[center][b][i]From the shores, to The Courtesan[/i][/b]
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	Leif had little time to recover the thrown axe that he had tossed to Orakh, foolishly forgetting that the poor Orc had received a rather painful bite from the vile ice wraiths that swarmed around the grouped mercenaries. While Orakh dodged an attack from a wraith, he rolled away, and left Dumhuvud as its next victim, he cursed vehemently Orakh, yet Leif had no time to recount his insult, while did he have to be so foul a man? His eyes remained locked upon the ice wraith in front of him, his sword readied for an assault just like the one the others had received. Chilled white vapors rose into the air around the wraith as its serpentine body writhed in the air, its fangs bared. Were it not for the hail, and the evident oncoming of rain mixed with hail, Leif could feel the drop in temperature, in just a few minutes, it could be snowing, making it near impossible to discern the wraiths among snowflakes. Even now, with the rain and hail, he forced his eyes to remain locked on the wriggling wraith. 

	The wraith sprang forward, uttering a menacing hiss as it lurched towards Leif, had he not been intently focused on his target, he would have suffered a fate similar to Orakh, or that of Dumhuvud. Instead, Leif prepared beforehand, with his fingers curled tightly around the hilt of his broadsword, he swung the blade in an arc, and brought the blade down in a straight movement, striking the wraith dead. It burst with a shower of frost shards and white vapor as it collected on the ground like an ash pile. As he took a step back to assess their situation, Leif found that either the remaining wraiths had retreated, knowing that a group of foes would prove their demise, or were successfully removed. Dropping to one knee, Leif sifted through the pile of ice, and discovered what he sought, two fangs of the ice wraith. While he knew that they held an alchemical quality, Leif didn’t know the recipe, nonetheless, when they returned to Dawnstar, perhaps he could sell them to the alchemist there for a pretty coin.

	In his busied search for the fangs, he hadn’t noticed the departure of the Dunmer, yet when he dusted off the knee of his trousers, he saw the elf return with a Khajiit woman, the poor thing appeared frozen, and in desperate need of warmth. He hadn’t bothered bringing a cloak as he knew what falling into icy waters with too many articles of clothing would do. The Dunmer confirmed that the wraiths had disappeared, and pleaded in earnest for them to take the Khajiiti woman aboard immediately, Leif would have provided his consent, however, Dumhuvud sidled up in front of them and denied passage by demanding an explanation of how they found themselves in such a circumstance. Returning his sword to the strappings on his back, Leif stepped out from behind the Cat-Kicker to gain a better view of the two he addressed. The Dunmer wasted no time in revealing who they were, Kattun, a priest of the New Temple at the Shrine of Azura, and R’ihanna, a traveling bard. He explained hastily how her bloat had blown away in the gales, and R’ihanna, proclaimed that a ship off the coast channeled magic into the sea, producing the effects of the storm. Leif quietly contemplated their words, unsure of how to digest their situation. Dumhuvud was the first to voice his opinion of doubt, and suspected that they themselves might be the ones to have caused the disaster encompassing Winterhold. He found that doubtful, as the state they presented themselves appeared one that would not be acquainted with those, if it were people as the Khajiit suggested, would find themselves in a circumstance such as this.

	Kattun protested angrily at the Cat-Kicker’s words, explaining how the bard had narrowly escaped from her abusive fiancé, what that had to do with the situation, Leif could not fathom, yet the Dunmer priest revealed that they had practically frozen to death in a cave until the ships were sighted. Orakh stepped between the Cat-Kicker and Kattun, preventing from any casualties occurring, he revealed even more that they had spotted ships of iron-clad hulls, and mistook them for aid until the ship released a volley of ice-shards upon them. Dumhuvud tensed, Leif could see the corded muscles in his neck bulging as the man gritted his teeth. Important to the matter, both Kattun and R’ihanna did not know that those upon the iron-clad ship were actually Kamals, the same ones that had assaulted Windhelm. The wind picked up, sucking the warmth out of Leif’s body, his fingers were numb from the cold, and his body shivered with each increased wind gust. Finally, Dumhuvud seemed satisified that at least the Khajiit woman had nothing to do with the collapse of Winterhold, but he ordered Orakh and Leif to keep an eye on the priest before ushering everyone back on board the ship. 

	Leif was the first to cross the rickety planks back to the safety of the ship, he rushed off, calling for Bjorn and Halvar to fetch blankets, mead and food. The men had kept an eye on the shore while the fighting endured, they wanted answers about the newcomers, but Leif waved him off with his hands. He whirled about, forgetting about one of the most important matters, he approached Orakh, and with a sheepish raise of his brows, ran a hand through his sandy-brown hair.

“Ah, Orakh, is it? Look, I’m sorry about tossing you that torch there… I forgot you were bitten, I feel like a fool, that I almost set you aflame there… but uh? No hard feelings eh?” He found himself being called away from the orc, when Orvar approached the two.

“Oi. Leif, I heard that ye have some folks that are injured?” Orvar inquired, his eyes went to Orakh, and he cocked a brow, he could see how the orc held the frozen arm close to his body to prevent further injury. The man was older than Leif, in his late forties, for his brown hair was riddled with grey strands, as well as the lengthy beard that reached his chest. While Orvar looked every bit of a traditional Nord, with his square cleft chin, gnarled nose (clearly broken on several occasions from brawls) and thick brow, he had a quiet demeanor about him, one that did not exude the atypical cockiness of Nords. Truth be told, it was the fact that when it came to those in need of his services, such as Restoration, he cast aside all differences to be of help, something that he passed onto Leif.

“Yes, Orakh here was bitten by an ice wraith, do you think you can help him?” Leif asked, patting Orakh on the arm. Orvar whistled with a shake of his head as he grabbed the orc’s injured hand, examining it with one eye closed.

“Aye, that’s a nasty bite there but ye’ll be fine. Come down below deck, outta o’ this wind, and I’ll get ye taken care of.” Said the older man before heading below deck.

	Bjorn returned topside, bearing two thick woolen blankets in his arm, while Halvar had remained below deck. Leif spotted the older man, his blond-white hair easy to discern from the greyed wood of [i]The Courtesan[/i]. He put his hand in the air and waved at his companion, who made a bee-line for Leif. “Thank you, Bjorn. Does Halvar have ale and food ready below deck?”

“Aye, he said to send them down when their ready, he managed to coax ol’ Jormar to cook something fresh for them, ‘course it don’t take much to convince him.” He said with a wink as he stood alongside Leif with the blankets. He waited for Kattun and R’ihanna to board shortly after, and as soon as they stepped foot on deck, Leif and Bjorn handed them the blankets.

“Rhasha’dar can take a look at you, make sure you’re all right. Orvar is below deck as well, in case you need more help. If they can’t help you, I’ll come take a look. There’s food and ale waiting for you in the galley if you’re hungry.” Leif said pointing to the stairwell that led below deck. In truth, Leif felt responsible for the newcomers to the ship, as he had volunteered [i]The Courtesan[/i] for this mission, the least he could do was present the ship and its crew in a good, hospitable light.