---

The Courtesan sailed nearly straight into screeching winds. The distant fire was to the east, and in that same direction, a hailstorm was beginning to assert itself. In the ten to fifteen minutes that The Courtesan took to close in, the hailstorm picked up intensity to the point where visibility dropped to mere meters. However, the flame not only lasted, but boosted in its presence with a nearby torch-holding figure. That was, until the rescue ship came closer. Where they could finally shout to the shore, the campfire went out.

“This is beyond ridiculous. You better turn this damn ship around, captain.” Dumhuvud went to where Atgeir stood and jabbed a finger into his chest. “Now!”

“Your lack of faith is seriously disturbing.” Orakh raced up from behind and dragged Dumhuvud away. “Are you going to let that person die?” The Orc referred to the torch, who stood firm despite harsh winds.

“Hello? Who's out there?” Without pausing, Orakh leaned over to shout at the shore. “We're here to help; can you guide us in?” His words apparently found results, though what came from land was immediately muffled by a powerful gust.

Briefly consulting with ship officers (and ignoring the Cat-Kicker), Orakh decided to inch forward and land using ramps from as far away as possible. The task was difficult without a doubt, but the experienced crew succeeded in avoiding hazards and navigating through hostile climate. Orakh attempted communicating again. This time, the torch went out as well. As the ramps were finally ready to extend, the only thing to do was go down it.

Orakh went first, stretching his arms out for balance as he hobbled across wooden boards. He had traded his breastplate for a thick shirt and vest. His prized Orcish axe hung from his hips, because Malacath knew what danger waited beyond the storm. Dumhuvud followed after, who also had the common sense of removing metal helmet and chest piece. Trius, however, was in no shape for action following a severe fish allergy attack.

“You need a fire; get off the beach!” One man's voice came from inland. The figure hesitantly drew forward, revealing priest robes and dark, elven outlines. Combined with the his accent, this person was a Dunmer.

“What? Why?” Orakh puzzled, his pondering lasted a grand total of one second.

“Orc, behind you!”

A slithering stream of ice darted out of nowhere, ramming straight into Orakh's backside and knocking him flat. Wind howl masked the sound to others, but Orakh could hear a rib or two cracking. If he had the cuirass, the impact wouldn't have done much. But with just shirt and vest, there was no telling how much internal damage was done. Still, an old Orc was still an Orc. His berserker fury ignited with the impact, dulling the pain in his midsection and granting him unseen speed to roll away from ice fangs. Orakh leaped to his feet, gloved hands reached for his axe. Too late, the ice wraith charged again.

It stopped. Dumhuvud had rushed in as fast as he could. Without time even for his own weapon, the Cat-Kicker simply resorted to a vice-grip on the creature's tail. This gave Orakh time to strike at the ice wraith's neck. His axehead smashed aside pieces of ice, yet the strike was hasty and improperly aligned; the wraith head did not fall off. The impact did, however, jolt open Dumhuvud's grip. Now free, the ice-serpent bit into Orakh. Who narrowly intercepted with his gauntlet-protected arm. Orakh's right arm wedged itself inside the jaw, wrist frozen against the palate. His axe was inside as well, buried blade-up. His left arm joined in, pressing the wraith's lower jaw downward in order to prevent an arm-breaking crunch. He held for a few seconds, and as he was losing the struggle, Dumhuvud took out his own axe and split their enemy in two.

“Malacath-” Orakh's attempt at swearing was cut short by the Dunmer priest.

“Watch out, from both sides!” Was the warning. “Quickly, fire, they fear it!”

Three ice wraiths crept in from one side, while another pair entered form the opposite. It was the same time when several others had disembarked or in the process to. Hail now roared at a furious intensity. Vision was limited to an arm's reach and little more. From what Orakh and Dumhuvud could see, the monsters did not attack right away, as if they were coordinating and taunting the same time.

“Form up a perimeter!” Dumhuvud ordered the mercenaries. He stood back to back with Orakh, both with an axe in hand. Well, Orakh actually held with his weak hand, as hardly any motion came from a strong hand frozen stiff. “And one of you wankers better bring me a torch!”

“Here we go.” Orakh warned. As the mercenaries took up position, the ice wraiths initiated their attack. Five wraiths, five people, no one would get hurt if everyone did their share.

“Lucky Ashav values your life so much.” Dumhuvud remarked. “I would've fed you to these things.”

Once the dinghies disembarked from The Courtesan, Leif remained at the railing, watching in earnest at the dinghy that carried Sevine, anxious to see that it wouldn’t capsize. Finally, when the tail end of the small rowboat disappeared into the entrance of the lagoon, did he breathe a sigh of relief. As he turned around, his hands supporting his weight as he scanned the deck, he spotted Dumhuvud jabbing a finger into the chest of Atgeir, without hesitation, he covered the space of the deck swiftly, but not before the Orc aboard the ship jerked Dumhuvud away.

“I’ll damn well as I please, yeh fookin’ idiot. This is my fookin’ ship, jab me in the chest agin, and I’ll show ye what I can do. Make a pretty fine mess o’ that face, if ye don watch yer language.” Atgeir growled, his eyes narrowed into slits as he stared down Dumhuvud. Luckily, Leif turned his captain back to the wheel.

“Don’t mind him cap’, he’s a bit of a ruffian, hot-headed, that’s certain. Just keep your eye on the shoreline.” Leif suggested, he wasn’t the one to tell his captain what to do either, he just prayed that Atgeir wouldn’t turn around and chuck Dumhuvud overboard into the frigid waters, like he had done before to cocky sailors that thought they were above him. He even made them swim back to shore if they were lucky.
Grunting, and with a sideways glance at Leif, Atgeir took his place at the wheel, hands gripping the spokes as tenderly as a familiar lover. Standing alongside him, the braids at his temples trailed in the wind as it whipped around him. The gale was returning, but whoever was stranded on the beach, likely a survivor of the collapse, needed rescuing too. Orange, flickering lights danced in the wind, threatening to extinguish themselves in the gusty winds. The orc ventured down to the railing after setting Dumhuvud straight, that man had no sense whatsoever. There, the green beastman leaned out, cupping his hand around his mouth and shouted. Curious to see if the person, or persons, stranded on the beach would respond, Leif joined him down on the main deck. As The Courtesan pulled up to the shoreline, docking gently without so much as a bump, though to be sure, it was not an easy task, those on deck dropped the ramp. Whoever had held the torch on the beach, the flames were extinguished with a might gust of air, though closer to determine who the person was, Leif could make out a Dunmer in priestly robes. Orakh and Dumhuvud went first down the ramp, as they stepped onto the sandy beach, the man began to shout at them. Leif could only make out some words, as the wind increased, whipping up sea foam, he had heard the word fire, but not much else.

