A/N I have seen quite a few good Winterhold FanFics recently, and I have decided to try my best to add to that count. If you like it, or if you don't like it, as the case may be, please feel free to review and tell me your opinions.
By the way, the main character shall be introduced next chapter. This one is just to set the scene.
Ice and bones crunched underneath Fornice's boots as she stomped her way down the winding tunnels of The Chill. It was two-thirty in the morning, and she was not a happy woman. Her brown hair stuck up at all angles, despite her best attempts to tame it in the scant few minutes she had to get ready. The bags under her eyes betrayed her need of sleep, but those were the only things. Her stride was long and confident, and her robes, cloak and hood were immaculately neat and tidy, despite the harsh wind that had attempted to knock her over during her long march from the College down to The Chill. She held a torch high and far from her cloak. After an accident several months ago, she never let flames get anywhere near her fur trimmed attire. An aged man with a white beard struggled to keep up with her long stride. He wore more simple clothes than Fornice, but his air demanded the same respect. He held his torch high, more to do with the fact that The Chill gave him the creeps and he wanted to see as much as possible so nothing could sneak up on him, than the fact that he wanted to keep his clothes unlit.
After several moments of rambling through the ice cave, the pair emerged into a well lit cavern with a pillar of ice in the centre supporting the roof, also made of ice. Light reflected off everything in the room, the blue roof and pillar, so smooth yet with so many dents and grooves that the light shone and glittered in scattered patterns. The occasional bleach white skeleton offered a contrast to the predominant blue, and Fornice tried not to wonder who they used to be.
Tolfdir, the old man, stopped and looked around. An unpleasant sense of nostalgia crept over him as he remembered the three months he had spent in that very room when he was young.
Three cages sat in the room, two relatively near each other, and another slightly apart from the rest. Fornice was already half way across the room before Tolfdir snapped out of his daze and raced after her, but, before he managed to take more than two steps, a huge behemoth of frost, snow and ice stepped out infront of him. Tolfdir yelled and back pedalled himself up against a wall. Fornice turned around looking wide eyed for the danger, her eyes wide and fearful. After a few seconds of confusement, she relaxed and simply looked at Tolfdir with one of her famous 'I-am-not-best-pleased-with-you' looks.
''Tolfdir, how many times do I have to tell you that the Frost Atronach's will only attack escaped prisoners?'' She said, with her scowl turning into an amused grin.
''No need to talk to me like a child, Fornice. He simply caught me by suprise,'' he said while standing up, patting the Atronach.
''Yes, old man. How could I ever think of you as a child?'' She said.
''No need to be rude, either.''
''I can say what I like, I'm the Arch-Mage, after all.''
''And I'm about five times your age, so I can use the 'respect your elders' card.''
The mood suddenly turned serious as the pair realised they were being watched.
The three cages each held a prisoner, all of them Nords, and all of them mages. Fornice sat on a chair positioned so that she could see all prisoners at once. Tolfdir sat directly to her left.
''Well?'' Asked Fornice to the three prisoners after a few moments silence.
''Well, what? What do you want from us?'' Said the one in the cage seperate from the other two. Fornice noticed a distinct ribbon of red around the mans collar.
Fire mage, she thought to herself.
''You know perfectly well. You were caught trying to smuggle valuable items out of my college, amongst them was the priceless Staff of Magnus. Who are you working for?''
''We work for no one.'' This came from the man in one of the other cages. His collar sported a deep blue. A shock mage, to be sure.
''You expect me to believe that you came here and stole a very recognisable artifact which very few people would even consider holding, and you didn't have a garunteed buyer? Who are you working for?'' There was a long silence while the prisoners looked at the floor. Fornice slowly stood up, pulled back her hood and looked each prisoner in the eyes. After a few moments, she sighed and looked up at the ceiling. ''You know, the Ice Fields aren't technically part of Skyrim, so no laws apply here.'' She leaned towards the Fire Mage. ''I can use any methods I want, and no one can do a thing about it.'' She remained looking at the Fire Mage, when he suddenly rushed at the bars, his brown eyes wide open, and his mouth split into a nasty grin. While instinctively jumping back, Fornice noticed his black hair was more messy than hers, a sure give away of the amount of time he had spent out in the open before the robbery. At the sight of her leaping back, the mage started to laugh.
''My mother might have something to say about it.''
Regaining her composure, Fornice relpied. ''Oh, and who might she be, a minor Nord land owner who thinks she owns the Empire, a Jarl's steward who thinks she has real power?''
