-Chapter 4: The Summons-
- many years ago -
"Listen well Soran. Do you know why dark mages are evil?
Desperation.
Their souls are no longer their own.
Perhaps they bartered them away, or lost them in a bet. Daedra love to bet.
But once their soul is gone, there is no doubt to their fate.
Their afterlife will be hell.
And they would do anything to avert this.
Anything."
-
Soran looked up at the old wizard. Following along seriously, before responding cheekily.
"But not you right? You're a good dark wizard."
The old man smiled grotesquely.
"Why of course Soran"
Soran woke from a deep slumber with dreams of a childhood in Markarth still fresh on his mind and he scowled viciously. He had dwelled on those thoughts enough for two lifetimes. But once again he had dreamed of the Warrens under the city where the poor lived, and of the endless dwemer caverns that lie even further underground. He dreamt of learning magic in the shadows there from the mad old mage who was shunned even by the sick and dying men of the Warrens. Curse that foul magician!
The last act of his parents before disease took them was to warn him away from strange magics and dark things. By Shor he wished he'd listened to their warnings.
He would have still had his soul.
But alas the starving orphan isn't very picky about the hand that feeds them. And Soran had always thought himself much more clever than his parents. He was destined for great things, not to die of rotgut like they had. So after his parents passed he eagerly followed the old magician who promised to teach him cool magics and give him food.
But what Soran didn't know was that his new mentor was cultist of the daedric prince Molag Bal.
-
He tried not to think about the lessons he learned in the dark tunnels under the Dwemer city; how to murder, to manipulate and animate the dead, and how to trap souls in gems that would be offered to the Prince of Darkness. There was nothing Molag Bal wanted more than the souls of mortals.
But in the end, the old cultist decided Soran was unworthy to be his apprentice, too many useless morals. So he decided to offer up the boys soul to the daedric lord for some minor boon.
He trapped him in an iron alter underneath an abandoned house and beat him to death, but he was brought back to life by the daedric prince and the process repeated, again and again. Until Soran gave up and pledged his soul to Molag Bal.
And now, when he dies he would forego the warm halls of Sovengard for the frozen wastes of Coldharbour.
As came more fully awake, Soran's mind refocused and he clamped down on those particular memories. They brought him nothing but rage and despair. But as he pulled his mind from the memories of his first terrible forays into magic, he felt something... different.
Something odd.
For all the usual emotions attached to these memories that plagued him. Powerlessness, anger, and fear for his undying soul, there was something else too.
Something roaring deep in his mind.
--
Shaking off the last hazes of sleep, Soran sat upright abruptly and looked around. He was back in the college, in the small healing ward which was empty other that himself.
The blizzard had passed and clear light shined through the windows, mixing with the blue magelights illuminating the healing ward.
He could still feel the foreign pressure in his head. It wasn't a purely physical sensation. It was deeper. Something in his very sense of self had been altered. Something in his soul.
His composed look strained as he questioned the new sensation within. Thoughts becoming more frantic as it became clear that the presence was not a mere fragment of his sleep addled mind, but a real and terrifying change.
'What in Oblivion has tainted my mind.. my soul!? It feels like fire. Like the breath of god.
For a mage, the soul is sacred. Nay, it is for every man. But a mage is particularly aware of its condition. After all, one does not make deals concerning the outer realms without paying careful attention to one's soul.
And now Soran could feel something deep inside of his being had changed. It had awakened into something more.
-
He moved to sit on the side of the bed, slamming his feet on the stone floor. While he moved he growled loudly at the violation of his very being. This was no mere alteration of emotions or mental states, his soul was different now than when he'd last been awake.
'What happened?My last memories were of the dragon...'
As the memories came back into focus it seemed obvious; The reason for his awakening in the medical ward and the changes he felt.
After the dragon was defeated, it had burst into flames, burning a brilliant white of a thousand colors. And the fire flowed into himself.
After which he promptly fainted.