“Bjorn! Halvar! Fetch me some torches!” He shouted from the top of the ramp. They scrambled below deck, and when they returned, they came bearing four torches blazing. Just as he received them, two in each hand, Leif turned to head down the ramp when he saw Orakh and Dumhuvud engaged in battle already. Flying through the air with serpentine motions, Leif identified the target they fought as an ice wraith, he had seen many during his excursions outside of Windhelm, and especially along the shorelines as he sailed upon The Courtesan. Dashing down the ramp, accustomed to the thin boards, Leif leapt onto the sand, his boots sinking into the damp earth, he was the last one to join the group one the beach.

“Hrarggghhh! He shouted like an animal, and brandished the torches, waving them around to frighten off the ice wraith. It recoiled from the heat of the fire, withdrawing with a menacing hiss. Then, Leif realized rather quickly, that there was not one solitary ice wraith, but four others as well. Well Talos be damned! , it seemed that these wraiths were hunting in a pack.

“Here! Catch!” Leif barked, tossing Orakh, Sadri, Rhasha’Dar, and Dumhuvud a torch each. He needed both hands to wield his sword, and holding onto torches wouldn’t do much help.

“Lucky Ashav values your life so much.” Dumhuvud remarked. “I would've fed you to these things.”

“Now is not the time to boast like a pompous ass, you bloke.” Leif growled. By then, the circle of mercenaries each wielded a torch blazing with fire, save for Leif. He studied the ice wraith that wavered in the air before him, he had only faced an ice wraith once before, and that was when The Courtesan made an emergency landing on the northern shores of Windhelm. He had gone in search of firewood, and stumbled upon an ice wraith, of course, he turned tail and ran, the wraith followed him all the way back to the shore where the ship was moored. Had it not been for Halvar, he would have ended up with a painfully, frozen bite.

Had he not had his eyes carefully anticipating the strike from the ice wraith dancing before him, Leif would have ended up with a bite. Fortunately, as the wraith darted forward to sink its icy fangs into his forearm, Leif brandished his longsword, swinging it through the air in an arc, forcing the wraith to recoil again. Fighting the wraith his a sword as big as his would prove difficult, a sword, or an axe would have proven far more useful in these circumstances, but he had the skill to time his swings right, that he could finish it off the next time it launched a counter-attack on him.

Arms crossed and with a none-too-amused look on his face, Sagax leered at Farid, but said nothing. He was sure Farid wanted nothing more than for him to get angry. He just seemed like that kind of person, one to take great satisfaction out of getting a rise out of people. Sagax would make sure he missed his fix, though, at least from him. He had no intention of giving the fool so much as an inch. Instead, his frown turned into a smirk. "Oh of course, Farid. Such tribulation would not fit your delicate form very well. Besides, you just got your nails done!" Before he could make his way to the rope though, Do'Karth had already volunteered and begun climbing. He was a surprisingly good climber, though Sagax wondered if he was gripping the rope just a little too hard...would be hard to blame him if he was, though, such a drop would be unpleasant to say the least. Sagax was pleased to see Do'Karth disappear over the ledge and hear him call back down that he had been successful.

After Do'Karth sent the climbing equipment back down, Sevine suggested that they all climb up the rope, and once in the College proper, find a sturdy enough ladder to get back down later. It wasn't a bad idea in itself, but Sagax had concerns, and Roze voiced similar. It would take great agility to climb the icy wall ahead, and not everyone grew up climbing chapel spires. After shooting a glare befitting their environment at Farid, Roze made her way up to the ledge. She had a better time of it than Do'Karth, thanks to the holes in the ice the Beastman made as he went up with the climbing axe. After the climbing gear once again hit the ground with a thud, Sagax stepped forward and started to prepare for his climb. "Welp, my turn I suppose. I think we should get everyone we can up top, and then the rest should wait here while we find a proper ladder or something. No need for anyone to plummet to a cold grave, ya?"

The climb wasn't as bad as he thought it would be. With the climbing tools and a sturdy rope to keep him steady, it felt just like climbing buildings back in the Imperial City, same death drops and everything. The gauntlets from Vori helped immensely as well; his hand didn't slip a single time. They were very well made, to be certain. Parts of the wall seemed to threaten to give way in some spots, but nothing went awry, thankfully. How embarrassing would it be for him to slip and fall now, after scaling the Windhelm wall as Kamal were firing glaciers at him? Silly silly indeed. Aside from the aforementioned scares, Sagax's climb went very smoothly and he found himself up at the top with Do'Karth and Roze before he knew it, though the weight of his new armor slowed him down just a little. Sending the kit back down, the Imperial stood with his comrades and watched as Roze poked and prodded at the lock on the door.

"So, any luck yet?"

Tsleeixth looked to the sky as the winds tempo began to increase at an alarmingly rapid pace. He breathed a sigh of relief when two of the boats managed to go in without accident, his relief only increasing when one managed to return to it’s mother ship, however his relief soon turned to alarm and into horror in the span of a few moments when it became evident that the second of the EEC boats was barely afloat. A quick look at the boat revealed the reason behind the precarious situation of the boat to the Argonian spellsword; the boat was manned by 5 heavy individuals and -as if to compound the problem further- was carrying a stack of containers inside of it and the precarious situation of the dinghy seemed to only worsen when the leader of the rowers, a Breton who was decked in metal plates, began shouting obscenities at them.

As such it was no surprise to Tsleeixth when the boat capsized when a large gust of wind shook the boats, it’s cargo and the foolish decision of the Breton to wear heavy armor having sealed it’s fate. But when Tsleeixth noticed that four of the people in the boat had managed to cling to various floating objects, his worries easing a little but there was still the matter of the breton who was quickly -and predictably- drowning due to his heavy armor, his screams and pleas for help easily carrying over to the Argonian . Yet there wasn’t anything that he could do in the current situation to help the man and, as such, Tsleeixth could do nothing but look at the breton was rescued by Ariane and Solveig, with the former casting a spell on the man while the latter used the climbing kit to anchor the breton to their boat so that he could be carried to the cave that they were heading towards.

First went the dinghy that was carrying the breton, with their own arriving a short time later. Tsleeixth quickly jumped out of the boat, his feelings of unease and restlessness that had begun once he had sighted the College now calming down after finally setting foot in the place “I wish it wasn’t under such circumstances that I returned.” He whispered quietly to himself, running one of his hands over the surface of the cave’s walls. Shaking his head he mentally chided himself, there would be time for regrets and melancholy later but now his focus had to be on the troubles at hand such as rescuing the surviving mages and -more immediately- how to help the breton who had fallen into the Sea of Ghosts and, as a result, was now freezing.

