---

Farid whipped around, dagger clutched tightly in hand. There was a good distance between him, and fate would have it, a Nord. A smiling face appeared in sight. A bit starved and unclean, yes, but still a man cracking grins around his pipe. Farid slowly walked sideways, narrowing his eyes to size up the latest mage. Sebastian seemed friendly enough, and as Farid lowered his guard after several seconds, the first Breton he spotted was no longer there.

Of course, Farid's comrades wouldn't have the slightest clue about that Breton. Perhaps Farid was seeing things, or maybe it was an illusion conjured up by someone like Keegan. As the rest did their meet-and-greet, Farid shuffled around looking for the mystery mage. Maybe he lost the mage, or the mage lost Farid. Either way, no one was in the place he saw earlier.

Ariane and S'riracha were the last two up. Ariane went and introduced herself to Sebastian, but S'riracha stood coyly behind everyone. The others did most of the talking, which meant all that was left was walking towards the Hall of Elements.

“Listen,” Farid rounded up the rear and said to Ariane, “I think I saw someone shady over there.” The Redguard's head darted around anxiously. “I'll wait out here. Do that detection spell and watch out.” He sighed in resignation of bring stuck in the blizzard and not able to tease Sagax.

Ariane lit up her detect life once more, and the feedback was a cluster of lifeforms behind the stone walls. These were the bulk of the signatures seen from underground. Some of them bore strong arcane auras, while another bunch barely had any life at all. However, there was also an uneasy feeling when casting her spell. As if her veins suddenly tightened , the flow of magicka felt stunted. The interferences came from somewhere in the college, the sky and the harrowing ocean all around. A smaller being in this location was responsible for the quick and frequent stutters, while the wounded landscape felt like capping Ariane's potential as a whole.

“I don't like this place.” Ariane told S'riracha. Underneath her parka and robe, something hot suddenly came to life. It was the strange, skull shaped necklace she received from the shopkeeper in Windhelm. According to Ander, it was supposedly the Necromancer's Amulet stolen from the court mage.

“Hush.” Ariane took off the amulet and muzzled it with a silence spell. It had remain dormant, and forgotten since the company's escape. She wore it without incident until now. The amulet was bolstering her magicka against the barriers all around, but at the same time, felt extremely tiring just around her neck. So when the silence spell finally tamed the glow, Ariane decided to stash it away in her parka pocket instead.

“What a curious trinket.” S'riracha commented. His eyes were transfixed while the Amulet glowed.

“Just a little enchantment.” Ariane dismissed. “Let's keep moving.” She paced ahead to join Roze and Sebastian.

“I am not seeing any more of those, “magic ball” things.” S'riracha injected himself between Sagax and Solveig.

“You don't trust these people too, yes?” In his strange accent, S'riracha said to the red-headed Nord. “I'd say at least one of them is dishonest, and if we find that someone, we should end them.”

Then the great doors leading to the Hall of Elements threw open, revealing a cadre of mages. Taking the lead was a short Breton woman dressed in a restorationist's robes; blood stains dotted the robe.

“Sebastian Vorell!” The petite healer barked. “I told you to apply the healing scrolls; they are a perfectly valid school of magic!” She looked like she was going to yell at Sebastian some more, but her face turned from annoyance to fright when the group of rescuers appeared.

“Who are they?” The Breton raised an eyebrow. At her flank, other mages went to ignite spells or pulling out weapons.

“I am Ariane Fontaine, mystic of the College of Whispers.” Ariane stepped up with her hands raised. “Uh, former mystic. Anyways, these people with me are here to help, to evacuate you onto ships below.” She added. “And can you please lower the weapons, milady? It's rather rude to greet someone like that.”

“You are?” An Altmer sorceress spoke up. She was the first to extinguish her fire spell, and with a nod, others immediately followed suit. “Well, come inside and see what you can do. And Colette, stay with your patients, please.”

“Alright, alright.” Colette answered. “See Drevis,” she smiled to a Dunmer, “I told you they would come.”

“Urgh.” Grumbled Drevis.

“Please forgive Colette Marence, she's been rather, encouraged, at the use of her abilities.” The Altmer sorceress led everyone into the great hall. “Name is Faralda, interim head of the college.”

The Hall of Elements was a circular room, supported by tall stone columns and punctuated with an energy well in the center. The granite floor would normally be aged, but well polished, now sullen with litter, dirt and blood. Tall and slim windows separated the outside from inside, though a select few were broken, adding glass shards to an already busy floor. Beyond the energy well's glow, light seeped of magical orbs seated on pedestals. Shadows filled the room, and with the calamity out and under, this was a gloomy place indeed.

Colette knelt with her apprentices and the most gravely wounded. They were set between cots and crates opposite of the doorway. On the right side, several mages attempted to nail a piece of wood over a shattered window. They were combining traditional tools with alteration techniques, but in spite of all their efforts, nothing held off the winds. Barrels and sleeping rolls dominated the left side, it was there several fires were lit. The majority of the occupants gathered there as well, some slept and some passed time with simple tasks; not many panicked. Lastly, series of tables and chairs scattered around the well. The few occupants center-stage all wore more elaborate outfits, likely denoting their higher ranks. Alchemical and arcane equipment could be found there, accompanied by stacked pages.

“Lots of survivors here.” Ariane noted. Indeed, the number of mages dwarfed the rescuers at a first glance. It was difficult to estimate how many were here, but it was certain the trip back was going to be a crowded one.

“What happened exactly.” Ariane asked.

Faralda would talk about Archmage Ykaron leaving two weeks ago, and in the course of one week, a fleet of ships would bend weather to their will. No, not Kamal ironclads, Faralda explained. One student was testing enchanted telescopes that day, and according to him, a dozen ships of rectangular shapes, ruffle-like sails were definitely wooden on the exterior. The ships carried mages, and those mages would pour energies stored on outlandish devices into the sea and sky, causing the landslide and many thunderbolts that were responsible for the college's damage. The college remained standing, and perhaps it was the same reason it withstood the first disaster. The structures were solid, maybe so as Shalidor blessed this very place with his essence. The greatest damage came not from beyond, but rather within. As one lightning struck the upper floor of the students' quarters, it found stashes of arcane charge someone hid to smuggle away. In short, too many deaths could be blamed on one greedy individual.

“We buried the dead in the courtyard, and burned the rest.” Faralda concluded. “Too many of us sleep cold, on empty stomachs.” She sighed, waving across the hall. “Despite our difference with the town, we did rely on them for essentials.”

“Well, we will try to evacuate as many as possible.” Ariane said, for once, she seemed genuinely saddened by what she saw. “But I do not think we have the room for everyone, at least not possible sailing this kind of weather. We did bring supplies though, so that might alleviate your problems.” She beckoned a bag-carrying sailor.

“I understand.” Faralda nodded solemnly. “Most of us, the faculties, are unhurt. The apprentices took the brunt of it when their hall exploded; take them to safety first.” The sorceress walked to the a table in the center, grabbing several sheets that looked like attendance papers. “Plus, I don't think old Urag is leaving without his books.”

“Tell your subordinates to mingle with us. You should evacuate those Colette cared, and whoever else you think is necessary. There is a few more upstairs, in the library. Give them the supplies and be gentle, we have not seen anything like this since the death of Archmage Aren.” Faralda plopped down on the closest chair, rubbing her jaw and throwing the papers aside. “Pardon me, this is just, too much. I'm a sorceress, for Magnus' sake, not some steward or 'refugee coordinator'.”

Ariane stood there blank-faced, not certain what to say. Soon enough, she relayed the word to mercenaries and sailors, sending them on their way. Faralda was still in the same chair, leaning back with a tired expression showing how overwhelmed she was. Eventually, Ariane pulled up another chair and sat beside the Altmer. She placed a gentle hand on Faralda's shoulder, causing the latter to let out a weary breath.

“I'm sorry for your losses.”

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 The Courtesan. 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 The Courtesan for this mission, the least he could do was present the ship and its crew in a good, hospitable light.

After the action ended and left its place to allow for arguing to take the spot, Sadri chose not to partake in it, and instead thought about the words of the bard about the snakes on the ship, disregarding the Dunmer priest as the fellow looked at him and the Khajiit for help. Then, as the argument continued, Sadri heard the mer clarify that the ships that came during the disaster weren’t the same as the Kamal ships. Snakes, wooden ships… the information sent his head working, and the conspiracy theorist hiding between the crevices of his brain, asleep since Windhelm, woke up and started rummaging through Sadri’s memories, sifting through pages of books read in the past. Of course, Sadri had no idea what was actually happening in his brain, and simply bit his lip as he watched Dumhuvud.

‘’Tsaesci,’’ Sadri hissed under his breath, silently, as the Orc decided to get everyone back on the ship. Sadri figured it was a wise decision, as he felt cold enough to get shattered by a stray cough. He slowly walked back towards the boat as his good eye locked on Leif, who was too busy apologizing to Orakh. Sadri did not care much for the lad, save for his latent dislike for handsome men (for Sadri, you did not have to be handsome to be beautiful, and certainly, for Sadri, handsome wasn’t beautiful either – he thought of handsomeness as a masculine trait, and beautiful as things he felt attracted to, and masculinity was only attractive when a female had it), or just his subconscious hate for good looking things in general. Or perhaps his dislike for the lad came from the fact that he reminded Sadri of his younger days, and having a constant reminder of those times was certainly not pleasing for his aging personality.

His eyes then turned to the older sailor, who was on the ship deck, and not on land (Sadri could feel the guy calling them idiots for getting off the ship in the first place, but on second thought, realized it was his own conscious). He breathed air out of his mouth to warm his nose as the Orc walked back onto the ship, his arm in bad condition. Sadri was cold, sure, but so was the Orc, and at least Sadri wasn’t bitten by ice come alive. As he had thought of before, it really could have been worse.

Sadri walked back up the ramp, his calloused feet familiar with the feeling of wood beneath them, and handed his torch to some random sailor who obviously did not expect it, then sheathed his sword as he made his way through the top deck, hoping to get to the berth, where he could outfit himself with something that kept him safe from the cold, such as his battered coat. Before he went down, he looked back, and watched the Nords cover up the Dunmer priest and the cat singer with blankets. ‘’Bastard’s making sure they’re well taken care of,’’ Sadri thought to himself. Food, and ale, and care, they were going to get all they needed. As always, the sight of strangers enjoying things he couldn’t ignited the coals of hatred nested in Sadri’s belly, but spite and jealousy were nothing unfamiliar for the old Dunmer, and he just sighed as he turned his head back and walked down to a much warmer and much more cramped space.