''No, my mother has more power than your pathetic College ever will.''
''Ha! So she's a hedge witch who thinks her petty spells can take over a college of mages.''
''No! I was not talking about magic. My mother is High Queen Elisif.'' Fornice visually paled at these words. She now knew where she had seen those eyes. She had been to Solitude many times, and one of them was when the Jarl and her sons had gone on a march. The Fire Mage must be Bjornrick, and the Shock Mage would be Fjell. That means the last one, the one who had not spoken the entire interview, must be little Sunhal. Judging by his light blue collar, he was an ice mage. Once again, Fornice had to quickly collect herself.
''It matters not, you will never escape here. Now, you will tell me why you were stealing from my College, or you will suffer pain unimaginable.'' The only response that Fornice got was for Fjell to spit at her feet. She turned to glare at him, before grabbing Tolfdir and storming out of the cavern, her hair matting even more as she went.
High Hrothgar was filled with an unfamiliar noise that evening; conversation. Usually, one of the Greybeards would be heard practicing his Thu'um, or even one whistling to himself as he stirred a pot of apple and cabbage stew, yet this evening actual words spoken by the Masters could be heard.
Master Borri and Master Einarth stood side by side in the grand entrance of High Hrothgar. All of their attention was focused on Master Angeir and Master Wunfarth's conversation at the far end of the hall.
''You have lived with us here for nigh on sixty years. Why would you want to leave now?'' Boomed Arngeir. The three other Greybeards were all slightly jealous of Arngeir. He could speak without setting off an earthquake, something the others could not learn. He said that it was a matter of him mastering his Thu'um, but the others knew it was something more.
''I have grown old. My time will be up soon, and I want to make a difference to this world. For too long I have been here, I can barely remember anywhere else, and now I need to see the world again, to teach the Way of the Voice to others outside these walls.'' Master Wunfarth could only talk in whispers. As he spoke, the mountain gave out loud rumbles, and loose stones tumbled into the courtyard outside. If he spoke any louder, High Hrothgar would be burried under rock and rubble.
''You cannot leave! No Greybeard has ever left the order-''
''And no Greybeard has ever gotten involved in politics, but look what happened last year.''
''That was different, you know that.''
''And maybe I am different. I need to leave, or my soul will never be at rest.''
''I forbid it. I-''
''Enough!'' Roared a voice that came from nowhere and everywhere. Only Master Arngeir knew to whom that voice belonged. ''You cannot force a person to do what you believe is right. You shall let Master Wunfarth leave, and you will bestow upon him the blessing I bestowed upon you.''
''But master Parthuunax, I do not know how,'' whimpered Master Arngier.
''Find it within you.''
''That was Parthuunax, our leader?'' Asked Master Borri, in the same hushed tones as Master Wunfarth.
''Yes. Master Wunfarth, I am ashamed of my actions, let me bestow upon you a shout that will allow you to speak as I.'' To this, Master Wunfarth simply bowed his head.
''BONAAR HIN ZUL!'' Shouted Master Arngeir. A purple force bursted from his being and slammed into Master Wunfarth, who staggered backwards several steps. ''Speak, Master.''
Master Wunfarth made several chocking noises, until he said, ''I can talk.'' No longer in a whisper, but in a true human voice. Master Borri, and Master Einarth, exchanged glances and turned back to the scene.
''You can indeed,'' said Master Arngeir in a cold tone. ''You are now no longer a Greybeard. You may keep your robes and a few items from the donation chest outside the Monastery, but nothing more. Leave now, and do not return.'' Master Wunfarth stared in wide eyed shock before slowly, very slowly he opened the wide oak door and stepped outside.
The air was freezing, far below zero, yet Master Wunfarth did not feel a thing. He walked to the edge of the crumbling cliff face and looked down.
''FEIM ZII GRON!'' He shouted. His body baecame translucent and faint blue. He stood on the edge for a moment, and then he jumped.
''So, how are we going to escape?'' Asked Sunhal, the ice mage, rather timidly.
''I'm working on it.'' Sanpped Bjornrick, angrily. Since Fornice and Tolfdir had left, Bjornrick, Sunhal and Fjell had tried every imaginable way of escaping, short of blowing up the cages, with them right in the centre of the blast.
''By the Eight, if only that Altmer bitch hadn't found us, we'd be in Hjaalmarch by now, enjoying a final stop in Morthal before giving our well earned loot to mother,'' said Sunhal.
''It kinda was our fault. I mean, it was a bit adventurous to steal the Staff of Magnus from under their noses,'' said Fjell.