Luckily, both Do’karth and Almad, the newcomer to the company, were there to help the freezing man. In the end, it was Almad who helped the breton from the EEC to avoid hypothermia. He looked as the redguard produced a rectangular box that was too big to be held in one hand and a strange wooden vial with three marks on it. He looked with no small amount of fascination as the process unfolded as Almad pressed the vial to the breton’s lip after uncorking it, Tsleeixth having noticed the small amount of magicka that the redguard directed into the tiny wooden bottle.

The rest of the process proceeded as normal in such a case as a man that was in danger of falling prey to hypothermia. That is to say, changing the soaked clothes for dry ones but there was something about what the Redguard healer said to the breton that made Tsleeixth feel slightly uncomfortable, perhaps the overtly harsh words of Almad, but he quickly shoved those thoughts to the back of his mind.

WIth the breton now safe from freezing, the group turned to look at the matter of getting into the College itself from the cave in which they were. After a while, it turned out that the only way to keep advancing was by climbing a steep wall of ice. Although his face wouldn’t show it, Argonian’s face making expressing their feelings on them, Tsleeixth was rather annoyed by Farid’s words towards Sagax. He was about to volunteer himself for going first, but Do’Karth beat him to it. He looked as the Khajiit climbed the wall of ice, his lips curling upwards when the Suthay-Raht shouted that he had made it to the top safely.

He was quickly followed by Roze and then by Sagax himself “Well, guess it’s my turn to go up.” He said as he picked the climbing kit. He tried to imitate how Roze and Sagax made their way up as they climbed the ice wall, although his movements certainly weren’t nearly as precise or as well executed -in fact, some people would probably find the way he climbed ridiculous- as those that they had made in their climb but he nonetheless made his way to where the door was. “Any luck so far with the door?” He asked curiously after he had sent the climbing kit down.

‘’Well, at least it could be worse.’’

Sadri leaned on the ship’s railing with the wind blowing against his face as the old and weary vessel fought the waves on its journey eastward. His clothing, meant for a much warmer climate than the one experienced by Sadri here, was proving its worthlessness with every further inch as the ship sailed into a hailstorm. He could feel that the hairs on his extremities were frozen, and his ear had long since gone numb. For all he knew, it could’ve fallen off a few minutes earlier. The old Dunmer scratched his beard. Since the loss of his pipe, he had been tormented by a much grimmer mood, one that dulled Sadri’s already pruned and withered emotions further. Sadri had learned to appreciate simple things in life, but this meant that the loss of such things would also disrupt his mood accordingly.

The Dunmer wiped his face to clear it of the caking of fresh frost, and rubbed his eyes – the weather wasn’t doing wonders for them, one could ascertain. Then again, Sadri wasn’t really built for colder temperatures, and neither was his outfit. It was only normal that the weather would wear him down, no matter how much he’d pretend that it wouldn’t. But, he was Sadri Beleth, he had wielded a sword for longer than men led lives, he had survived what would fell lesser and greater men, and all that had to mean something. This was just a breeze, a particularly cold one, but nonetheless, just a breeze. He was thinking too much about it.

He could (barely) see some people arguing on quarter deck, and while unable to ascertain which from which, he could guess that one of them was the captain, Atgeir, and another to be Dumhuvud, considering only he amongst the ship’s inhabitants had the temerity to argue with the man. He hated the one-eyed Nord’s guts, but Sadri also had a twisted sense of respect against the man, perhaps out of the fact that he wasn’t afraid to voice his opinion. Of course, Sadri knew better than that, but, as we all know, it’s a fundamental part of men and mer to crave what is not good for them. Sadri knowing better did not mean that he didn’t want to partake in it. But he had managed to keep his senses above his emotions so far in his life, and at his age, he couldn’t think of much that could make him act rash.

Eventually, Sadri bothered to turn in the other direction and see the cause of their detour – a flame standing strong despite the chilling winds, and some deck hands preparing boards for the crew to ramp down on land. The Dunmer watched the old Orc, Orakh, slowly and carefully walk upon them, and the one-eyed Nord follow suit. He didn’t want to partake in whatever was going on, but as always, he would find himself wrapped up in it again, against his wishes.

And Sadri realized he would have to act again as the Orc was ambushed by a floating serpent of sorts and barely saved by Dumhuvud. Following the cry for a torch, Sadri realized that their foes were ice wraiths, and at that moment, got bashed in the face by a torch, nearly losing his balance and getting his hair lit up. ‘’Fucking Nords, I swear,’’ Sadri mumbled to himself as he fumbled to hold the torch, almost burning his hand in the attempt, and hobbled down the rampart in the meanwhile. Halfway through, he slipped, and fell on his right side, barely keeping himself on the ramp as he slid down to land.

‘’Fucking shit. Fuck this. Fuck.’’

Sadri barely managed to get himself up on his feet as he saw the rest of the party try to form a circle against the elementals. In a surprising display of competence, he managed to pull his sword out of its scabbard as he moved further, and even managed to ward off a lunge from an elemental that probably thought of Sadri as easy prey. Sadri hoped that he had managed to prove otherwise by brandishing his torch against the thing’s face (was that a face, even?) to make it change course. Sadri finally managed to get into position, and at that moment, swung his sword outwards against an incoming wraith, making the blade meet its open mouth. The creature’s momentum turned out to be its undoing as it slid from above Sadri’s blade and fell in an unknown direction, dropping its jaws in front of Sadri’s feet. He’d normally quip about the situation or just ask whose idea it was, but frankly, he had gotten used to bad decisions being made, and felt too cold, tired and old to be a smartass about the situation.

Sagax's reaction might not have been exactly what Farid wanted, it was satisfying nevertheless. Farid mock-laughed at the Imperial's word. It was pretty obvious Sagax was not impressed, though the Imperial remained in-control on the exterior. “Delicate, heh?” Farid sneered. “I'm surprised that armor didn't flatten you, runner boy.” The Redguard said before Sagax went up. “And I pride in clean nails, something you can't understand. Have you ever taken a clean shower in that sewer of yours?” Farid scorned, the last line deriving from his own experience in subterranean locations and Sagax's slightly mangy appearance, not because he knew anything about Sagax's past.

Right behind Farid, Keegan had to suppress the urge to zap a certain scumbag with lightning. Like half (a lower estimate) of the people here, Keegan rated Farid just below Dumhuvud in terms of annoyance. For the most part, Keegan stayed out of Farid's ridicules. Perhaps it was because that, Keegan found some upsides to an otherwise irritating character. The Redguard was quick and resourceful, at around Sagax's age but trading in some agility for strength. As of now, Farid was in line to ascend, at the last second, he turned to face Keegan with a grin.