-

Having left the wondrous cold outside for more suitable temperatures for his Breton lineage and milquetoast character, Marcel stood in the Hall of Elements dashingly, brushing off snow that had nested upon his head and shoulders like a bad case of dandruff. He thought of the faint shout he had heard while in the Courtyard, just before he had entered the Hall – Marcel was a man who trusted his senses, and thus he had a nagging feeling in his gut that what he heard may have not actually been an illusion caused by the wind. He sighed, and dusted off the cape of his greatcoat, and then adjusted his gorget with his index finger momentarily before walking by some of the apprentice students. They seemed oddly agitated whenever he was around, but Marcel felt this was because of his eccentric profession and its connotations, rather than sheer dislike – after all, he had been making sure to avoid anything taboo. Then again, the same had happened with the Synods in his youth, so perhaps it was something else.

‘’Excuse me, have you heard anything outside while we were talking?’’ Marcel asked as he approached the mage he had introduced himself to earlier, Mme Duboisse. He voiced himself to be concerned, rather than charming, for he did not want to make the wrong impression on the lady who had shown her vulnerability to his appealing personality earlier. The tired Breton woman turned her head to Marcel. ‘’I’m afraid not, could you please-‘’ Anne began, but was cut off by Marcel.

‘’That’s all too odd, I’m quite sure I heard something,’’ He sighed, and then smiled. ‘’Ah, well, we shall see, shall we not?’’ Marcel said, trying to be as reassuring as possible while trying not to sound intimate. Anne was nice, after all, but Marcel’s heart was for now occupied by the grace of his life, Theodora. Such a strong, caring woman she was! Almost untouched by age, with her broad shoulders, perfect curves, pale skin, piercing, almost belittling gaze and raven hair… Marcel felt carried off, and indeed he was. But, he assured himself, it was only normal to be carried off while thinking of Theodora.

‘’Mister Gawain, could you give me a moment please? You’re making my hea-‘’

Before poor Anne could finish her sentence, she was cut off by a loud shout, emitting from a Breton woman, whose size made it hard to believe she had been the source of the sound. Marcel, being the curious person he was, and also not wanting to disturb the obviously lovestruck girl any further, immediately made his way to the source of the commotion, where he saw newcomers, who certainly did not look like mages, at least, not all of them. The mages had brandished their offensive skills after seeing the newcomers, whom they probably thought were hostile, at least for a moment.

‘’I am Ariane Fontaine, mystic of the College of Whispers,’’ the lady leading the newly arrived group said. Marcel thought if he had seen the woman before, but could not remember. He watched from a distance as the group made its intention clear and began talking to the head mages. It seemed that they came for a rescue – an attempt that Marcel found dashing, and certainly noble. Such brave men and mer these people were, that they would face the treacherous waters of the Sea of Ghosts in these troubled times. And considerate too, they were, as he watched them listen to the head mage, Faralda. Eventually, Faralda sat down, exhausted, and the group also dissipated in the Hall. Marcel felt intimidated by the other members of the rescue party, however, and thus decided to introduce himself to Ariane, rather than the others.

‘’Mme Fontaine, I must say I am astonished by your daring rescue attempt,’’ Marcel said as he offered a hand to the lady. He was apprehensive, but then again, he always was when meeting new people, especially women. ‘’I am Marcel Gawain, a visitor of the College. I am delighted to make your acquaintance.’’

Do’Karth was not near the door when it burst open, and it took him a moment to realize that it was not from the sailors having luck breaking through the door. He had been helping the others with the last step of their climb and organizing lifting supplies with the rope when a bright blue orb pushed past him, forcing one of the hapless sailors to his doom. The khajiit could only look in horror as the man plummeted the 4 stories to his death as he landed with a sickening crunch. Turning quickly, Do’Karth realized that the group was under attack, and several members of the rescue team were engaged in the battle with the strange magical constructs- what else could they be – and he realized that he was woefully unprepared for fighting an enemy such at this unarmed. He feared, rightfully so, that the orbs would be harmful to him if he struck them with his unprotected hands and feet. One thing he’d learned over his life, sometimes rather painfully, was to never make assumptions about the nature of magical things.

The skirmish ended without any more bloodshed, and while most of the others pressed on into the College to find the survivors, Do’Karth stayed behind to help bring up the supplies and help the last of the rescue party up the rope. It was much easier now the rope was anchored properly, and the hand and footholds had been pretty well broken in through several sets of hands and feet following the same path that Do’Karth had started. Tying the supplies on the rope and pulling it up, it took several more minutes before the college relief supplies were brought up and secured, and outside of a pair of sailors keeping a lookout on the dinghies, Do’Karth and the others carried the supplies in the wake of the others, following the obvious trail that had been left behind. Before long, they had arrived in the Hall of the Elementals as Faralda was finishing her tale of what had occurred at the College during the siege, only really hearing the extent of the conversation as she explained how the dead were disposed of. It was rather grim.

Do’Karth and the others set the supplies down in a row, unraveling the canvas tarps to present the carefully packaged foods, water skins, blankets and other supplies within. They handed these out to any who approached, and Do’Karth was pleased to see his coat and his staff had made the trip up. Nodding to the survivors, Do’Karth stepped out into the courtyard to better view the collapsed cliff side where a village once stood. Looking at the tall waves and the cruel sky, the khajiit truly wondered how on Nirn they managed to arrive here alive- and how any of them were supposed to escape. He did not cherish the thought of returning to the sea. He would reunite with his companions in a moment, he felt he should check to see how Solveig was holding up, as well as Sevine. She’d seemed particularly worried about his ascent only minutes prior.

With a few more swings of his axe, Rhasha'Dar was finally able to kill the wraith focusing on him - he'd suffered a few frost burns to the arms, but nothing overly serious. His fur had protected him for the most part, and he once again thought that the Men and Mer of Nirn truly suffered without it - although he had a feeling Sevine would be horrified to see he'd lost some small patches to the frost.

Rhasha was thankful to the Gods that nobody had perished - they'd seen enough death recently. They were even able to save the two who they had come to rescue - and their purposes interested Rhasha immensely. A priest of Azurah, and a Khajiiti follower - both somehow alive after all they had been through. Indeed, upon listening to their story, Rhasha found himself both sympathetic to their plight, and frankly amazed they'd lasted this long - not that Dumhuvud was making it any easier, that was. Watching on with a glare directed at the back of the Cat-Kicker's head, Rhasha'Dar's gaze softened completely as he looked upon R'ihanna and Kattun.

"This one should be able to heal your wounds - let us get to the warmth first." Helping the frail Khajiiti woman onboard the ship, Rhasha inclined his head in thanks towards Leif as he offered his help.

"Many thanks, Leif. If your friend Orvar or anyone else has need of potions, you need only ask." Having re-stocked at various points between Windhelm and Dawnstar before leaving, Rhasha had plenty of ingredients - even a few pre-brewed potions given to him by the caravan.

Taking the shivering pair down into the ship, he set them by one of the braziers before retrieving his supplies. Kattun had to be seen too first, with his frost-bitten hands. There wasn't much healthy colour left to the fingertips, but after gently rubbing them and having Kattun down a few potions, the feeling began to come back in painful pins and needles. Still, it was better than the flesh being dead. Although skillful enough in potions and their properties, Rhasha didn't know much about amputations.

As for R'ihanna, she mostly seemed to be just suffering from the cold and slight malnutrition. As he checked her over, Rhasha could see some old wounds that had already healed over, but she apparently was in no sort of pain. Giving her a resist frost potion in the hopes it would quell her shivering, Rhasha offered up a smile to them both.

"This one thinks it is a shame you did not reach the shrine of Azurah - it is a magnificent thing, and this one feels warmth in his heart knowing he had seen her beauty." At this, he paused, realising he had not yet introduced himself. "This one is named Rhasha'Dar - and he hopes you reach your destination soon, after this mess is taken care of. Now, perhaps this one should take you to the galley, yes? Nothing more but rest and food will heal you both now."

The Courtesan went to rejoin other ships as the stranded duo was loaded and settled. Dumhuvud went to his usual perch, not bothered to scold the crew or the newcomers. Orakh, on the other hand, made small talks with Rhasha while the Khajiit tended his frostbite. It was mostly mutual distaste for the ice wraiths and worsening weather conditions. The storm outside, now undeniably a storm, was disruptive to a lot of people's moods. Wind was now howling faster than horses and the accompanying sleet could be as large as tomatoes; it was hard to see beyond several feet. The Courstesan stayed on course thanks to the other ships' lanterns and sailing with the wind. It took the around the same time coming back than going there in the fast place. There was nothing to do beside anchored, rocking and waiting for the college rescue to return.

"Thank you." R'ihanna gingerly sipped the potion and returned Rhasha's smile. Orakh also bowed his head in gratitude and excused himself to stow away his equipment. "Though I did not have the chance to pray at our lady's shrine, I did see her magnificent statue; it was truly awe-inspiring." Unwrapping her tattered cloak, the dark-furred Khajiit said.

"We are in your debt." Kattun added. "However," he rubbed his hands and drank the water the crew brought, "I heard something about the 'Kamal'. Now that I thought about it, it sounded familiar to something the Nerevarine wrote about his journey to Akavir."

"Have you encountered a Kamal? What are they?" The priest asked.

Shortly after Rhasha had chance to explain himself, Dumhuvud strolled out of his quarter and into the common area. He stopped in front of their table and snatched away R'ihanna's cup for himself. "Who did you stole this from, heh?" The Cat-Kicker leaned down and mocked. R'ihanna recoiled back in fear but Kattun stood up to Dumhuvud. "Sit down!" The priest attempted to push Dumhuvud away but only succeed in being shoved back into his seat. At that moment, a small book fell out of the priest robes.

"What is that?" Dumhuvud crooked an eyebrow.

"A Dunmeris dictionary." Kattun took the book away. "Not like it matters to people who can't read."

"Oh, I can read alright." Dumhuvud sneered and cracked his knuckles. "I've read all about your holy Oblivion types, and a lot of it ain't pretty. Try any of your voodoo crap and I'll have you overboard faster than you can scream." Walking away, Dumhuvud allowed himself a tiny smile at the newcomers' shock.