'' Would mother even be proud of us?'' Asked Bjornrick.
''Of course she would. She always complains her sceptre looks like something dragged from the docks compared to the Jagged Crown. Having the most powerful staff in Tamriel as her sceptre, now that would be something,'' said Fjell.
''But stealing one. Doesn't that seem a bit low?'' Asked Sunhal.
''What it is would out weigh how we got it. It's not like the College could do anything about it,'' said Bjornrick.
''Well, there's no way we'll be able to get it for her now. It's safely tucked away back in their vault, as well as double the amount of guards guarding it. Our plan was perfect, every detail accounted for, except the fact that the gate closes behind us. How were we meant to know that? And then that woman, Faralda, or something, happens to be walking by. I mean, who walks around at two in the morning? Bloody college mages,'' ranted Bjornrick. His brothers didn't know how to respond, so they simply sat down in their filthy cages.
Bjornrick slumped to the bottom of his cage. He felt dirty, and he also felt ashamed for what he did, yet he would never let his brothers know that. He wrapped his red-rimmed cloack around himself to keep out the cold, but the specially tailored cloak was made for the mild climate of Solitude and Haafingar, not the inhospitable sub-zero wasteland that was the Ice Fields. The only thing that stopped him shivering until his teeth fell out was the warm currents of pyromancy that flowed through his veins. He looked around the bleak cavern, pushing a shock of black hair out of his eyes. He stared at his brothers for several moments, before counting himself lucky.
Sunhal did not feel the cold at all. His years of practicing ice magic meant that his body no longer felt the affects of the numbing cold, rather it just made him feel like there was some great power flowing around him, occasional seeping through his cloak into his body. He felt strong, stronger than he ever felt in Solitude.
Out of all of them, Fjell felt the worst. His face dripped with cold sweat, which froze on his nose and cheeks, chilling his face until he couldn't say with any form of certainty that it was even there at all. His long blonde hair was matted with dirt and ice that wrapped itself around his neck like a dirty scarf. His body shook and convulsed, and his skin was paler than the ice that encased them. He didn't have the warmth in his blood, nor the aptitude to ice. All he knew was shock magic, and that did nothing to protect himself from the freezing depths of The Chill.
Fjell was dying, and they all knew it. Bjornrick tried casting a weak flame spell on him, but all that did was singe his cloak and melt the ice on his face.
''Bjornrick, stop trying, if I am to die in here, then that is what I must do,'' said Fjell through chattering teeth.
''Don't say that! We will find a way out, we will...'' Bjornrick trailed off as his eyes looked across the room at the Frost Atronach stomping this way and that at the far end of the room.
''Do any of you feel that?'' Asked Bjornrick, rubbing his hand across the door of the cage.
''I-I think so,'' said Sunhal. ''It's like a resonance deep inside, but far away. It's only here, but it's all around me.''
''What is? I can't feel anything,'' said Fjell.
''Magicka, my brother. We can feel Magicka. But, there is a question we must ask ourselves. Did we feel the Magicka when we came in?'' Said Bjornrick, with a look of excitement on his face. The were several moments of silence, before Fjell said, simply and correctly,
''No.''
''And there we have it. With the scant knowledge that we have of this place, we can safely state that the Magicka that, I am asumming here, stops us from damaging the cell, only works from the inside,'' laughed Bjornrick, almost jumping up and down with excitement.
''So? There is still no one out there that knows where we are, well, not anyone willing to rescue us,'' piped up Sunhal.
''You seem under the impression that the being letting us out of these cages needs to willingly do it.'' After saying this, Bjornrick turns to look at the Frost Atronach that was still stomping around the cavern. The other two turned to look as well, and soon caught on to the idea.
''But-but how?'' Asked Sunhal.
''I have a plan. It's going to be risky, but it just might work,'' said Bjornrick. Before anyone could say anything else, Bornrick had a ball of flame in his hand and was carefully aiming it. The two others stared in shock as the Firebolt flew through a gap in the cage and slammed into the side of the Atronach, melting a fist sized hole in its abdomen. It didn't react, not even a stumble in its step could be seen. Bjornrick, starting to doubt his plan, prepared another Firebolt.
''No, it's too dangerous. Don't do it!'' Shouted Fjell, rattling the bars of his cage. Sunhal joined in with his brother's shouts of protest. Bjornrick, deaf to the protests of his brothers, let the Firebolt loose. Once again, nothing happened, the Atronach just kept stomping around in his never tiring ronds. Bjornrick, still not giving up, launched another one. His aim was true, and it slammed in exactly the same spot as the first one.