“What?” Keegan confused.

“We should set up a belay, push and pull our way up; make it easier for clumsies like you.” Farid said.

“How considerate of you.” Keegan responded drily. “Have you ever thought about rope length?” The Altmer spoke as a matter-of-fact.

“Now now, Keegan, don't sell me out so fast.” Farid boasted. “You know what we have on the dinghies? Rope. That's right, take some extra out and we can double this line.” Proudly patting his chest, Farid looked around for applause. When nothing came his way, he shot Keegan a dirty look and went to the corner where Ariane gazed into the ceiling.

“There's disturbed energy above us.” Ariane murmured. She was so deep in thought that the footsteps of Farid did not register.

“Hey, wake up.” Farid took Ariane by the shoulder and did a good shake. “I'm going to cut some rope from the boats, and since you suppose to be the boss, I thought I should run it by you first.”

“Heh? Alright.”

With that, Farid wasted no time putting his plan into action. First loosening the docking ropes from one of the boats, Farid took it back to the wall. There, he and a sailor tied a solid knot unto the existing line. The sailor who went up after Tsleeixth then hefted up a good length, undid Do'Karth's anchor and returned half of the length back down. The line now ran up through the sconce and down to another sailor acting as the belayer. The sailor up top spotted the makeshift pulley.

“This doesn't look very safe.” Keegan commented hesitantly. “I think I'll stay behind and keep watch.” He wasn't going to be useless down here, just that his skill sets worked better guarding boats and shivering Bretons than scaling walls.

“Scared?” Farid laughed, not at all deterred by potential problems. “Suit yourself.”

The Redguard quickly strapped on the crampons to his boots, and with the axe in hand, set to test out his improvised system personally. His climb was considerably easier than all others before. Being reasonably skilled with vertical movements himself, the pull of another strong person took a lot of pressure off Farid's arms. He was quicker than everyone (maybe the same as Sagax) and misses were few thanks to the belayer catching his weight.

Confident from his way up and not so much at the group stomped by a door, Farid told the next sailor up to bring lit torches. Dangerous, yes, but if anything could get through frozen doors, it would be fire. The torches came up without accident, and ice around the door started to melt when Ariane ascended with the help of her own feather spell.

“It's opening.” The torch-bearing sailor noted when clicking accompanied ice melting away. He told Roze to stop lockpicking, braced himself and booted the door open with several kicks.

At this point, Ariane was feathering a sailor after doing the same with Sevine. The sailor was almost up when the door opened, and when he finally clambered over the edge, a blur of color darted out of the doorway. The thing, a magic anomaly, whizzed past everyone and bumped full speed into the latest climber. Because this man was just recovering from his ascension, the speed of the hit sent him off-balance, over the edge and crashing neck-first down the opening. There was no time for scream, only the sick crunch of bones as he landed upside down beside the belayer, legs bent parallel to torso.

“Holy-” The belayer gasped. “What's going on up there!?” He shouted in panic as his former mate, now probably a corpse, unfurled lifelessly.

“Magic anomaly!” Ariane shouted back down. A wave of her hand and a burst of light from her palm was enough to disintegrate what had killed a man. But her effort did not end all problems. The people gathered ahead could now see into the next room, a large stone chamber, was swarming with at least eight magic anomalies. Like guard dogs noticing intruders, the anomalies whirled to life and went after their targets.

“I guess we stab them?” Farid said. He stopped the first anomaly with his sword and dug his off-hand dagger into the creature. His stab landed in what felt like a viscous pool of goo, though it only last momentarily before the anomaly fell apart at his feet. “That would do.” He announced to the group. “Sagax, do try to keep up.”

Eventually the anomalies were put down. They were fragile things, mindless and not lethal, but also stings that caused strange-colored bruises to form. Like his battle with the Forsworns and the Kamals, Farid was able to skirt around two anomalies without being stung a single time. He took lead through the chamber, up a set of staircases into another chamber, repeating the same thing twice more, until a ladder and a trapdoor appeared ahead.

“Lots of signatures on top,” Ariane spoke up from the rear. A faint blue glow lit around her hand and eyes; a life detection spell. “I think they are people, not anomalies. We're at the college proper.”

Farid nodded and scrambled up the ladder carefully. The ladder was solid and extended at least two stories. It was made of slim but tough wood, compact and light enough to be carried by the group for descending the ice wall. Over the ladder was a handle, which Farid twisted to unlock from his side. He then pushed the reinforced trapdoor with a grunt, swinging upwards to reveal howling winds.

“Crap.” Farid muttered. In the time it took them to negotiate the College Midden, the weather outside managed to brew up a full blizzard. Tiny balls of ice mixed with unfrozen vapors blew wildly from east to west. Visibility was poor, but Farid could see a shape amid crumbled structures, taking shelter under the few intact roofs. The Redguard held his hand down the ladder, mouthing “wait” to his comrades.

Having hoisted himself up into the courtyard, Farid took sight of the rubble. Though never been here himself, he was pretty sure the college suppose to be in better shapes. No one in sight beside the distant figure. For all Farid knew, that person could have been responsible for the disaster. Sneaking carefully through pieces of debris, Farid came into sight the individual, a Breton vastly different from the drowning idiot, moments later.

“You there!” Farid shouted to the Breton man. He kept a set of columns between them, and his hands on the hilts of his blades, in case a fight was to break out. “Are there anyone else alive?”

As the others began making their way upthe icy cliff-face, Roze was still making no progress with the lock. Not only had the ice warped and rusted the metal mechanism within, but the cold climate was making her bare fingers numb and very uncooperative. After several broken picks had yielded nothing but small cuts on her freezing fingers, she was only too happy to let the sailor take over in a more brutal manner; standing back and sucking on her bloodied fingertips as the door was kicked open.

How thankful it was that her hand was by her face when the door did open - the group barely had time to react when a blue orb had sped from the open door, slamming into one of their comrades, and swiftly being followed by a number of others. Roze only just managed to cover her eyes with her raised hand as one of the anomalies slammed into her face and knocked her to the floor. With her other hand, she ripped the dagger tucked in her boot out and stabbed wildly at the orb, stopping in surprise to see how easily it had dissolved from her blade. It had left a bruise on her cheek, but Roze wasn't complaining - better her cheek than her eyes.

"Or my neck - unlike that poor bastard." She mused in afterthought, glancing at the edge of the cliff where the sailor had fallen. The sickening crack of his bones had reverberated all the way up the cliff to them. It had not been a pleasant sound, that was for sure.