---

Handling Dax's bounty in Dawnstar was Jod, the housecarl to Jarl Skald. He handed a bag of gold to Dax while Skald complained about the EEC and an Imperial captain scamming desperate Argonians. Jod briefly asked if Dax was part of the group trying to break for Black Marsh and why such a journey was so precarious to lizard-folks. Skald didn't care, for all he knew, the outsiders were ruining his job of making Dawnstar great again. The refugees lived like rats, among tattered tents outside of a wall erected after the civil war. Some Argonians, such as the Pakseech was able to secure early boats or caravans out. The others were not so fortunate, and if these people didn't get to tear Windhelm apart, they certainly would like to do so to Dawnstar.

Ashav passed by the White Hall just as Dax and Jod came out. It was Ashav who first referred Dax to the bounty, and judging by the jingling pouch and absence of the bounty poster, it seemed like someone got a job well done. Ashav clasped the bounty hunter on the shoulder, congratulating him and offering a drink at the inn.

"So it's done." Ashav talked along their way. "The jarl said these lowlifes have been troubling his hold for weeks, and it was no small task destroying them for one man. You are someone who gets things done, and I could use someone like you in my company." The Redguard told Dax. "We are mercenaries, and most of us were sent to Winterhold. There isn't much to do right now, but after I get you a drink, why don't you sort out the business with the refugees and the con artist? The jarl also pays for that."

When she heard the morose story from Faralda, Sevine’s disposition softened considerably as she surveyed the inside of the Mage’s College; she had never stepped foot within these walls, though she had heard of its beautiful seaside-views from the tower. Seeing the college in its current, depressing state, she uttered a low sigh, this is why they were here, this is why a rescue operation was needed. From the sorceress’ words, they couldn’t bury all of the dead, and burned the rest; horrified that they had to result to burning the bodies, Sevine offered a silent, mental prayer up to Mara, hoping that some positive light would be shed during their time here. She overheard her say, Faralda that is, for them to mingle with those within the college, and with one particular woman named Colette who had taken care of the injured, and to take the supplies upstairs to the library. As her eyes swept over the individuals lying strewn about the room, some weak, some sleeping, some reading, and so on. It was then that she spotted Do’Karth helping haul in the remainders of the supplies.

“Do’Karth!” Sevine cried out, as she headed his general direction. “I was worried there for a moment when you were climbing the shaft up, that you would fall. Faralda, the sorceress over there,” She hooked her thumb over her shoulder at the exhausted Altmer woman, apparent the disaster had taken an astonishing toll on her, “said for us to take the supplies up to the library, I can help if you planned to move these. If not, I was going to check on the wounded, a woman named Colette has looked over them during this time, we may need to make a litter to carry them down. I’m not sure how many are able-bodied…” It was good to talk to him again, now that she wasn’t keeled over the side of The Courtesan up-chucking.

“I figured we ought to bring Solveig along to help us too.” Sevine said, placing her hands on her hips as her eyes scoured the room searching for her. It wasn’t hard to find the Nord woman with her coppery-red hair in the Hall of Elements. “Solveig! Come give us a hand would you, please?” Her voice wasn’t loud, but it definitely wasn’t an inside voice. By now, she could the warmth in her toes and fingertips returning.

Do'Karth had not managed to get far out of doors when a familiar voice called out his name. He stopped in his tracks and turned to see Sevine approaching, the fire-haired Nord looking all too relieved to see him. When she mentioned her relief at his safety, the khajiit smiled and placed his free hand on her arm, just under the shoulder. "This one would be lying if he said it didn't cross his mind that he might slip once or twice," he said, thinking about how the hook had given out on him, and only quick reflexes and the existing infrastructure had saved him from plummeting. "But Do'Karth felt it better to risk a fall than to be any closer to that damned water than he had to." he joked, his gaze following Sevine's gesture towards the tired-looking altmer woman who probably hadn't slept at all since the siege began. He nodded, heading back to the equipment. "Let's move the supplies first, then. Do'Karth can tend to the wounded afterwards.This one would appreciate it if you stayed with him for a time. He always appreciates your company, and Sevine is rather capable." he said warmly, heading back in the doors and to the supply bags.

Hefting one up between his arms with his staff perched atop, fed through a strap so it wouldn't slip, he chuckled. "Really, between us two, what cannot be accomplished?" when Solveig was called out to, he raised a pair of fingers in a greeting gesture to the woman that Jorwen had asked him to keep an eye on. Fortunately, Solveig was pretty self-sustaining now that she wasn't crippled from her injuries and her face had healed up rather nicely, even if scars and discolouration remained. With any luck, they'd be out of the College before the Kamals came back and no one would be at unnecessary risk.

Following a mage who volunteered to help the company members carrying the supplies walk to the library, Do'Karth took a moment to appreciate the ancient building, and the presence of something otherworldly lingered heavy in the air, or so it felt to the khajiit. He wondered if any new kinds of magic were discovered in these halls, and what kind of wonder was brought into the world here. "This one would not concern yourself with how we will evacuate the mages," he said to Sevine as they walked through the halls. "Someone far more crafty than Do'Karth probably is already working on a solution. Perhaps our leaders, who decided to do this mission, had contingency plans. Do'Karth, in truth, expected we would have to scale the outside cliffs to get in. Imagine his surprise when it was a simple shaft!" he exclaimed enthusiastically.

Moments later, the mercenaries were lead into the library and Do'Karth was momentarily taken aback; there must have been tomes here hundreds of years old. There was much history here, and one of the grouchiest looking orcs he'd ever seen, an elderly man with a bushy white beard. Do'Karth had the distinct impression the man considered this his home above all other places in the world. "Just put it over there!" he growled, gesturing irritably at one of the few unoccupied sections of the walls, leaving the unburdened mercs a moment of relief and to look around in awe. "It is times such as this Do'Karth wished he knew how to read..." he said.

Solveig had taken to keeping to herself in a corner, eyes scanning the room for anyone that looked anything like a Reachman. She'd only seen one in Markarth, but he didn't look like a barbarian. He looked like an elf crossed with a man, long fingers, slightly pointed ears and angular features, subtle bulges in his bottom lip where his muddied blood had put tusks. The only touch of barbarism in him was the single feather braided into his hair. But to her, that was her mentor, the one that taught her to fight. He was no barbarian, no more than any fighter. She had to shake her head to put her mind back on the task at hand. It was a different Reachman she was looking for. She'd gotten further sidetracked by a wounded man reading passages from a holy book aloud to a few others. “And to the sinners there shall be no rest, not in sleep nor in death,” Solveig swallowed and frowned, “To the thieves, there shall be no riches; to the murderers, there shall be no sleep.”

The only thing that jerked her mind away from wanting to walk over to the holy man and punch his jaw loose was Sevine's voice. She asked for help carrying supplies to the library. She simply nodded and stood, rolling her shoulders in preparation. There was a young lad in the company that was struggling with a large crate. He couldn't have been ninety pounds without his armor and Solveig simply lay a hand on his shoulder. The lad looked up at the woman who stood two heads taller than himself and took a step back. Solveig gripped the crate, straight-backed. With a grunt, she heaved it up to rest in her hands and lean against her shoulder. “Follow along.” She said to the lad, pushing up his nasal helm that barely fit him.

“You're strong.” He said. “You're like my Pa. Was your Pa a plow-horse? Bet he was by the thickness of you.”

“Watch your fucking tongue.” She spat, and the lad recoiled at her outburst. She felt a little bad, it was obvious he was making at a joke. “My Pa's Jorwen Red-Bear. He fought as a Housecarl in Ulfric's army during the Civil War.”

“Oh.” The lad said, keeping alongside her. She didn't actually mean for him to follow along but it was how it was now, she guessed. “My Ma died during the war, when I was still a babe.”

“Who'd she fight for?” Solveig cocked a brow. She'd never heard of many fighting women recognized in the songs past those in Ysgramor's 500 or during the wars with the Dunmer.

“No one. She was a farmer.” The lad said, looking down at the ground, “Stead got burnt by Stormcloaks. Pa was a Legion man.”

“Oh.” Now it was her looking at the ground, “War...it's like that. Or so my Pa says. I'm sorry though.”

Suddenly, the lad had a fire lit in him, “Why? Your Pa done it?”

“My Pa doesn't burn farmsteads, little lad, he's too much repute for petty brigand shite like that!” The lad's fire died with the whirlwind of Solveig's temper, and that made her winds falter in turn. “My father's better than that, like yours. But I won't lie, there's some people capable of doing good for every man capable of some black deeds on either side of anything.”

“D'you reckon?” Solveig looked at Sevine and Do'Karth, her mind went back to her mentor. Her mentor had slurs thrown at his back his whole life in Markarth by both Nords for being a Reachman and Reachmen for living amongst Nords. Solveig reckoned he had enough skill to slay each man who threw the slur but didn't. He only had a heart big enough to let a girl follow him and learn. And her father. She'd wait at the door for him and give him mean looks for being away, but he still wrapped her in his big stone-hard, mammoth-strong arms and tell her he loved her. The Red-Bear, a monster in the fray, telling a little girl that he loved her.

And as she stepped up beside Do'Karth and Sevine and saw the welcoming looks on her companions' faces, she nodded, “Aye, I do reckon.” And with something of the first little smile she'd had in days, she hefted the crate in her arms and nodded to Sevine, “Pick something up and follow along.”

Once they'd gotten to the library, Solveig put the crate down as gently as she could, clapping her hands free of dust and putting them on her hips. As she inhaled the smell of dusty tomes and aged scrolls filled with obscure knowledge and old tales, she opened her eyes and looked upon it all. “I hope we're not carrying each of these fucking things out of here. We'll be here until sun-up next morning.”

The rough wooden crates dug into the palms of her hands as she moved her center of gravity back onto her heels, carrying the crates up the flight of stairs would not be a taxing endeavour, that was certain. She stifled a chuckle out of strain when she heard Do’Karth not to tell her to worry about those that were injured, surely someone was already devising a plan to remove the severely wounded. She had to admit to herself, Do’Karth had a voice of reason, one that foresaw logic where many often overlooked it. Sevine was one of those people that tried to perform too many tasks at once. Were it not for the way she carried her weight, putting most on her hips, she would have fallen backwards down the stairs from which she came when the sole of her boot slipped against the next stair. She uttered a terrified cried, only to breathe a sigh of relief when she pivoted forward, planting her foot on the next step. When she came to the top of the stairs, she followed after her Khajiit friend into the library, already tiny beads of perspiration clung to her forehead, and the tufts of hair that grew above her ears were slick.