'But what does that mean? What did I absorb from the dragon? And what has it done to me?
His arms rested on his knees and he stared at the floor. Teeth clenched together.
A hand on the shoulder jostled him to attention.
"What!" He snapped loudly.
"Ohh! Are you alright Soran? You startled me." One of the students whose name he never bothered to learn looked at him from the arching entrance to the ward. She had jolted away from his at his shout and now stood awkwardly at the entrance.
Suddenly Sorans anger twisted into confusion, he was never one for outbursts like this; whatever happened had altered his mental state. But the anger hadn't gone away after realizing this, in fact Soran only became more upset. But before it could overtake him once again he managed to center himself somewhat and answer the students question.
"I don't know. I feel strange." He felt powerful, yet off-balance. His voice growled in his throat. As if every word held back the might of Ysgramor.
The student leaned in and examined him closely for several long moments before giving up her search.
"Well that to be expected..." she trailed off. "The ordeal you went through. I was told the dragon's magic did something to you when it died."
Soran's eyes moved up from the sheets to look at her and she almost flinched at their intensity. The battlemage's eyes looked intimidating. Predatory.
She continued, quickly conveying her message so she could leave. "Anyways the archmage asked me to tell him when you woke. I'd best be off" then she scampered out of the room before Soran could respond.
As Soran stared after her before he recognized the students words and a grin split his face.
"Savos is still alive" Soran muttered incredulously. He'd seen him struck down by the rock barrage like Tolfdir was. But he had been too pressured by the dragons rush to pay much attention to the dunmer.
Was Tolfdir still--
"Soran."
Said arch mage stood in the doorway, looking whole and healthy. The ancient robes he wore were once again in pristine condition rather than the bloodied and torn state he'd last seen them in.
"You're still alive." He said numbly, thinking back on Tolfdir's fate. No..there's no way Tolfdir made it out alive after his injury.
"Yes the ebony flesh spell deflected enough damage to render me unconscious rather than dead. Sadly not everyone was as fortunate. Tolfdir and Colette were slain in battle with the dragon." The dark elf moved to speak further but Soran interrupted.
"But Onmund and Jzargo are well. And Brelyna?"
"Yes. They too are among the living." He smiled thinly at him, then his face returned to the stern aristocratic mask many dark elves constantly wore.
Well I guess it's less annoying than the smug face of a high elf.
Savos continued on.
"there was something done to you once the dragon died. It's essence... burned up into white smoke and flowed into your body. We have consulted with the librarian Urag gro-shub and we believe that you are the Dragonborn of legend. You absorbed the slain dragons soul."
There was silence following his statement.
"That explains the chaos going on inside my head". Soran was not one to reveal his true thoughts lightly but the arch mage was one of the few people he trusted. "My every thought seems amplified and my emotions are in disarray. My mind feels...overfull, for lack of better terms. Like I have lived a hundred years."
"No doubt due to the extra soul that it now contains." the arch mage responded dryly. He was watching Soran carefully, like one would a unpredictable animal, or a mental patient.
"How is this happening" Soran said breathlessly, no longer present in the conversation, talking only to himself. He felt overwhelmed. Like nothing ever had before Bones rattling. Neurons aflutter.
he felt it.
Somewhere in his mind.
He could feel The Dragon's soul.
But could it still be called a soul, torn apart and subsumed by his own? Like a well chewed steak in his stomach.
By Shor. He hadn't merely absorbed the soul. He'd eaten it. It seemed so much more powerful than his own had been, yet he had still devoured it. And now it was throwing his entire psyche out of whack.
the dragon likely lived for hundreds of year yet I nave naught but two decades.
-
There was a long moment of silence between the two wizards. Soran sat blankly once again, observing the stone bricks of the walls while his mind raced. And Savos Aren watched him. Eventually the dunmer lost some of his watchfulness and spoke to Soran with more compassion in his tone.