Thankfully, no more deaths followed, and the group continued on into the depths of the tower. There were strangely no other obstacles - no traps, no weird glowing magic things, and nothing vaguely Kamal or Daedric looking in sight. Roze contemplated as to whether the people at the College were even aware of what had transpired at Windhelm... if they didn't know about the Ice Demons, perhaps it was good that the group had joined in on the rescue. The College would be sitting ducks to the Kamal otherwise. And Roze didn't want to think of what such creatures could do with their hands on some of the things in the College. She'd heard stories of weapons of great power, ones that could rip open the barrier between Oblivion and Mundus itself; things that could summon, kill, or even control Gods; access to old powers, ones strong enough to sink cities and obliterate mountains. These were stories she had been told, and more often than not, she had simply accepted them as nothing more than fables or children's stories. But with what she had seen in the past few days? Roze could no longer be blind to such possibilities - especially if such items could fall into the hands of the Kamal.

After all, something like that had to have been what had destroyed Winterhold.

Noticing Ariane's comment, Roze followed suit and cast her own Life Detection spell, smiling slightly as blobs appeared above her. They did look vaguely humanoid, so that was good. Once Farid gave the go ahead for them to follow, all she had to do was to keep an eye out for Sebastian...

As it happened, Sebastian was right above them - puffing on a pipe quite happily in an alcove, to avoid the howling blizzard outside. Only when he heard Farid's voice did he cast his eyes to where the Redguard stood, and a smile danced upon his lips to see the newcomer - and the fairly defensive stance he was set in.

Resting his pipe on a crate out of the way of the snow, the mage walked around the alcove, staff in hand as he came up behind Farid - standing a good few paces away from the Redguard before talking.

"There's plenty of us to be found alive, friend!" He called out with a smile, casually leaning against the wall as if the situation was an entirely normal one. "However, now's not really the time for tourists - the College is far nicer in the summer months, after all. If you're here for the Archmage, he took a convenient little holiday somewhere before this all happened and remains there still. If you're here to take advantage of us poor little Mages and rob us, please feel free and try - we haven't had much in the way of entertainment these past few days." All of this said with a roguish grin, Sebastian waited on Farid's response, wondering silently just where the fellow had come from.

---

---

Rhasha was pleased to see the ship sailing towards the campfire, despite the Cat-Kicker's objections. The prospect of docking and walking upon solid land was a warming one; however, the situation on the shore wasn't looking all too friendly. As the hailstorm became worse, the fire died, and after a moment, the Khajiit realised what was happening.

"Ice-Wraiths? Azurah, why does your favour seem to avoid this one these past few weeks?" Grumbling silently to himself, Rhasha'Dar - carefully - made his way down the boards, teeth gritted as he watched the roiling waters beneath. He couldn't decide what would be worse - dying to the icy bite of the wraith, or drowning in waters that were likely just as cold. Thankfully, he didn't have to test the latter, making his way onto land quite safely, and pulling one of his war-axes from his belt as he approached the fray; his other hand grasping the torch Leif had thrown. Rhasha had ran into Ice-wraiths plenty of times before, what with traversing such frosty climates with the caravan. The worst injury ever sustained from one of the beasts had been an awful bite to the leg of one of their guards; had it not been for Rhasha's efforts, the leg would have blackened and died from the ice. He only hoped that if it happened to someone here, he could once again do something to aid them - after all, an amputation in a place like this would likely not to do much to save a life.

Jabbing his torch towards the wraith that faced him, Rhasha slashed with his axe as it dodged the flames. It was unfortunately quick enough to avoid the main force of the weapon, but it glanced off the ice crystals that made up it's ghostly body, and it recoiled momentarily, hissing in pain. Rhasha hissed in response, fangs bared in an automatic reflex against the danger.

Seconds after leather soles touched the top of the ridge over which the other folks in the rescue operation climbed, Ariane gratefully lent her magic, and with the aid of a feather spell, magicked up Sevine. The sensation alone caused a tingling in her toes, and her head painfully light, as if she hadn't had enough sleep, or drank plenty of water. She was certain that managing the climb up, rather harrowing as the situation presented itself, would be a feat she could accomplish, just like scaling pine trees back in Falkreath, icy pine trees with no tree limbs for supports that is.

When the frozen door, graciously kicked in by Farid, opened, a blue orb shot out of the inner chamber, to which Ariane raised the alarm by identifying what the blue orb actually was, some type of magickal anomaly. The first one out of the chamber struck the last man down into the ice laden shaft, Sevine tried to prevent the evident fall by lurching sideways, yet as she hit the ground, his boots slipped out of her hands, missing him by mere inches. Her eyes watched in horror as she gazed down at the man, his legs askew, head turned sideways, and blood pooling around him. Sickened, she rolled away from the ledge, and leapt to her feet.

Following the example of Roze and Farid, she brandished her axe, and cut through a spinning blue orb that burst into a bright shower of vivid azure magic...dust? No, energy seemed to be the right word. Hell, Sevine didn't know a lick about magick, so she wasn't even sure what the proper term was. Regardless, when the anomalies were extinguished, they proceeded onward, and began the ascent up. For Sevine, when it came to ladders, especially ones that spanned the length of a two-story building, the tingling returned to her toes, and she had to focus on keeping her gaze cemented on those above her. She did notice, that this particular ladder, could be dismantled and used for the descent back into the lagoon.

Stepping up, and into the blizzard that made for difficult going, Sevine noticed a curious figure hunched over in an alcove-like area, the smoke from the person's pipe indistinguishable in the whipping winds. She gritted her teeth against the chill, regretting to bring an overcoat of some type with her. Then again, she reflected back to the Breton man that had gone over board, and reminded herself that the rescue mission, hopefully, wouldn't take much longer. She heard his coy words and grunted, wrapping her arms around her body to retain heat, her teeth clattering like a skeleton dancing in her mouth.

"No, you dunce, we've come to rescue you and your unfortunate lot from starvation, and any other form of death you can conjure up inside that mind of yours." How she managed to speak despite the frigid drop in temperature, for her knees were knocking, Sevine managed to scowl, and spat her words out like a foul-tasting potion.

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Orakh went wide-eyed at Leif's torches. He could not believe this man didn't bother to see his right arm frozen in rimes, while the other busied itself with the axe. His unarmored clothing was, well, cloth, therefore susceptible to fire. The wind also propagated the flames towards him, but it was thankfully hail-filled wind that doused rather than ignited. Still, this haphazard action did not impress the Orc. He had no time to correct Leif, only swatted the thing as far away as possible with his axe.