“You don’t know how to read?” Sevine asked, catching his words after he set his crate down; never would she ever have guessed that Do’Karth could not read. One of her faults perhaps, being too naïve and assuming that every person she encountered could read; well, at least knew how to spell their own name.

“I suppose I’m lucky. My mother taught me my letters when I was a young lass. She always pressured my father to make certain that I kept the habit, said that, a well-learned woman, is a smart woman, I believe she’s right about that. But I know men from the War that couldn’t read a lick either, and were just as smart. I’ve got a book back in my rucksack on the ship, it’s called The Black Arrow, if you’d like I could teach you. Had to teach my sister her letters after my mother passed.”

She had heard the growl of the irritated orc as he addressed Do’Karth, and followed where he gestured, setting the crate down next to where Do’Karth had deposited his, though she uttered a rather unlady-like grunt as she squatted, careful not to throw out her back by hunching over in the meantime. She had witnessed far too many men carrying barrels, crates, heavy loads in general, and watched them cry out in agony when they lifted wrong. Dusting off the front of her tunic from the wooden shavings of the crate, and the dust on the palms of her hands on the sides of her trousers, Sevine took a moment to take in the sight of the library. “This is rather impressive. I’ve never stepped foot in a place like this, much less a library.” She took the moment to wander over to the books encased behind glass panels, evident that some were kept under lock and key. Some panes of glass were broken, but not all, so she was careful to pick her footing around any shards of glass. Satisfied with what she found, Sevine made her way back to Do’Karth, and stood alongside him in momentary silence.

Then, as she let her gaze sweep over the entirety of the room, she heard a familiar voice from behind; Solveig. Her cynical words brought a smile to the Huntress’ lips, when she turned to face the Nord woman standing alongside them both, she could tell, by the way she set her jaw, and the way her brows furrowed, that something had changed. In truth, Sevine had caught mere glimpses of Solveig during the escape from Windhelm, she assumed that something harrowing had caught Solveig off-guard. Clasping the woman’s shoulder, Sevine looked her once in the eye, before turning her gaze back to the library.

“You’re a sight for sore eyes, sister,” Sevine began affectionately, there weren’t many Nord women she knew, or liked for that matter, that she would call sister, but there was a strange fire in her heart when it came to Solveig. Perhaps it was the fact that she was Jorwen’s daughter, or the fact that now she knew Jorwen’s wife, had visited his home, and been treated with courtesy. Whatever the reason, she hoped that the Nord woman wouldn’t find offense at her words. “I’m sorry I didn’t have much time to talk with you on the voyage, as I truly wish I had the chance. I was busy saying good-bye to my meal and stomach over the railing of the ship; first time sailing and what not.”

“Do’Karth, I think I hate the water just as much as you, my friend!” Sevine added in a playful jest, a trail of laughter ensued before she wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. She had no idea why she found that so entertaining.

“Well, I’ll fetch another crate. I’ll be right up.” With that, Sevine set to the task of bringing up the crates that remained below in the Hall of Elements.

Darting an amused grin at Sebastian as he was chided, Roze's face swiftly became more somber as she listened to what had happened from the Altmer. An attack from mages... this was certainly more dire than she had considered. At least if it had been the Kamal again, they would have only one enemy to deal with. Now a group of Mages gone rogue, armed with enough magic to collapse a city? It was a scary thought - what if they went to Solitude? The city was built on a damned arch... if that fell, the amount of lives that would be lost would be catastrophic.

As the group dispersed, either to mingle with the Mages or retrieve supplies, Roze turned once more to Sebastian, looking at him intently this time. The sadness that hung around the entire room clung to him too, which was odd. There wasn't much that got Sebastian down, but then again, she hadn't seen him for a few years. A lot could happen in that time - it had to her, after all.

"You've changed since last we met, Roza." Almost as if reading her mind, Sebastian spoke up with a tired smile. She returned it, a wry chuckle escaping her lips as she rubbed at the graze upon her cheek.

"Well, a lot has happened in the past few years..." Roze began - then changing the subject. She didn't want to to bring up the Kamal and Windhelm, too much bad had happened here for more news of disaster. "Where was it the last time? Somewhere in Haafingar?"

"That's it - someone tipped the guards off about a "treasonous wench" and we were run out of the Hold. I've still got scars from that day, you know. You owe me."

"Oh, I owe you? I've still got scars from getting you out of trouble in Markarth. You're still lucky they left you in some random cell in the keep rather than Cidhna mine. I'm good, but not that good, Seb."

"Like you would have left me to rot in there. You'd miss me too much." The pair laughed quietly as they reminisced about warmer times, but the noise seemed out of place in the College. There had been too much grief, and the sound of joy dried up quickly. Despite Sebastian's wit out in the courtyard earlier, it was obvious that loss still sat too heavily in his heart. While he had come and go from the College throughout his years there, it had been, and always would be, his home - and the mage had lost friends in the attack, others severely wounded. But seeing his oldest friend Rozalia had picked up Sebastian's spirits somewhat... despite some obvious confusion.

"Not that I'm not pleased to see you or anything Roze, but... why did you come here? You're not a mercenary, you're a thief. Why would you join an outfit like this?" He asked, brow furrowed somewhat as he regarded her closely. Rozalia let loose a sigh, fiddling with one of the straps on her leather gauntlets absent-mindedly.

"It's a long story, Seb. Besides, a thief always looks for potentially lucrative opportunities. This hasn't turned out... horribly." She paused then, frowning. "Well... on second thoughts, it has. But I'm alive, and I have coin in my pocket. That's all that matters."

"The Roze I knew a few years ago wouldn't have thought that." Reaching forward, Sebastian brushed his fingers against her cheek, his palm glowing slightly as he healed the graze that sat there. "In fact, she'd just rob the group blind, head off in the opposite direction and have one hell of a party." At this, Roze raised her eyebrows - somewhat surprised to realise that he was quite correct. She really had changed a lot.

"Well, I promise you now that once this shit-storm has ended, I'll throw the biggest, loudest party in the country. And I might even invite you." Sebastian's smile returned at this, his hand still cupping her face.

"Good. I'll bring the whiskey." Said softly, he leant down to gently press his lips against hers - a sweet moment, but it was swiftly brought to an end as he backed away with a wince, glaring at whoever had just smacked him over the head with a staff.

"You can make up for lost time later, Vorell! See to the injured - I didn't teach you restoration to just flirt with women!" The same petite Breton who had yelled at him earlier - Colette - brandished her staff again with a stern scowl.

"Since when did you learn restoration magic? I thought you were all about blowing things up?" Roza asked with a chuckle, watching as Sebastian rubbed his head with one hand and retrieved his own staff with the other, still glaring at Colette, who was returning it in kind.

"Since this one nagged me into doing it." Said with a grumble, he looked back to Roze. "I'll come see you later - don't leave without me, alright? We have parties to plan - Colette, stop hitting me, I'm going!" With another smack to the head, Roze laughed quietly as Colette all but marched Sebastian off by his ear.

As Sebastian left to help the wounded, Roze turned her own attention to the supplies - there was still plenty to be hefted up the stairs. Not even bothering with the crates - she'd probably dislocate both shoulders trying to lift the heavy things - the small woman slung a (still heavy) sack over her left shoulder and made do with that. Spotting Sevine picking up one of the crates with what looked like apparent ease (Once again, Roze cursed her lack of muscle; it'd probably be her end one day), she walked over, realising they hadn't spoken much lately. Likely because Sevine was busy emptying her stomach for the majority of the voyage here, poor thing. Either way, Roze had some worries about what had happened at the College, and she hoped it would do her some good in voicing them.

"A terrible thing what happened here, Sevine... but I've had a concerning thought. Do you think that the Mages who attacked Winterhold are in league with the Kamal? We know the Ice-Demons are capable of communicating well enough with us, enough so to propose a duel. What are we going to do if they're working as one?" This was said with a troubled look in her eyes. It was obvious that the Kamal meant to start a War with Skyrim, or perhaps even the whole of Tamriel, and this would be all the harder to win if they had the aid of such powerful mages. She herself had no experience in war; the siege of Windhelm had been her first proper battle, and she had nearly perished during it. Admittedly, due to a small bout of "let's-try-suicide" with Sagax, but regardless, it didn't seem to bode well for the future.

"For me, at least."

"Oh, confound it all!" A woman's voice followed a loud thud and the sound of many small objects skittering across the floor of the Hall of Elements. Taking a few steps into the large circular room, Sagax looked over to see a Dunmer hunched over beside a toppled crate, hastily picking up the soul gems that spilled out of it. She must have dropped the crate trying to carry it to its destination. Looking up, she beckoned Sagax over. "Oh, perfect! Could you help me with this, please? I lost my grip on the crate and...well, just look around you." It was very messy indeed. Soul gems of all sizes were scattered about the room, and there was no small number of them. Sagax nodded with a smile and began collecting the furthest gems. "Oh, and if you would, please, put the largest soul gems at the bottom! Don't ask me why, it's just what Sergius told me..."

After several minutes of work, a good majority of the soul gems were successfully accounted for. There were still quite a few more to go, but the task looked much less daunting now.

"Very good, we've got most of them! We'll be able to get these out here in no time!" The Dunmer woman stood over the crate of soul gems, sorting through them all and taking a rough count.

"Hmm, I wouldn't hold your breath on that. We might have to leave those here. The boats we came in on are small, and the crate would take up a lot of room. The students and faculty here no doubt take priority in the rescue, and the fewer trips we have to take, the better, I'd imagine." With those words, the Mer looked almost disappointed.

"But...these are very valuable and expensive! We can't just leave them here!" An appeal that held no meaning for Sagax. His way of life forced him to value things based on their practicality, not their market price, and it was simply not practical to try and get everything out of the College. Certain things simply held priority; the soul gems did not. Sagax simply shrugged in response. "...well, maybe we should finish up anyway. Just in case, you know? Besides, we wouldn't want anyone to trip on these things..."

Sagax could agree with that, at least, and so he joined the woman in continuing the cleanup job.

The weight of the Gold felt good in his clawed hands. The weight of his duty to his people was a tad less satisfying, though no less important. In fact, much more so in Daixanos' way of thinking. "No, I am not going southwards." Dax replied to Jod as they walked toward Aschev together. "And I do not know why such a journey is perilous. But I will..." His words were ominous and hinting, and the Argonian gave a nod to Aschev when he ran into him. The recruiter offered him a drink and congratulations. "The jarl said these lowlifes have been troubling his hold for weeks, and it was no small task destroying them for one man. You are someone who gets things done, and I could use someone like you in my company." Dax nodded his thanks, and followed him to get that beverage. "We are mercenaries, and most of us were sent to Winterhold. There isn't much to do right now, but after I get you a drink, why don't you sort out the business with the refugees and the con artist? The jarl also pays for that." the Redguard continued. "I intend to." Dax replied curtly.