"Soran. How are you faring after the fight. Many of your kin praise battle to be great and honorable, but I have only seen it to be a most terrible thing. It is brutal and frightening. And it brings out the worst in men. Those who say otherwise are liars and fools. Or worse." The dark elf paused, his previous words casually trampling on all of Nordic culture. Luckily he knew his audience and Soran wasn't offended. He agreed with him more or less, and thought that his fellow Nords love of battle was strange.
But I suppose when you know your soul will go to Sovengard rather than Coldharbour when you die, it changes your attitude around death.
"I know you have been in many fights before Soran" the dunmer continued, looking back to his former student. "But a battle like this where men fall like leaves in autumn and death seems certain in your head. That is another thing."
"I thought you had died with Tolfdir. His head... I saw him..."
Savos grimaced. "Take heart that he perished quickly. I would have joined him if not for the ebony flesh protection spell. My skull nearly split as it was. Phinis too would have died of frostbite if not for those potions he consumed."
"..and Colette Marence..." Soran trailed off.
"She was killed by the dragons bite."
There was another pause between the two. Less awkward than the first but Soran still felt rattled.
Then the dark elf sat back and calmed his expression.
"Soran, there is something more I must say... I am responsible for these deaths, more than anyone else. Hubris controlled that battle from both sides. I felt confident in the power of the colleges master wizards, to the point that I allowed us to split up to look for survivors! A fool's move, to split their force in two."
Soran sat silently; still remembering the sight of Tolfdir's head exploding. Split
--"though Archmage I may be, I am no battlefield commander, though I acted as one." The elf continued heedless of Soran's thoughts. His voice serving as mere background noise to the raucous noise in the young nord's head.
Then that internal rumble became external and the room shook. The whole of Skyrim shook!
DO VAH KIIN (Dragonborn) !!!
The cry echoed throughout the college, vibrating its stone walls and startling already nervous students. No doubt several avalanches began as Skyrim's snowy peaks were disturbed by the powerful voice of the Greybeards.
Savos Aren shot into readiness at the sudden noise but upon recognizing the Greybeard's call he slowly calmed.
"Well that all but confirms our suspicion. The Greybeards have summoned you to High Hrothgar, as they done for all Dragonborn." the dunmer said. "Do you feel well enough to go to the courtyard. I want to test a theory about the powers of the Dragonborn."
-/-/-/
-/-/-/
Snow fell softly in the college courtyard. As it usually did upon the cliff side castle. High walls protected the circular clearing from the the worst of the harsh winds, but the open sky still dusted the grounds with snow. It spiraled down upon them, moved by the harsh winds above. No doubt the bridge into the main city was impassable now. One could be blown off the edge easily, especially considering the lack of side guards in several places on the crumbling walkway.
Already the bridge had been temporarily repaired using ice magic. With Tolfdir gone, no one on hand could mold the stone into shape. So ice would have to do.
Soran stood before the big stone statue in the center of the yard. He had gathered Onmund, Brelyna, and Jzargo with him before he tested his Thu'um. Several other college masters and students had came to investigate the supposed Dragonborn. Phinis Gestor and Arneil stood nearby against a pillar. Nirnya the destruction master had still not been back from her visit to the summerset isles, she probably wouldn't even know of the destruction of Winterhold for another week.
Soran knew she would have wanted to see the this ancient and immensely destructive magic. She was kind of crazy. He suspected most destruction mages were.
Well what does that say about myself. Lightning magic is my strongest focus.
Despite the levity of his thoughts, Soran was extremely distraught, his surface thoughts were a mere mask to hide behind, a balm to keep the psychological war in the back of his mind. He was quite proficient in such distractions. But as he listened to the archmage's direction he moved past these barriers to focus on the chaos within.
It was a strange feeling, deeper than his mind, something more than that. 'My soul I suppose' Within that mass of power he had stolen from the dead dragon; was knowledge on magics foreign to everything he'd ever learned. The power of the voice, the Thu'um. He had learned a handful of words and their meanings.