Dumhuvud, on the other hand, caught the torch and lit up an ice wraith just in time. Normal ice would have melted, but the creature merely shed a layer of frozen skin and coiled back to attack. This time, Dumhuvud had the upper hand, catching the wraith with an uppercut and shattered its weakened form into pieces. It should have been a quick victory, that was, until Orakh rolled out of his wraith's way and it flew towards the Cat-Kicker.

“Useless Orc!” Dumhuvud cursed and started to back away. Two to three steps later, he tripped against a pebble and fell on his back. The wraith was charging headlong his way, he propped up his weapon to intercept. The axehead all of a sudden felt tiny to rows of ice-fangs. Dumhuvud braced himself for an incomplete block, one that bound to have attack leaking through. That attack never came; the ice wraith was smashed apart from behind, with a thrown axe, an Orcish axe.

“Lots a people called me that.” Orakh followed up and retrieved his axe. It and the wraith landed right in front of Dumhuvud's feet, a second later and something sharp would have found something soft. “But considering you kinda saved my life, I'll spare ya the usual rebuttal.” Orakh snorted, half offering his hand to the downed man.

“Huh.” Dumhuvud wasn't impressed at all. He slapped the Orc's hand away and stood up shakily on his own. “Do your worse, don't think this makes us friends.” The Cat-Kicker scolded.

In the hastily established perimeter, torches combined with alert mercenaries managed to overcome the ice wraiths. The creatures that attacked were either destroyed or driven back beyond the hails, and from further down the shoreline returned the Dunmer priest, with a female Khajiit in tow.

“They're gone.” The Dunmer breathed a sign of relief. “Maybe Azura still watches over us after all.” He gently tugged the Khajiit, wearing a thin-looking robe and a poorly fitted fur blanket. “Is that your ship? Hurry, we need to get her warm.” His fire-colored eyes darted between everyone.

“Not so fast.” Dumhuvud blocked the way. “You're not going anywhere without any explanations. Start with yourself, the cat and how in Oblivion did you get stuck between ice wraiths?” The one-eyed Nord stood firm, axe between himself and the stranded folks.

“For once, I agree with the Ca-, with him.” Orakh added. He almost said Dumhuvud's last name, but considering their guest being a Khajiit, such detail best remain unmentioned for the time being. “Just what's piddling around here?”

“Fine, I suppose you deserve some explanations after everything.” The Dunmer relented. He glossed over his rescuer, particularly taking the time to look over Sadri and Rhasha. “My name is Kattun, an acolyte of the New Temple.” The elf blinked, noticing his Khajiit companion was shivering, hugged her closer. “I suppose to fill in for Aranea this month, at the Shrine of Azura up top. This here is R'ihanna, a traveling bard. She stopped here to visit the shrine. Unfortunately, her boat was blown away soon after making landfall.” Kattun nodded to the Khajiit.

“I swear they were snakes on those batten-sail ships.” The Khajiit woman exclaimed. “These ships were channeling magic into the sea. I could see, feel the storm building with them.”

“Sure you did.” Dumhuvud said sarcastically and pointed his axe at the Khajiit. “For all we know, you could have been the one causing all this and luring us to a trap.”

“How could you say that!?” The Dunmer launched forward, only to be held back by R'ihanna. “She barely escaped her abusive fiance, and Azura's guidance was the only light in her darkness. Do we look like villains?” He pointed to his scathed robe and frostbitten hands. “We were almost gone, frozen to death in that cave. Surely you know better than this lout” The priest looked to Sadri and Rhasha for help.

“Whoa there, let's start from the beginning.” Orakh put himself between an all too familiar good egg Dumhuvud and his potential victims. “How done y'all end up down here, instead of that shrine of yours?”

“I ran up the path there,” R'ihanna tipped her head to south-eastern direction, “and he helped me, but we thought the iron-boat was aid. We were wrong, and been trapped ever since.”

“She came on the day the disaster happened, I think it was the 6th? Probably a week ago. We've stayed up there for four, no, five days, then the metal-ship came.” The Dunmer clarified, talking as fast as he could in spite of biting winds. “They were so different from the red, wooden vessels that came during the disaster. We packed up, came down here thinking they were rescuers like you, then it shot ice shards at us.” He sighed and shook his head. “We ducked in that cave inland, but the path up was already blocked by ice wraiths. The fire was the only thing keeping us alive.”

“Kamals.” Dumhuvud gritted his teeth. “Did that ship leave? Have you seen it since.”

“The what?” Kattun and R'ihanna traded glances, both completely puzzled. “Well, it went away fairly quick. That way, to the east.”

“I'll be damned.” Orakh admitted. “Alright, I reckon these folks have gone through quite the whopping. Let's get them settled back on-board.” The Orc told everyone. Dumhuvud was surprising cooperative in getting out of the way.

“Check her up and do your cat things.” Dumhuvud said to Rhasha. “And you two, keep an eye out on the holy man; I don't trust either of them.” Grunting to Sadri and Leif, Dumhuvud began herding the group to the ship. “In the mean time, I'll be writing this shit up for Ashav.”

With the climbing gear up and ready, Solveig kept her feet on the ground for as long as could. The rescue party shuffled past her to grab hold of the rope, even Do'Karth and young Sagax went before her. A Breton with a nasty scar on a nasty face bumped her shoulder as he passed, “Scared to climb shieldmaiden?”

“Careful, Easy for me to reach up and tear off your bits with you above me.” She said as he passed. He only laughed while he climbed the first few feet. Solveig grabbed hold of the rope and swallowed. The prospect of falling, the feel of the rope and the memories. She growled and spat to the side, clutching the rope in a grip that could crack stone. Hand over hand, foot by foot, she climbed. Her heart beat fast, her breath came in wisps and sniffles. It seemed an eternity, each moment the one she was expecting to lose her grip and fall to her death.

She didn't. She clambered over the cliff's edge, brushing the front of herself off and taking a deep breath. She tried to hide her trembling hands but her shaking knees, there could be no hiding. By the time she got up, everyone was gathered around Roze, watching her work a lock. When the door was opened, glowing orbs spilled out, one darting past the rest of the rescue party and butting into the chest of the scarred-faced man hard enough to send him reeling backwards. He stepped off the cliff's edge and plummeted breathlessly to his death, the only thing that assured Solveig that he'd died was the sickening crunch of his body, muffled by the blizzard but heard all the same.