Within the hour, Dax found out all he needed about the refugees and their predicament, so far as rumors were concerned. The location of the Trawl was not up for debate, nor was the 'Seal Captain' that commanded it, if it could be called such a thing for a dingy such as that. He only drank a small bit, and told Aschev that he would meet him tomorrow at the latest. The Argonian then made his way towards the docks, turning left past the Main Thoroughfaire, and right until the Northstar Port was visible. Down below, a shady looking human stood before a dozen of his Hist brethren, speaking inaudibly for Dax at such a distance. In his heart, he knew that the rumors of this man were true. Scamming Argonian's bound for Blackmarsh, and leaving them stranded in Morrowind to be picked up by Dunmer slavers! A rage began to build up inside of Dax, and he even took out his bow.

He did not retrieve an arrow however, and simply gripped the curved shaft of the weapon. He let out a hissing breath, and put the weapon back in place, before crossing his muscled arms. He was not used to settlements for long lengths of time, preferring the wilderness. He would much rather shoot the man from afar and go about his business, but Dawnstar had laws. His mind began to whirl with possibilities. He needed proof to show the Jarl, and the man and his crew seemed quite distracted at the current moment. He moved by instinct, going back the way he came, past the Barracks and The White Hall. The hunter traveled 'round the settlement as quickly as he could, until he made it to the otherside of the small bay without eyes upon him. He lay his weapons down behind the furthest house, between two large rocks. He walked into plain sight of the eastern section of town, but only one man was around and he was not looking his way, walking further south. Dax made for the water.

He gave a guttural noise, half growl and half hiss, as he stepped into the frigid waters slowly but surely. Halfway in, he jerked at how cold it was. The freezing liquid filling his every pore and causing his breathing to come out sporadically. My brethren need me! He hissed louder, and forced himself to submerge into the water, floating for a few seconds before he felt like his muscles would answer his call to move. He slinked under the waves like an ancient serpent of lore, his tail whipping up before disappearing beneath the waters. The end of the appendage had already grown back, though it was tender and odd feeling in the water. Within less than a minute, he found himself before the Trawler boat. He felt his claws run along his scaled palms, and then dug them into the creases of the wood, climbing up upon the opposite side of the boat, away from the Captain and his victims.

Both hands had fingers gripping the railing, and he paused to hear any kind of commotion. Seconds passed, and he heard nothing. No! There were footsteps. They were upon the opposite end of the boat, moving across but not closer to Dax. He waited again, until the footsteps halted. With a hiss, the reptilian hunter slipped aboard. To his left was the entrance to the cabin before him, but to his right were stairs. He needed to choose where to go. He had one shot at this. Stairs, he heard from the back of his mind. He hoped it was the Hist giving him guidance. He made his way towards the entrance, and headed downstairs, wincing at every small creak at every other step. "Oi, Jothen. That you?" one uncultured voice called up. Dax froze, and clenched his teeth. He decided to keep walking almost immediately. If he froze for long, or fled, they would know.

Down below, an Imperial(?) man wearing a winter vest over a sailors shirt sat over a table, and casually looked up, before jerking upwards at the sight of Dax. "What are you doing down here!?" he asked loudly, before seeming to catch himself. He stood up from his desk, and turned the papers he had been reading upside down. "If you're looking for passage, the Captain-" Dax's left hook struck him across the jaw, and his right haymaker sent the man falling, unconscious. Dax caught his shirt before he could hit the ground, and then carried the man's limp form over to a pile of barrel's across the small room. He placed the body behind them, and slipped the side barrels to cover up any visibility of the sleeping sailor. This was nasty business indeed. He was no murderer, even if he felt like taking up the mantle at the moment. But knocking a man out was only a minor offense, that could be perhaps justified later. If not, he could always slip back into the tundra.

"What do we have here?" he whispered to himself, taking the papers that the man had been riffling through. Dax's teeth shined in the torchlight when he smiled. "Yesss." The manifest and travel history! The Hist truly watched over him, and as he read further, he realized it watched over all Argonians. Or at least, the ones outside. He rolled the papers up, and then placed them within his maw, making his way up the stairs and off the boat as quickly as he could, keeping his head above water and keeping the papers in tact. He swam to the opposite shore and gathered his equipment, and before an hour was done, the Jarl had given him leave to go back and confront this 'Seal Captain,' and to have guards on stand by if need be. Dax thanked the Jarl for letting him deal with this on his own, and left the White Hall.

He strode toward the Trawler and the liar of a Captain as only he could. After surviving what Dax had, one walked with a certain confidence and force of spirit, especially when riled to anger. He had spent years at war, having killed Dunmer, Sabrecats, Bears, Elk, a Giant (with the aid of Stormcloaks), a Troll, and various bandits. Thinking on it now, he supposed the number of foes added up over the years. I might be getting old, he thought to himself. His fellow Argonian's sensed his presense too. Some were moss green, with lines as black as the bottom of a swamp. Others had color similar to Dax's own blooded skin. Some had frills, some had horns, a few had both. One Argonian female clutched a small hatchling at her feet. It mattered little. These were his people.

"Where is this ship bound?" Dax asked, his voice guttural and slipping out of his throat like most Argonians, albeit a bit deeper than many. The Captain was human, but Dax did not know nor care what province he hailed from. Brown hair and weathered skin. Could be from anywhere. As far as he was concerned, this man was from Oblivion. "For Blackmarsh. Get in line, sir. As you can see, many need passage and there is only room for so many." the Captain said. Dax's tail thumped against the ground, and he held back a grimace from how tender it still was. It caught the attention of all around him, however. He took another step forward, invading the Captain's space and causing him to back up a step. "Is it?" he hissed. "And I would think you would take all the passengers you could. It would fetch a higher price."

The Captain eyed him, and recognition dawned in his eyes. He still played the part of innocence. "What? Are you mad?" he asked, trying to seem incredulous. Dax turned to his brethren. "Hist Kin, this man here is nothing but a theif and a liar. No, worse. A slaver. He is one of those who would put us in chains like our ancestors. I have discovered that, after you have been in refugee camps, living out in the cold, that he takes your hard earned money, and then takes another tidy profit from your freedom and lives!"
"You!" the Captain said, drawing a dagger. He made no move yet, though. "Get out! I'll not have some filthy lizard question my..."

His eyes widened when he realized he had just insulted all of his witnesses. Some of the Argonian's hissed angrily at him, and the others watched Dax curiously. With broad shoulders and an elongated neck, he loomed over this 'Seal Captain.' "Show your true colors." Dax said, deathly calm. "Lie to them. Either way, be forewarned...We are the children of the Hist. We are the breakers of chains. We are the ones who besieged hell itself. And even if you did not fall today, I promise that a denizen of Blackmarsh would be your undoing."

The Captain looked around as the other Argonians stepped forward. They were not threatening, and to any man who thought of it rationally, a riled mob did not necessarily mean violence. But this was out of his expectations, and therefore, out of his rational thought. He slashed at Dax with his dagger, hoping to make the Argonian back up so he could flee upon his ship. Daixanos blocked the man's arm with a burly scaled forearm, and decked him across the face. The dagger fell to the ground, and Dax lifted the man up bu his shirt collar. "However..." Dax continued. "I will save my future brethren the trouble, and end your mischief now." Within the next hour, the corrupt Captain had been taken away by the guard, and Dax sought out Aschev once more. That was over quicker than he had hoped.

Tsleeixth winced internally at Sebastian’s reaction to his question, only now realizing that it’d have been best to keep his questions to himself rather than question the man when the catastrophe that had decimated the College was still fresh in the survivor’s minds. “Great going Tsleeixth, you spent all the trip worrying about the people in the College and the first thing you do is ask what the hell happened instead of offering help.” He mentally chided himself, more than a little ashamed of his thoughtless question and lack of tact.

Shaking his head slightly he followed the group to the Hall of Elements, his eyes taking in the damage that the ancient building had taken in the catastrophe. Entering the old building brought mixed feelings to the Argonian’s mind, memories of old times flashing past his eyes for brief seconds bringing forth feelings of nostalgia and melancholy yet the smell of blood and the sight of the wounded students was a constant reminder of whatever tragedy had brought low the College and, with it, feelings of both helplessness and bitter rage.

Breathing deeply he focused his mind on listening to Faralda’s explanation on what had occurred prior to the catastrophe and what had been its cause. On how during the course of a whole week strange ships -which to his great relief hadn’t been Kamal ironclads- had appeared near the College and through some sort of arcane item or ritual, as best as Tsleeixth could guess from Faralda’s explanation, had managed to use the weather itself against the magic institution and the city that had given it it’s name. However when the Altmer woman mentioned that most of the destruction had come due to the fact that a cache of magical charges, stashed away to smuggle off the school as Faralda explained, Tsleeixth felt himself flare up with indignation.

“All of his death, for what...a few septims?” He mused bitterly as Faralda finished her explanation on what had led to the College’s current predicament. He half-listened to the rest of what Faralda had to say, his own thoughts distracting him, and when she was done talking he stepped outside the Hall of Elements, breathing in the cold air to calm himself down. Once he was more calm, Tsleeixth remembered the crates of supplies that they had brought and made his way to the stairs to pick one of the crates -with some difficulty- to haul back to the Hall of Elements but just as he did that he overhead Roze’s question to Sevine.

Freezing a little bit at the thought, he approached the two women and cleared his throat slightly to get their attention“Excuse me, I couldn’t help but hear what you said Roze.” Began the Argonian, shifting slightly as he spoke “Do you truly think these mysterious mages could be allied with the Kamals?” He said to her, shivering slightly as he remembered the devastating might of the Ice-Demons and wondering what they could do if they were allied with the people who had attacked the College “Don’t get me wrong, what you say makes a lot of sense but wouldn’t there had been one of their ships here as well? The College and it’s mages could be a great asset in the fight against the Ice-Demons, you’d think that they’d send at least one group to make sure that the College was out of the picture.” Said Tsleeixth as he began to wonder whether or not the Kamals and this group of strange mages were allied or if there was some bigger motive behind this sudden attacks.