Aura whisper - LAAS YAH NIR
Which could see the souls of the living
Whirlwind sprint - WULD NA KEST
Which could propel him forward with tremendous speed
Frost breath - FO KRAH DIIN
Which directed a blast of ice magic
Clear skies - LOL VAH KOOR
Which could banish back the weather
And
Unrelenting force - FUS RO DAH
Which created a blast of force.
As he thought about the meanings of unrelenting force all he could recall was the brutality enacted on Tolfdirs head. How his mentor had crumpled and fell.
He wouldn't be using that one for a while.
Turning away from the onlookers he faced the open courtyard, pulled upon his newly awakened Thu'um and shouted.
FO (ice)
A burst of ice magic came from his mouth in a misty plume. It blew away the snow and left shards of ice in its wake. Though the air ahead of him felt much colder, the blast was nothing like the dragon was able to produce, even still using a single word.
'And to think, this very magic nearly killed me yesterday'
It was a mere gust compared to the dragons hurricane blast, but the onlooking mages were struck with awe. Only the archmage maintained his aristocratic calm.
"I see the legends of the Dragonborn's affinity for the dragon language were not overstated." Savos Aren said.
They met again in the archmage's private dining hall. Reserved for formal dinners, or in this case sensitive information. The archmage sat at the head of the table, flanked by Soran, Jzargo, Onmund, and Brelyna.
"I've summoned you four here for a mission of vital importance. Windhelm must be warned of the dragon attack and we must ask them for aid."
The archmage's aristocratic tones sounded in the groups ears like it always did. Like he didn't just witness the destruction of the entire hold. But then again, Savos Aren was older than everyone in the room combined. Old enough to have seen Winterhold destroyed once before during the Great Collapse. From endless waves high enough to pull over half the city into the sea.
"Soran has decided to answer the summons of the Greybeards and it is sensible to stop at Windhelm first. Jarl Ulfric is much more likely to accept the plea of the Dragonborn than he would an average mage. Onmund, Brelyna, Jzargo; you three are our most accomplished students at the college now. I would ask you to please go along with Soran while I coordinate the situation here." The dark elf ended his request.
"Dawnstar must also be told of this danger. But the recent snows will not allow us to travel west, the only dog-sled teams were destroyed in the city. The road to Windhelm is better established. It could be passed by a sufficiently strong beast."
"The only horses were killed in the town, we keep none at the college." Said Brelyna. She had seen the decimated stables when she searched the city for survivors again after the dragon was killed. Sadly none were found.
"No doubt Phinis knows how to summon a daedric mount strong enough to take us through the snow. The man's a walking grimoire of summons." Said Onmund.
"You can count on me to have your back mate." Said Onmund
"This one will go with. It has been too long since I have walked the roads of Skyrim." Said Jzargo.
"I will go as well." Said Brelyna.
"Ya know, we saw a survivor when we searched the town."
Soran looked up at Onmund as they both scavenged through the broken wagon that they had helped guard to Winterhold. There was no reason the waste the valuables within. Already they had found several scrolls but most were damaged by the dragon's ice.
"Today?" He asked.
"Nah, yesterday, when we split off with Colette. It was the soothsayer, she was diggin through this same wagon we are now." Onmund said before moving a usable fire storm scroll into his pouch.
"What happened, did the dragon get her?"
"I don't think it did. I watched its movements as it flew overhead and it never moved towards her. Poor lass, must've died in the blizzard. She was a looker too, you never saw with her all bundled up in those cloaks, but she spoke to us close enough."
"Hnnn."
-
It was still early morning as the pair moved to the edge of town to meet up with Phinis and the others. The conjurer quickly began lecturing the group on the daedric mounts he would be summoning to take them to Windhelm.
"Now these are deadly demons." The balding nord spoke with a grave tenor. As if the fate of all Mundus rested upon his next words. When in reality he was lecturing on and on upon the same topic he usually discussed. The safety procedures of summoning daedra. An important area to be sure, but such a small portion of the field of conjuration.