Farid and the rest began hacking and slashing the orbs and she wasted no time in drawing her longseax. She smashed the blade through one orb and it felt like she'd tried to cut through honey, yet the thing shattered like glass on the ground. She cocked one eyebrow but by the time she'd readied herself again, the fighting was done. They proceeded further and they came upon a lone man standing like he was enjoying the sun on a Whiterun street rather than the survivor of a terrible disaster. He said his cheeky words and flashed a coy smile at the group. She remembered Mire's words, that she should knife Durrum ap Yawl's son right where he stood. The way his cheeky words threw aside so many dead and those that mourned them made her hope to her core that this was Durrum's son.

Sagax didn't know what was behind that door, but the last thing he expected was for a glowing ball of...something to come whizzing through at breakneck speed and body a sailor that had just touched down from his ascent up the ice wall, sending him straight back down to a silent death. Watching Farid and Ariane bring down two of the mystery orbs, the confused Imperial didn't quite know what to make of the strange beings. They struck their foes as if they were entirely solid, but melted away into nothingness in a flash of magical aura when struck. So strange! If only he had stayed and listened to Varulae's spontaneous lectures on the Restoration and Alteration arts back when he was still in Cyrodill, perhaps then he'd have an inkling of an idea of what those things were. But he didn't, and so he'd have to stick with what he knew: Apply pointy end of murder-stick to enemy combatant.

Entering the chamber with sword drawn, Sagax was immediately targeted by one of the anomalies. While not quite quick enough to cut the thing in half, he was however able to get its attack to deflect off of his pauldron, leaving behind a small mark and the faint smell of burning leather. Deeming it an inappropriate time to complain about the damage to his new armor, Sagax instead readied his blade against the next incoming attack. Holding his sword level to his head with the point facing outwards towards the anomaly, the man waited for the orb to move away from the tip of his blade. Holding firm until his foe got close enough, he then proceeded to swing his sword around in a small arc to both gain momentum and position the edge towards the orb, bringing the blade down on it with a diagonal cut. It felt very odd indeed, as if he had just tried to slice apart water. But it was gone, whatever it was, and that was good enough for Sagax.

After everyone else got their fill of killing weird fuzzy water orb things, Sagax followed Farid through the remaining chambers and up a ladder into the College. Holding his hand up to his face to shield it from the raging blizzard and all the lovely balls of ice and freezing gales it brought, Sagax just barely made out the figure of someone. They called over, informing the party of survivors within the College. Well, that was good. Higher chance of their rescue operation not being a total dud. The only one that didn't seem very happy to see the man, aside from Sevine, though she just seemed to be annoyed at his coy words, was Solveig. She being the closest person to himself, Sagax could see that the Nord wore an apprehensive expression on her face and, frighteningly, looked ready to kill. Though this would be no news for Solveig in any other circumstance, this time her killer attitude seemed very directed. At what? Surely not this random man?

Looking over, Sagax raised his voice slightly so as to be heard over the rushing winds around them; he didn't dare try to get her attention any other way. "What's going on, Red-Bear? Something the matter?" Looking around, he tried to find anything worth worrying about. "You see any more of those magic ball things or something?"

Tsleeixth’s eyes widened in surprise as he saw a magic anomaly rush out of the door, knocking back a poor sailor who had just finished his climb. He winced a little as the sound of crushing bones carried all the way up to the door’s threshold, letting out a soft sigh. Shaking his head, he refocused once more onto the task at hand “Magic anomalies, what the hell happened here?” He muttered to himself as he looked on the remains of one of the anomalies, having heard tales of them but never expected to see one in his life. He had heard tales of them from other members of the college, true, but he had never expected to see them in his life. “What's going on here? Are these anomalies a result of whatever sunk Winterhold, or is it something the mages of the College did?” He thought to himself, still processing the presence of the anomalies.

He followed the rest of the group into the next chamber, holding his sword in one hand while in the other he readied a spell. Combat with the anomalies in the chamber soon began, Tsleeixth easily killing one with his sword while a second one fell to a lightning strike spell and a finishing blow from his sword. He followed Farid along the other chambers of the College, his heart beating in his chest and his head swarming with unanswered questions. What had destroyed the city? Was whatever had destroyed it the cause of the anomalies? What was the state of the surviving mages? This among other questions distracted him as they walked through the chambers and, as such, he nearly bumped into one of the sailors that went with them once they reached the trapdoor.

He looked over as Farid scrambled up the ladder first, following shortly after along with the rest. He took a sharp breath of the cold air, his lips curling upwards in a smile as he felt the blizzard wash over him; he had grown used to the cold weather of Winterhold and it took him a rather short time to get used to the cold climate once again, even though he still felt the occasional shiver due to the cold, unlike his other comrades whom seemed to be having a harder time than him coping with the climate. Tsleeixth turned to look around the courtyard and was pleasantly surprised to find someone alive, although he felt a pang of annoyance at the man’s irreverent attitude and coy words. He let out a sigh at Sevine’s words, rubbing his forehead gently, debating on if he should comment on what Sevine had said or not “Excuse us, but we’ve been through difficult times lately and we are in no mood for jests” He finally said to the mage, extending his hand in greeting “My name’s Tsleeixth, former member of the College” Said the Argonian as a manner of introduction, hoping that the fact that he had once been part of the College would be of some help. “Do you have any idea what happened? What made Winterhold sink into the sea of ghosts?” He asked curiously, hoping that the man in front of him finally had some answers.

The angry words of Sevine did not perturb Sebastian in the least - in fact, his complacent smile fell away to surprise at her answer.
"A rescue? That... was the last thing I expected." He admitted, brow furrowed in what was evident confusion. "The last time Winterhold suffered a collapse, the College was blamed. Accusations like that aren't really forgotten... especially when the event happens again. Clearly, I need to have more faith in the people of Skyrim." Finishing with a smile that was less cheeky and more grateful, the Mage shook Tsleeixth's hand, smile fading at his question.

"Ah... yes, I expect you do want answers. 'Tis a complicated matter, friend - perhaps we should move indoors?"

At this point, Roze had made her way up the ladder - having waited for her spell to wear off first. She never knew why, but the Life Detection spell always made lights way brighter to her - so heading for daylight would just blind her for a few minutes. Eyesight now back to normal, the cold didn't take long to hit her - but at the same time, so did the noise of conversation. A smile had split her face upon hearing the familiar voice. "Of course, the sly bastard survived this. Why was I ever worried?"

"Sebastian, I'm disappointed! We were expecting a welcome party, not a ruin." Truly, the College was in a poorer state since last she visited - although that had been a good few years ago. As for her old friend, his eyes found her voice, and they widened in astonishment as she walked over, pulling him into a hug.

"Roza?" As she pulled away, Sebastian looked upon her with an incredulous half-smile. "What in Oblivion are you doing here?"