Do’Karth shook his head slowly. “No, this one never learned to read. Common origins… unsavory upbringing. It simply never factored into Do’Karth’s life. Perhaps he could use lessons, although Do’Karth suspects it may simply be too late. He is not getting any younger.” He replied, helping relieve some of the relief team of their loads as they came in the door. Before long, all the supplies were accounted for. Sevine took the time to catch up with Solveig and to go see what remained. Before long, the Nord was back with Roze, who raised some valid concerns about the invaders from Akavir.

“This one would not be quick to presume anything. Until we see otherwise, we should treat each threat as a unique instance, lest we start to think we know what they’re planning. Speculation can be dangerous.” The Khajiit warned.

Having Roze's attention felt like a cool drink of water, much needed in that aspect. A tender smile crossed her lips as she listened to the worries of her friend. It was when Do'Karth came down the stairs behind her did she nod her head in agreement. "Do'Karth is right. For all we know, the Mages and Kamal may not even know of each other, and for our sake, I hope they don't. Though I have to say, these Mages in red ships that can bring a city into the city, is just as concerning as the Kamal. I have half the notion to learn some type of fire spell, if we ever get the time, or have my bow and axe enchanted, in case we cross paths with those accursed demon."

In the silence that followed, Sevine felt that her opinion on having her weapons enchanted with fire would be worth the cost, she would have to be careful of who she attacked, or where she released her arrows. Perhaps when they reached Dawnstar, she would take a gander at finding an enchanter, if the town even had one that is. On a second note, the fire burning in her conscience to at least teach Do'Karth his letters was a cause worth getting behind, she could at least teach him how to spell his name. That much was essential in life, if a person ever tricked him into signing a particular contract or agreement, he could at least know his name, better yet, know what it actually spoke of.

"I hope your shoulder had healed considerably, I know your shoulder took a beating. Do you have problem stringing your bow?" Sevine asked the tiny Breton woman before her.

Nodding her head as Do'Karth, Sevine and Tsleeixth countered her worrying queries, Roze realised that they were correct - it would do no good to draw assumptions, especially worst case scenario ones like that. If anything, the thought of it alone was a disconcerting one, and would do no good for the moral that was certainly already low in the tower. Besides, they all raised valid points - particularly their Argonian companion, who mentioned the lack of Kamal ships. If the Kamal had been here, they likely wouldn't have left the tower standing.

"Well, let's hope that they're enemies, and they blow each other up before we get to either of them." She said with a light chuckle, deciding this scenario was a far better one to consider than the former. It would make for quite the story - two stoic forces meeting one another, and just wiping each other out while the free folk of Skyrim got hammered or something.

Moving her shoulder up and down as Sevine asked about it, Roze smiled gratefully. "It's doing surprisingly well, actually. I managed to get some more potions from Rhasha'Dar during the voyage here, and that's helped it heal a lot. The climbing up the mast too - as for stringing..." She paused, fiddling with her bowstring as it hung around her back. "I haven't been able to pull it back all the way just yet. I managed to get the string on, but the joint just stiffens up when I pull it back so far. But, I don't think it'll be like this forever; I'm probably still working out some stiffness in it." She answered, face then brightening as she realised something. "Turns out Sebastian knows healing magic now - if he comes to Dawnstar with us, I'll be able to pester him to get my shoulder back to normal again. I bet he'd teach you some destruction spells too."

"I wondered who that cheeky fellow was!" Sevine said, as she recalled how the man had passed some rather sardonic comments towards them when they first arrived, "I saw the way you hugged him, eh?" Winking playfully, she elbowed Roze in the ribs.

"Next time, make sure he knows, that when it's a blizzard outside, to be a little more courteous to us ladies, we don't have fur like Do'Karth over here." She teased her friend in a light-manner, before turning her attention to Do'Karth.

"Well, what do you think we oughta do now?" She planted her hands upon her hips, and cocked a slender crimson brow at him.

Do'Karth muttered a loud, exaggerated shivering sound. "Khajiit fur sheds heat, not insulates it. Believe this one when he tells you that he is just as cold as everyone else." He said, looking around the room and with a finger, counted the number of volunteers to make sure everyone was accounted for. "Do'Karth believes we should return to the main hall and await further orders. He believes we will be ordered to depart soon, the seas are rough and we do not want to be trapped here if the fleets return to assault the college. We have done all we can for the mages, we will rescue those we can, and hopefully have provided those who remain with a fighting chance."

Uttering a low chuckle at Sevine's jibe - oh boy, did she have some stories about Sebastian to catch Sevine's interest - Roze nodded in agreement to Do'Karth.

"Hmm - I think we'll just be getting in the Mages way if we stay much longer - hopefully we can get all the badly wounded on the ship to Dawnstar." She stated, and the group, now done with their task of ferrying supplies up the winding staircase, made their way back down to the Hall of Elements.

"A pleasure to meet you, master Gawain." Ariane replied. Her pleasantries came only as force of habit. In truth, she was feeling anything but pleasant. The same disruption felt earlier returned when her hand made contact with that of Marcel's, and at the same time, her amulet lit up bright in her pocket, quickly pushing magicka through whatever obstacle surrounded Marcel. On the opposite end, Marcel would suddenly feel light-head for an instant as his vision quickly flickered.

"Are you-" Ariane withdrew her hand and cocked her head at this polite, but definitely peculiar man.

"He is a just a guest." Faralda cut her off. "You should see him to safety, for we do not want innocents to suffer as we do." From her tone and expression, and plain expression not bothered to be hid, Faralda was absolutely more concerned removing Marcel than worrying for his well-being.

Nodding her head, Ariane stood up and looked over the rescuers in the hall. Majority of their supplies are soundly transported to the Hall of Elements. The EEC and thane's sailors carried up the final crates trailing behind the mercenaries. Those rescuing with the medical knowledge have already applied limited treatments and help the better-off patients to their feet. Everyone worked with a sense of urgency. Why would they not? The howling blizzard only hastened their tasks.

"We shall depart now; it seems like the supplies have been loaded." Ariane said to Faralda. The Altmer sorceress stood wobbling, blinking at the crates of food, clothing and tools that she desperately needed. Already, Colette was busying herself extracting the medicine. The supplies supposed to last weeks, but there was no telling how much longer such climate could be staved off. "We will return for you, I promise." Ariane clasped her hands over Faralda's. She raised her head upward to meet the Altmer's eyes, letting out a rare tinge of empathy in her words. "Stay strong."

Faralda said nothing, and it only made sense seeing how empty Ariane's promise seemed against their odds. Bidding their goodbyes, Ariane made for the door, where Farid entered with the last crate. "Walk with me." She told Marcel. "I never expected so many of my kin, Bretons, to be at such distance from High Rock. What drove you to this college, master Gawain?"

Speaking of Marcel, Farid's reaction to the Breton man was one of surprise. "Hold on, you were the one outside." The Redguard remarked as he entered.

"We'll introduce later." Ariane dismissed. "Do you have everything up?"

"Last one here," Farid pointed to the crate, "ten wool blankets." He ran his fingers through the topmost blanket. "We never got anything this good in the Reach, or Windhelm, or on the ship, for that matter. Damn shame I can't keep one for myself."

One burly Nord followed from behind Farid. He was clearly panting and sweating as the result of so much lifting. "Fontaine," the sailor managed between gasps of breath, "we can probably do up to twice the mages as our own." Motioned the Nord. "One or two per person; we can't afford taking anyone who can't stand up." He was right by all accounts; icy cliffs and shaky ladders make horrible combinations with stretchers.

Soon, the mercenaries gathered and Ariane informed everyone to prepare for the trip back. As planned, everyone took one or two mages with them. Marcel Gawain went with Ariane, and Farid supported a pair of Nords, brother and sister on their way down. The brother had bandages wrapped around one eye, the aftermath of a glass shard puncturing what had formerly been seeing. He was a little younger, but the face bore an uncanny resemblance to Dumhuvud. The way down was quiet, though probably none paid attention to it, there were several more piles of magic dust scattered throughout. According to the sailors, they had branched out and cleared out adjacent tunnels of anomalies. They also found strange altars, shrines and even doors holding matters best left unmentioned. One sailor even claimed she spoke to an "Augur of Dunlain", who told her the calamities originated from the east.

Having only one ladder made the descend awkward. Most that climbed up climbed down. Thanks to Farid's belaying system, the sheer ice surface was made much more traversable. The ladder was carried down once the mages made it passed the trapdoor drop, and was fortunately no more than a few step shorter than the cave heights. By and large, the mages were not comfortable going this hidden way. Some had superstitions (justifiable to some degrees) about the Midden, but starving out more than a week was motivating enough for most to brave the danger to reach a warm bowl of stew somewhere.

Shepherding the boats was Keegan, an Altmer drenched in hail and shivering non-stop. According to him and the few that remained below, they made one trip transporting the nearly-drowned EEC employee and supplies unsuitable for the rescue. The process was so harrowing that it left Keegan bunched up fetal position, and even hardened sailors didn't laugh at him. The way to the ships would be dangerous processes. Docking to far was obvious foolish, but so was docking close to the college foundation, because one strong wave would sent the ships straight into rocky formations. So the recall, several minutes of life-or-death rowing, continued three times for most boats. The mages were told to empty anything beside the bare essentials; it was amazing how someone tried to migrate an entire alchemy lab in their packs. In the end, the vast majority made it to the ships safe and sound. Well, one person actually lost balance and dragged another into the waves. For all intents and purposes, a total of three casualties was rather tame.

"Thank the gods." Someone prayed to the skies.

---

---

Against terrible men and beasts, one often forgot the might of the earthbones. One and a half days tumbling on treacherous crests and troughs, a day and a half of restlessness. The mighty warriors that once faced down snow demons and lived felt powerless at sea. At least you could run from Kamals. But on the seas? No one was going anywhere. The storm never relented as time and distance came to pass. Perhaps EEC Nibenay Onyx was smart to head east for Blacklight instead west following the storm. The East Empire captain disregarded the warning about possible Kamal fleets, and wagered his passengers' safety on a far north detour. For the Nordic ships, the Courtesan and the Steelhead kept barely out of collision range. Very often would one ship vanish from the other, but minutes later, they would find each other again. Near midnight of the second day, any false sense of security would be rendered moot.

