The skies were blackened with clouds, and heavy with falling snow, but the guard captain could make out a lone figure coming out of the storm. Towards the city strode an elderly Argonian, his digitigrade legs giving him an odd swaying gait, and his longer than average tail touched the ground, leaving a trail in the soft white powder that had once more begun to accumulate around Winterhold. The captain’s eyes widened and from his watchtower he signaled to two other guards, screaming to be heard over the wind, “Open the gate!” The captain of the guard observed from the watchtower as his subordinates pulled the gate inwards just as the Argonian reached the threshold. The moment he entered Winterhold, the snow stopped falling, and a break appeared in the clouds, allowing for a sliver of moonlight to grace the city. The young guards who had just opened the gate were in awe, immediately and wrongfully attributing the break in the storm to the Argonian.

They stood and watched reverently as he disappeared into the city, quickly losing track of him as he disappeared beyond the veritable throng of workers hurrying to and fro. Even at this time of night, Winterhold was alive and moving, artisans such as stonecutters and carpenters working to construct new buildings. Younger men and women who had no such trade worked to dismantle the ruined buildings at the edge of the cliff, making large piles of material that even more people were searching through, deciding what wooden planking could be implemented into the newer homes, and pulling out the old rusted nails and hinges to be melted down and reforged. It was chaos to be sure, but for the guards who had called the city home all of their lives, it was a beautiful sight. The younger guards were snapped out of their individual thoughts as the captain yelled back down to them, “What are you two standing around for? Close the damn gate before you invite a bandit raid!”

The elderly Argonian continued on towards the bridge to the College, and stopped in front of a tall high elf who simply said, “Welcome back, Archmage.”

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It has been twenty years since the now legendary war that the Dragonborn waged upon Alduin and his ilk, driving nearly all of the dragons from Skyrim, and Tamriel. The city of Winterhold has been in the process of rebuilding with the aid of the Imperials, and has been to attracting citizens from around Skyrim and the rest of Tamriel. This population boom has greatly aided the College of Winterhold as well, as some of the new citizens have become extremely interested in the college, and some displayed enough magical talent to gain entrance. The new citizens have also been useful in removing some of the stigma associated with the college, as many of them are from areas of Tamriel where magic is more widely accepted, and as such the members have been able to walk around the city more openly.

Most of this has only had a minor effect on the college though, the lives of it’s members go on, and studies and experimentation continues. The Archmage has returned from a recent journey bringing with him word of an as of yet unexplored Dwemer ruin that could possibly hold items of interest for the college…

Ashur Mulakh: At the bridge leading to the college


Faralda eyed the Orc suspiciously, taking in his odd, almost Nordic appearance. With a small sigh, Faralda asked, “Ashur, was it? What is it you seek at the College of Winterhold?”

“I wish to learn to use magic by my own power, without this ring,” Ashur grumbled, raising his right hand to show off the ebony and ruby ring on his middle finger.

Faralda’s eyes widened in surprise, and she found herself nodding in approval. Not only did it appear there were two well masterfully enchanted rings on his hand, but also it’s not very often at all that an Orc decides to start down the path of the arcane. Faralda was about to say something along the lines of, ‘An answer that is both simple and worthy, admitting weakness in oneself and questing for strength is a wonderful goal. You may enter, and I will show you the way.’

That was until of course Ashur continued, “So that I may use both might and magic to vanquish my enemies.”

Faralda’s eye twitched out of disbelief. Did he truly expect to be taught after admitting he planned to misuse any power and knowledge he might gain from studying in the college? Brows furrowing, she began, “If that’s what you seek, then I can’t in good conscience—“

“Faralda!” a frail voice cut in as a hunched over man appeared from behind Ashur, “I’ve returned from visiting my nephew and his family.”

“Master Tolfdir,” Faralda exclaimed in surprise, “How long have you been standing behind him?”

“Long enough to know he will make an excellent student,” Tolfdir replied before turning to Ashur, “I heard you claim when you arrived that your name was Ashur, correct? Well head over the bridge, my boy, there are still a few moments before classes begin.”

After Ashur walked off, Faralda looked at Tolfdir incredulously, “He just claimed he would use what he’ll be taught solely to hurt others!”

Tolfdir wagged a finger, “Now, now, Faralda, the college exists to teach magic to those who wish to learn,” and as he began his way over the bridge he added, “And if we manage to curb his aggressive nature as well…”


Ashur Mulakh: The courtyard


Ashur stared around the courtyard, drinking it in, knowing he would likely be here for years. Many students were walking around leisurely, and other older mages were conversing amongst themselves in hushed tones. After a moment he walked towards the statue that dominated the courtyard, and stood there in contemplation.

Sylch, Courtyard
Background Info
The cold breeze of Winterhold while familiar was never comfortable to him.
The wind blew against the cloth he wore, even the metal in his katana seemed to shrivel in the blizzard
It seemed that there was a new student among the crowd, an Orsimer none the less
His robes flapped against the breeze as he approached the new student
"An Orsimer here... why that is odd... but an honor none the less..."
He put on his hood and spoke in a manner that implied he had power, but it wasn't hostile either... it was calm, but disturbing
"My name is Sylch."
The words reflected both power and knowledge but had an unnerving mannerism to it
"A pleasure to meet you... what schools of the Arcane are you versed in...?"
He extended his hand in a friendly manner
"I guess the term for my rank is tricky so I guess... advanced student sums it up..."
He smiled and awaited a response