"Rescuing you lot, idiot." She teased with a warm smile, digging him lightly in the ribs - which were certainly bonier than she remembered. In fact, Sebastian seemed entirely thinner - not skeletal, but his cheeks and eye sockets had that familiar gauntness to them that was brought about by hunger. Clearly, the rescue had come just in time. However, other than that, he seemed just as Roze recalled. Way too tall, warm chestnut eyes, narrow nose - his jaw-length honey blond hair was looking a lot shaggier and was in need of a cut, she could tell that even while it was pulled into a messy ponytail. "Hell, give the guy a shave, haircut and roast dinner, he'll be back to normal in no time."

Sebastian continued looking at her quizzically for a moment, before letting forth a tired chuckle.

"Ah, the thief extraordinaire comes to my aid! Truly, I am indebted to your services." At that, he dodged the swipe Roze directed at his head, ignored her comment ("Bite me, sparkyfingers.") and turned once more to the group. "My name is Sebastian Vorell, and I do apologise on behalf of the College for the icy climb up here - now how about we get out of this blizzard?"

Briefly Dax questioned yet again if this was worth it. Even with the element of surprise and distance between them, three against one was a risky proposition. However, the Argonian hunter had not gotten so far from home and survived this long by backing down from challenges or difficulties. He slowly reached down and touched the Amethyst pendant given to him by his father. "The Hisssst guide me." he muttered softly, and drew out his fine hunting bow.

Daixanos crouched within a copse of bushes to the south of the bandit camp, having the advantage of a higher elevation at the side of a small mountain rise. From the small amount of information Ashav had given Dax, he knew there should be three of them around the northern edge of the pale, near the coast. The latter information had been correct so far, but he couldn't see all of the bandits from this vantage point. In fact he only saw one atop a rocky rise. An archer that had the misfortune of looking directly into the sun if he were to look Dax's way. If he had to guess, the other two were below him within a cave beside the frigid waters.

With a smooth and trained motion, Dax drew back the string of his bow, aimed, and let loose an iron arrow. The Hist had blessed him it seemed. The arrow had struck the man just below the neck, through the collar bone. He fell, hopefully without a sound. Quick reptilian feet had Dax hurrying to the left, his snake like tail leaving small 'S' shaped grooves in the snow. After 30 feet, he halted behind a small tree, and waited. A minute passed, and peeking out he saw no commotion. He waited another minute just to be safe, before he began moving northwest as slow and cautiously as he could to get a vantage point to see the inner bandit camp.

He made it to the bottom of the slope behind a jutted rock, parallel to the water with the small camp. Two men spoke amiably, one moving about to toss some more wood into a fire that was slowly dying. It looked like the one handling the fire was a Mer, perhaps. It didn't matter, and he was thinking too much on this. He grasped one his vials, and placed the poison on the ground. He dipped his arrow head within it, making sure to coat it thickly. Dax nocked the Iron arrow and drew back his bow. Two against one weren't favorable odds, and he needed this element of surprise. The Argonian was just about to loose when the Mer handing the fire began to glow, and the fire suddenly flared brighter. Dax grunted as if struck, and didn't have the frame of mind to keep the string pulled back.

His prematurely fired arrow flung end over end into the camp, striking the rocky rise between them that the archer he had dispatched earlier used as a vantage point. He ducked behind the rock again, hearing raised voices and strange sounds he could only deduce were magic being casted. Why do they have to have a spellcaster, Hist curse them. He knew they would be upon him in no time, but thankfully they still did not know his exact location. He quickly dipped his next arrowhead into the poison, drew back his bow string, and stood tall out of his rocky hiding place. The Nord that had been sitting roared and charged when he spotted Dax, hefting a greatsword. The Mer behind him was glowing no longer, but seemed to be moving his hands intricately. Not having anymore of that filth, Dax thought to himself. The Nord might be the more immediate threat, but he was at least something Dax wasn't uneasy around. He fired a wild shot due to the intensity of the situation, the envenomed arrow hitting the mage in the knee. The Mer cried out in pain and fell.

It was all Dax could do to take out his Battle Axe strapped to his back, whipping it forth to collide with the greatsword in a great shower of sparks. The Nord was stereotypically strong and tall, but Dax was burly for an Argonian, matching his opponent's strength initially. Both weapons flinched, and the two warriors stepped back and gauged their opponent's style, each looking for an opening. Dax gave a hiss as the man growled, the wind whipping past them into the coast. Dax needed to play this defensively, and as the Nord moved, so did he. The Argonian backstepped and slashed at his opponent's exposed midsection. The Nord had been trying for a thrust, but hesitated and backstepped himself. Dax stepped forward and sent his Axe in a devastating downward chop. The Nord sidestepped and the Axe bit into snow and earth, sticking for a moment. Dax's barbarian opponent took this time to swing at the stuck Argonian. Instead of yanking his Axe out in a furious attempt to survive, he ducked behind his Axe's upraised hilt, holding it steady as the greatsword blade collided with it. Dax's tail slipped around as the Argonian spun, whipping the Nord's hip in a stinging strike. The man sliced in a block as a reflex, cutting off the end of Dax's tail. The Argonian lashed out without thought, his extended claws cutting a small slice across the Nord's throat.

The wound was shallow, but it was still a throat strike. The bandit clutched his throat, dropping his weapon and stumbling back as blood slowly seeped onto his collarbone. Dax took no time in retrieving his Axe, yanking it out of the earth, before beheading his opponent to end both of their miseries. He wasn't going to be barbaric and take back the heads, thinking the hands would suffice. However, one was now severed and he needed some proof that he had done this deed. With a sigh, the hunter knelt down to check his tail. On first glance, he knew it wasn't severed deep, and would grow back. It wasn't anything he'd not dealt with before, and the pain wasn't blinding.

The Hist was smiling on him today, for when he ducked to check his tail, a ball of flame flew straight over the kneeling hunter. He could feel the heat as it passed, and his reptilian head whipped up to see the Mer holding himself up unsteadily beside the rock, breathing heavily. The poison seemed to be in full effect, and he would soon die. It seemed he was determined to take Dax down with him. The very magic he could see being summoned sent a shudder down the Argonian's spine, and he sprang toward the Mer, Axe being hefted as he closed the distance shortly. His blade found the Mer's neck just before the wretched bandit could loose another spell.

Within the hour, he had the heads packed into his skin sack. He needed to carry the sack in his hands, now being too heavy to be strapped to his belt. He checked the chest the bandits had for some gold and loot, before making his way back toward Dawnstar and Ashev. He hoped he got back before nightfall. Making a camp out in the cold was never ideal, and with his recent nightmares of Blackmarsh...