At first Fjell and Bjornrick thought that that Firebolt had done nothing, had only been failed attempts like the previous two, but Sunhal knew better. He knew that it took three attempts of violence to provoke anger from a summoned creature. He knew that the behemoth of frost would soon turn and try and attack his brother. He also knew that there wasn't a thing he could do about it.
With more grace and speed than Bjornrick thought was possible for a creature that size, the Frost Atronach had slammed itself into Bjornrick's cage. The metal bent dangerously inwards, and several bolts and chunks of ice flew in all directions. Bjornrick ran to the back of his cage, making sure he was ready to run. The atronach recoiled back and charged once more, splitting several bars on the cage. All three brothers knew the next hit would mean everything.
It came with more force than the other two. The rusted metal almost exploding on the impact. Bjornrick was ready for this moment, and he cast his most powerful Fireball at the atronach, who had staggered itself on the impact. Sunhal and Fjell felt the great wave of heat wash over them as the monster was reduced to nothing in seconds. Each of them let out a breath they didn't know they were holding, and Sunhal and Fjell both cheered loudly.
Bjornrick wasted no time in blasting the locks off of his brothers cages, and each of them ran across the room, but before he could take more than a few steps, Fjell collapsed to the ground. The cold had seized up his legs, so Sunhal and Bjornrick carried him, despite him telling them to leave him behind.
It took them a good ten minutes to get through all the tunnels, with their labyrinthian twists and turns. About half way through, the blood began to flow through Fjell's legs once more, due to a constant stream of heat from Bjornrick. All three of them thought that they had done it, that they had escaped and could make their way back to Solitude, to home. Little did they know how wrong they were.
The three almost collided into the first of the Atronachs waiting for them outside the cave. None of them expected to face more of those monsters. They believed one was enough to take care of most criminals.
The first one raised its fist and smashed it down on the ground, right where they had been standing seconds before. The three of them ran in different directions, being seperated while being attacked is never a good thing.
Sunhal was the first to go. He threw everything he had at them. Frost Walls, Blizzards, Ice Spikes, but none of them did a thing. Frost spells do not work against creatures of ice. He decided to run rather than be killed, leaving his brothers to their doom never crossed his mind. It was while glancing back that he fell. A loose rock turned his ankle, and he collapsed to the ground. He landed on his back, facing the Atronach. It lifted its heavy mace of an arm and brought it down, hard. Fjell and Bjornrick stopped casting at their foes and turned to see the bloody pulp that was Sunhal's head get repeatedly smashed and hammered. The club-like arm of the monster was awash with red, sticky blood. Tears burned across Fjell's face, but were soon forgotten about when the second Atronach brought its arm down for swing at him. He quickly dodged by rolling to the side, and counteracted with a Lightning Bolt of his own.
During their battle a blizzard had started. These weren't rare in Winterhold, but it did mean the Atronachs became almost invisible, and so it was that they gained the upper hand. Fjell, busy fighting his own Atronach, did not see Sunhal's charging towards him. The howl of the northern wind masked even the heavy footfalls of the momster, so, after shocking his Atronach to pieces, and taking a break to catch his breath, he was picked up and thrown against the ice. This ice had been there for thousands of years, but a 140lb weight thrown at close range by a 10ft beast managed to shatter it into hundreds of pieces. Blood and shards of bone flew from Fjell after the initial impact, but his body simply sank into the waves.
Bjornrick fared better than the other two. His flames melted the Atronachs within seconds, and his first opponent was soon a rapidly freezing puddle on the ice. He knew that another of those things were out there, just waiting for him to make a wrong move. He turned aroud in a slow circle, looking for any sign of the beast. After several minutes, he heard a soft crunch behind him. He instantly span around and launched a Firebolt. At first, he thought it might have been nothing, but the Firebolt briefly lit up the form of the monster. Bjornrick quickly shot half a dozen Fireballs in that direction, which exploded upon impact, melting much of the snow and ice. Several moments passed, until the unmistakable chunk of ice that was the club arm of the monster landed by Bjornrick.
He never found Fjell's body, no matter how hard he tried, and there was nothing left to salvage of Sunhal, so he sat and sobbed for what seemed like hours. When his throat was hoarse and no more tears would come, he stood up, shakily, and turned around. Pulling out his compass he turned to face west-south-west. He took one long, deep breath and started to jog in that direction, towards Solitude.