The Courtesan was following the Steelhead at three quarter past eleven, both staying in shallow waters close to the shoreline. Their voyage was choppy, having either lagged behind a planned safe cove or overtaking by accident. As one giant thunderbolt seared against the water ahead, tall waves rolled above Captain Atgeir's ship. The Courtesan canted nearly forty-five degrees port side, almost flipping over. When the wave cleared, the Steelhead was nowhere in sight. Now, this happened enough time during the day to not warrant distress. However, the pitch darkness did nothing to calm tired and on-edge nerves. But what came as a shock to everyone was a sudden impact against the port side. There was a sharp jolt and the splatter of water through wood; the vessel was hit. Looking past the gunwales, a sailor discovered that either a reef or an iceberg penetrated the hull.

"Everyone up!" Someone ran through the cabin, thankfully compartmented and not leaking. But the adjacent area was already swamped up near knee height. An oval hole with circumference over an arm's length pumped water into the lower decks. Desperate mates tried to nail down wooden planks or throw out water with buckets, but nothing was having an effect.

"Listen!" The door swung open to reveal one of the ship officers. "We lost controls. Prepare to abandon ship!"

Abandon ship, why? For starters, the rudder was not responding. Which meant it was jammed or destroyed. Jam was the likely suspect, due the stern being pretty much undamaged and the wheel did not turn at all, rather than turning with no results. So the object earlier must have been a reef, though it wouldn't be impossible to be tangled in ice as well. Anyhow, the best hope now were the two dinghies. But wait, each dinghy could carry an optimal six people, with the possibility of eight or nine if they're stretched to the limit. This sounded just right when leaving Dawnstar, except that the Courtesan had taken the pair from the coast and a dozen mages from the college. That's twice the amount both boats can carry, and the mages, well-versed in arithmetic, were quick to figure out the odds. So eight or nine mages made a beeline for the nearest dinghy, settling down before the sailors got their bearings and cut themselves loose. There was one problem; zero out of the nine had nautical training. As soon the dinghy hit the sea, it was caught by a wave and tossed over more times than they could count. Everyone that rushed onto the lifeboat drowned in no time. In essence, all the hard work rescuing was gone in a heated, stupid decision.

One boat left, fifteen-plus still stranded. By some bizarre miracle, the rudder finally responded. They were moving, albeit slowly, wavering and taking in water. The Courtesan leaned heavily to the left, and it was uncertain it could be steered or not. At that moment, a break in the rocky coastlines could be seen in distance. The water here was shallow enough to row the boat there, provided proper launch and rowing procedures are observed. Jumping ship was a safer bet versus staying on, the officers agreed, no matter how slim the window was, eight or nine people are better off rowing.

Orakh reached the second boat first. Leaning on his shoulder was Trius, who barely recovered from his allergy in that he could stand and face didn't puff like a ripe watermelon. "You're going! Come on, we need handy folks guiding the ship in, and you ain't no working shape." Orakh informed his Dunmer friend and lifted him into the Dinghy.

"What about you?" Trius shouted as loud as his puffed up throat allowed.

"Staying with the cap'n!" Orakh shouted back. He put his arm up to cover against a harsh ice wind, but what landed on him was warm and foul smelling. Keegan Vasque stumbled to him and proceeded to vomit all over the Orc.

"S-sorry!" Came Keegan's meager apology; he looked like a dead man walking.

"Alright, you too, golden boy." Orakh lifted Keegan to Trius' side. "You owe me a new shirt!"

Next came Dumhuvud, despite looking rancorous as always, he didn't even bother fighting for the boat. "Fill the boat the up and give me a hand down here." The Cat-Kicker commanded. "We'd get more done than half of these vegetables combined. You're not letting me down again, are you?"

Orakh tightened his grip on the railing. His blood boiled hearing Dumhuvud, but deep inside, he knew the Cat-Kicker was handling this as well as he could. For a flash, the faces of those he left behind during his time in the stronghold flooded back. No, he would not leave his people, friends or strangers, behind again. This was the promise the elder Orc made to Malacath, and if it meant drowning, well, that would be the blood price he pays. "Come on!" He waved to Kattun and R'ihanna. Only R'ihanna was leaving; Kattun decided to remain behind.

The old Dunmer, fully clothed despite being positioned in a small hammock, lay mostly still, sleep having taken over him – occasionally, he stirred from his position and gave out a quiet snore, alongside a drip of spit drooling from the side of his mouth, but these occasions were rare enough to not be a bother for the others in the compartment. That, and well, compared to most sailors, this mer’s sleep was beyond natural grace. Most other sailors let loose snores not unlike roars, rumbling burps and farts of varying tones, starting from shrill, quiet gas leaks to explosive drum beats – on the other hand, this Dunmer’s sleep was much more lifeless, likely thanks to old age and an unenthusiastic grasp on life. Of course, the stillness of his sleep was also thanks to the deep state of dreaming the mer currently was in. Even though his body lay on the hammock, his mind and soul explored the depths of his brain, or perhaps the Dreamstride of Vaermina, though the old mer, in his current state, was not able to ascertain one from the other.

He walked through the streets of an abandoned town, in the dead of a moonless night, lit only by red lanterns smelling of incense, and even that, barely. The shadows outside the reach of the lanterns seemed to merge with the starless night, which created an emptiness left for the mer’s psyche to fill. Had he been awake, he’d have thought of the scene’s similarities with the supposedly Akaviri-inspired ink wash paintings of the Necrom School. In his dream-induced psychosis, however, he simply found it horrifying. Perhaps this indeed was the Quagmire, and perhaps Vaermina was taking the piss something fierce with him. Perhaps the group’s short encounter against the ice wraiths and the cold weather had messed up with his mood. Or perhaps he had gone into moon sugar withdrawal sooner than expected.

As the light of the lanterns began to dim, and the old Dunmer began to move more cautiously, someone’s presence suddenly lit up the premises about a hundred feet away from the mer. The Dunmer was almost blinded by the sudden change in brightness, and after a moment of dizziness, started walking towards the person. As he came closer, he managed to pick out features of a woman, seemingly in the nude – although her strong features betrayed an androgynous nature. ‘’Sadri,’’ she spoke out, and walked closer, which, for some reason, made the Dunmer recoil in fear. ‘’On your feet, sailor.’’

Sadri blinked and tried to pick out the woman’s face, but the light emanating from the woman was too strong to let him. Suddenly, with one step, the woman closed all the distance between her and Sadri, and clasped onto his missing arm. Sadri, in an uncommon display of bravery, decided to look at her in the face, and despite the brightness, made his best to pick out the woman’s visage. As he struggled to pick up her lines, she began to speak again. ‘’Everyone up.’’

‘’What?’’ Sadri asked, his mouth half open in awe.

‘’Everyone up. Everyone up!’’

Sadri woke up, skin drenched in cold sweat, to a sight of panic and hurry. A sailor rushed by, shouting for everyone to get up, and Sadri, in his waking-up blur, tried to get up from his hammock, and ended up falling off it, hitting the wooden floor. His ears rung like some sort of exotic instrument, courtesy of the collision, and in his dizziness, Sadri slipped as he tried to get up, falling again. Hitting the ground again amplified the ringing in his ears, which frustrated Sadri enough to get a proper grip on the hammock and pull himself on his feet.

‘’What the fuck’s going on?’’ Sadri asked aloud, although he did not mean to do so, and nobody bothered to hear him anyhow. Despite that, as if on cue, an experienced sailor suddenly barged in following Sadri’s question and explained the situation in a rather blunt manner.

‘’Listen! We lost controls. Prepare to abandon ship!’’

Sadri gave out a sigh. The damn sea had swallowed his pipe first, and now his life? ‘’Well, fuck you, you godless sea,’’ the Dunmer thought, ‘’you’re not taking that from me.’’ It seemed Sadri’s frustration with the sea played more of a part in his will to live than his actual survival instinct – had he been in a different mood, he probably wouldn’t have lit up so easily, but right now, having lost his pipe, and having abruptly woken from his sleep, and now forced into a life and death situation because of the waters, Sadri could pull out his sword and chop at the waves in sheer hate. He moved out of the compartment, only to find sailors trying, in vain, to stop a leak that gushed in water like a burst Dwemer steam pipe.

Following this foreboding sight, the old Dunmer moved out of the compartment and got on top deck with youthful speed, fuelled by hatred, just in time to witness one of the lifeboats splash onto the sea as pieces of broken waves crashed upon the top deck. ‘’Lucky bastards,’’ he thought to himself for a moment, but then, as the ship canted one side up, Sadri saw more of the waves swallow the lifeboat, like they had once taken him, and his thought ended up getting thrown off his mind, replaced by a remark of pity.

As the commotion created an environment of chaos on the ship, Sadri immediately turned to face the stern of the ship, feeling it steer, even though barely – the triumphant, albeit nonetheless panicking and nervous expression of the helmsman made Sadri think that the ship’s controls, albeit limited, were still operational. He rushed from his spot to find the captain, Atgeir. He had an idea that could help their situation, even if in a limited manner. Throwing himself onto the poop deck, he grasped onto the railing next to the ship’s wheel, and explained his proposition.

‘’The lifeboat won’t be taking all of us, and there's a leak that can’t go unattended. If we fother the leak with some of the sails, we might just gain enough time to make it to land,’’ Sadri spoke, as he huffed to breathe in more air. ‘’I could see to it done, with help.’’

---

---

Clinging to the main mast, Leif gritted his teeth against the whipping winds mixed with ice, rain, and freezing snow. The storm that had descended upon them during the rescue operation at the College, continued on its path, progressing into a monstrosity, one that tested all of the Courtesan's sailors to the extreme of their limits. The tumultuous waves bounced the ship from side to side in the waves, at some points the ship listed so far to the side, it sent anything not bolted down, tumbling into the frigid waters. Scaling the main mast, and foremast proved a daunting task for many of the sailors, forcing them to take extra precautions when even traversing across the deck. Without the grace of sleep, his nerves were strained to the max. Just then, a rolling wave crashed upon the already slippery deck, soaking Leif in icy water. The Courtesan trailed behind the other ship, the Steelhead keeping close to the shoreline to avoid the treacherous waters farther out to sea.

When he believed that the turn of events could not possibly get any worse, the Courtesan rocked fiercely as it struck something. Were he not holding fast to the mast already, Leif would have surely met a grim fate of sliding across the deck and into the sea. He could feel, that something was wrong with the ship, for it continued to list badly. They must have struck a reef, sandbar, or even an iceberg. A sailor ventured below to only return moments later, declaring bad news, they were taking on water, and fast. The call for abandon ship went up, and those below deck emerged in a panicked state. With the only way to get off the ship by the two dinghies, Leif knew instinctively that those that were able-bodied, would have to swim to the shore. His main concern arose when he did not see Sevine emerge with the others. Taking a chance, he let go of the main mast and slid into the wooden railing, inching his way along to the stairwell leading below deck.

Meanwhile, Captain Atgeir clung to the wheel, surveying the unfolding chaos with disbelief. Of all the years sailing on the Sea of Ghosts, he had never experienced a storm of this magnitude. The chilling sea spray that blew with each wind gust, drenched his clothes. It was then, one of the passengers that he had spotted in the voyage to the College, a Dunmer man missing an arm approached him, taking his own gamble just to reach him. He explained with haste, as each second wasted would be futile, his idea of plugging the punctured hole with the sails from the outside would give them a chance to sail in to the shore. While Atgeir remained concerned about the livelihood of the rescued mages, and the other passengers aboard the ship, he simply didn't want to abandon his life long companion to the clutches of this storm. He knew, from years of sailing, even before the time aboard the Courtesan, a jammed rudder was difficult to maneuver around without knowing the full extent of the damage, or knowing the reason behind the jam. He had encountered this problem before, when dealing with jammed rudders, but not when there was a raging thunder-snowstorm threatening the safety of his passengers.

"We'll give it a shot mate! Leif!" Atgeir spotted the Nord inching his way along the railing. "Get Bjorn, and Halvar! We're cuttin' down the sails!"

Frozen in astonishment at the bizarre request from his captain, his heart plummeted into the pit of his stomach as he felt terrified, what of Sevine?! She still hadn't surfaced from below deck. The only thing that made him head back towards the main mast, was the simple fact, that his captain asked him to perform a task, and he would come through, no matter the stark situation. Already there, he found Bjorn and Halvar trying to keep the canvas sails from unfurling.

"Captain's orders! Cut the sails! We're going to staunch the flow below deck by covering up the hole from the outside." Leif shouted as he sprung to the main mast. The swarthy Nord sailors looked on at him in confusion before nodding, just like Leif, they would do anything Atgeir said.

"We'll need you to climb to the top, and cut the ropes." Bjorn returned, his nose bright red from the cold temperatures of the storm. Without needing to ask twice, began Leif inching his way up the mast, to the fighting top.

When he reached the top, he drew out a dagger from his belt, and began sawing through the ropes. Where iron blade met wet rope, it made for difficult going. Then, just when he thought this plan was lost, the rope snapped, and the top of the sail unfurled.

"Cut the bottom ropes, and get this to the Dunmer fellow!" Leif hollered from high above. He managed a glance down, and found that by being at the top of the fighting top, he dangled dangerously over the water, one slip and he would fall straight into the icy waters.

---

---

"Everyone up!"

When the Courtesan struck something, Sevine was tossed from her hammock and onto the floor. She felt a dampness on the seat of her pants, and thought she had pissed herself. Fortunately, that wasn't the case. Unfortunately, the realization of the source for the liquid, was actually water pouring in from a decent sized hole in the wall of the ship. Chaos ensued as those below deck fought their way topside when the call came to abandon ship. In a stupefying case of shock, Sevine remained below deck, horrified at the notion that the ship was taking water. Immediately, she was overcome with immense fear. The idea of being trapped below deck and drowning immobilized her.

Were it not for a curious noise that broke her attention away from the imagined death she would suffer, Sevine would have remained frozen in place. The noise, as it were, came from none other than Asper. She whirled around on her feet at the realization that she had foolishly brought him along. With the rising water, now well above her ankles, she sloshed over to his stall, clinging to the wooden door. Whinnying in terror, and pawing against the stall door to free himself, Asper reflected the emotions she felt within, panic, terror, fear, the impending sense of death.

"Easy boy! I won't let you die! Sshh, easy now." Sevine tried to soothe her mount in vein, grabbing his lead rope in one hand, she wrestled the wooden latch free with the other. When the door swung open, Asper lurched forward, knocking her down into the water. Were it not for the coiled lead around her hand, Asper would have ended up in a frenzy. Now sopping wet with freezing water, Sevine pushed herself to her feet, sputtering the salty water she had swallowed, and fell into her horse as he danced nervously. Most of the passengers had made it above deck by now, leaving Sevine and two other sailors trying to nail other the hole down below.

With guidance like that of a patient mother nurturing her unruly child, Sevine led Asper up the stairwell and onto the main deck. As she broke to the top deck, she could tell the severity of the situation from the way the Courtesan listed, the angle of the deck proved difficult to navigate, much less for Asper. Though for him, it was like standing on a wet, slippery hillside. Here, as the dinghies were being readied, the first group had assembled with those they had rescued from the college, she knew that there would not be enough room for all of them. More importantly, as tears began to fill her eyes, Sevine knew that she may be faced with two grave possibilities. One, Asper may die; as he would have to jump ship, and swim for land. Two, she may die, and she would not abandon her precious mount, leaving him to face his death alone.

"Sevine!" The shout sounded familiar over the howling wind, and she spotted Leif, Bjorn and Halvar carrying the sails.

"Are you okay?" He asked, struggling to keep his footing, and keep a firm hold on the wet canvas.

"Y-yes!" She managed to say through a tightening throat.

"We're going to try and plug the hole." Leif replied, as she stepped out of his way.

"Leif you can't! The water is rising far too fast! You'll drown within minutes if you're trapped." She tried to protest against the foolish idea but he merely bore a grin.

"Ain't going below, we're going on the outside. Should stop the intake of water enough for us to get the ship to the shore." Bjorn piped up, pointing to the coil of rope he held onto, its use would keep them from falling into the water, and would be secured around them, or the railing, depending on the distance and severity of the hole.

The storms that night would ensure that Sagax did not get any sleep, sending the boat rocking back and forth. The cracking of lightning came down relentlessly, as if the Divines thought that they could will the ship to make haste with their aetherial whips. He was surprised that no one else was stirring, heavy sleepers indeed! Their rest would not last much longer though. One second Sagax was loitering at the end of the room, but the next it was as if he had been thrown by a Kamal. He was tossed to the side with considerable force, sending him flying to the ground; he didn't really expect such a thing to happen, so needless to say his footing wasn't the surest in that moment. He could hear someone thundering down the stairwell, shouting for everyone to get up, and that they were abandoning The Courtesan. Sagax could see water beginning to flood the ship, and at a very quick rate.

Great.

Taking no time in grabbing his gear and getting out of that watery death trap, Sagax joined the rest of the ship's inhabitants up on the top deck. The mages were freaking out, silently of course. The limping Breton lad that Sagax chaperoned in place of the Dunmer woman, as she was uninjured, looked like he was about to have a heart attack, he was so frantic. Unfortunately, the mages' inability to remain level headed proved to be their undoing. Before the rest knew it, several of them had jumped into one of the dinghies and launched into the water. They did not last long. Ironically, the Breton's injury would end up saving his life, as he was not nearly quick enough to join his ex-companions. He looked on in horror as his former friends and acquaintances were dragged to the deeps. As much as he knew that their fate was final, it did not stop him from pleading for someone to go down and try to save them. He fell silent when no one proved suicidal enough to try. As the second boat was being filled, Sagax prodded the man along and helped him into it; he was in no state to help with anything, as was obvious from his dead-man's shuffle.

The next person on Sagax's list to shove into the boat was Do'Karth. He knew just how much the cat loathed the waters, and he was probably not that good of a swimmer. Sagax, fortunately, was a good swimmer, and he didn't mind the water, so everything balanced out.

"Do'Karth! If I were you, I'd get on that boat! You would have a much better chance in it than jumping ship into the ocean, I would wager. Besides, I can actually swim." He finished with a cocky grin.

Do’Karth’s sleep was fitful, drifting in and out of consciousness as the Courtesan navigated the icy waves of the Sea of Ghosts, and it was becoming increasingly clear over the course of the journey how apt of a name that was. The hold reeked of vomit and sweat, and the khajiit craved nothing more than clean air and water, but the top deck was perilous, freezing, and wet, and the motions of the ship being assailed by the rough seas all but assured that any attempt to eat and drink would only achieve Do’Karth in contributing to the putrid and festering splotches of bodily refuse. The only positive side to the whole ordeal was they were alive and would soon be back on dry land in Dawnstar.

The positive side did not remain and the entire ship lurched, shook violently, and an impossibly loud crushing sound vibrated the hull. The khajiit felt his heart stop; they were going to sink, the sea would claim them all. Do’Karth’s body froze as the cries that the ship was taking on water filled the air, and while the sailors and manly of the other mercenaries were handling the situation surprisingly well, assessing and handling the crisis one step at a time, many of the passengers weren’t so fortuitous. Knowing time was not on his side and being trapped below deck would be certain death, Do’Karth finally found the strength to move. Grabbing his staff and leaving his pack behind, he headed to the deck of the ship, his fear of the open water being greatly preferable to the prospect of being trapped below deck as the frigid waters came to claim him. By the time he reached topside, several voices were cursing the mages, and it didn’t take long for Do’Karth to discover the overturned dingy being rocked by the waves. There were no bodies in sight; the sea had swallowed the panicked mages without mercy.

Leif, the brave, foolish bastard, had evidently climbed the mast to cut free the sail, for reasons that eluded Do’Karth’s non-nautically inclined mind. What on Nirn was he hoping to accomplish? Do’Karth hated himself for being unable to act, for being so helpless; this was a situation where he was utterly overwhelmed and for the first time in many, many years, fear gripped him to the point where he felt like little more than a helpless kitten, the decisions for his fate in the hands of the others. Even though the adrenalin and fear warmed his blood, the biting cold of the gales and winds, along with the sea spray that lapped over the gunwales, quickly threatened to sap any strength with the most bitter and horrible way one could conceive of perishing. It would not be quick, and agony would consume any who fell into the water until hypothermia took them or the water filled their lungs.

Sagex pulled Do’Karth from his panicked state of mind with a surprisingly clear and chipper tone of voice that defied the situation at hand. Fearfully, Do’Karth looked at Sagex, part of him wishing for nothing more than to take his advice, but also recalling all too well what had happened to the mages. There was no easy solution. “This one is simply an okay swimmer, but Do’Karth fears very few could withstand the cold. There’s ice on the water.” He replied to the Imperial with a heavy face, his sash and tail flapping wildly in the winds, as if reflecting his own desperation. “But what of the others? What if someone needs the seat more than Do’Karth? He is terrified of ending up in the sea regardless…” he trailed off, wide-eyed and holding his staff close, the only thing familiar and comfortable in the chaos around him.