He looked uncomfortable standing out in the morning chill but much healthier than when Soran last saw him. He had largely recovered from his close encounter with the dragon language. Enough to summon several daedric thralls at least.
"They will not hesitate to attack if they slip from my control. They are unintelligent beasts and their mental strength is weak compared to mine. But my connection weakens over distance so be careful all the same. Never place yourself in a position where they could kill you."
Soran and Jzargo stood together and resisted rolling their eyes. Daedra were dangerous. Really??? This was the most elementary lesson in conjuration. Yet Phinis repeated it every chance he got.
Even Onmund and Brelyna, a much more deferential pair, seemed ready to zone out at another safety lesson from Phinis. That man had seen too many apprentices lost to the dangers of Oblivion, but we weren't the common idiots he usually dealt with.
A rush of roaring winds spiraled through Soran's veins; pushing him to let Phinis know just know useless this lesson was to him. But he forced it down. He had too much pride in his self control. Besides he wasn't even angry about the current lecture. It was the culmination of years in Phinis' company, attempting to learn from the man. But getting any useful information from the conjuration master was like pulling teeth.
That's why Soran left the college for darker pastures. The most important field to regain control of Soran's soul was conjuration. But he was never as naturally fluent in the art as he was with destruction and alteration. So he required a master to learn under. But Phinis was useless in his pursuits of more arcane forms of soul manipulation. The man knew many tricks. But he would knot tell them to Soran. And so Soran left.
-
-
Unaware of Soran's thoughts, Phinis finished his speech and eyed his audience. His grimace tightened at their uninterested look; gods I wish I could find an apprentice who actually listens to me. At least this batch shows promise. Even the black sheep.
Onmund and Brelyna have been working in the medical ward together a lot. They have become quite talented healers.
Jzargo is still a natural born genius. And a pyromaniac. Ughh
While Soran is driven and skilled in different ways. I never liked the boy though. Strange look in this eyes... was that the look of the Dragonborn?
He looked back at the four mages in front of him.
They were dressed to protect themselves from the freezing temperatures. Soran in his usual armor and destruction robe combination. With the rest of the group having simple college robes supplemented by further layers to ward off the cold.
They expected to reach the hold city by nightfall, but it was always necessary to pack for a little extra. Delays were frequent in Skyrim, from winter storms and wild animals, to the swelling number of bandit attacks. Even worse, vampire activity was on the rise lately.
-
The conjuration master attuned his magic to a particular plane of Oblivion; far from the domains of any major players. There were many small realms left virtually untouched by the more dangerous daedra. Once he located the correct dimension he resonates his magicka to tear through reality; and a white line was drawn in the air. Phinis quickly widened the portal; creating a window into a strange realm of bleachbone trees and a parchment sky. The tree were covered in linen wrappings blemished by age and dust.
Out of the portal stepped four horse shaped creatures. They were wrapped entirely in cloth and where the wrapping was exposed no flesh was present only a skeleton. The daedra moved smoothly out, already under Phinis' sway. Their feeble minds were unable to fight the conjurer's power.
"Now don't ride the daedra into Windhelm. Nay, don't ride them even near the city. Banish them before they can be seen. Though they are not technically undead, they'll look similar enough to upset the locals."
Soran gave Phinis a wary look. He hadn't put much stock in the rumors that the man delved heavily into necromancy. Make no mistake, it was a given that the master of conjuration had learned the basics, but Soran had always thought him to be too cautious to deal with the dead.
But the feat he accomplished mere days ago changed his mind. The ability to raise ten undead, even those freshly dead, was a feat acclaimed only by true master necromancers. The bodies were not even prepared beforehand, there was no time, all usual procedures to lessen the magicka cost had been steamrolled over by Phinis Gestor's knowledge and power.
Summoning the souls of the dead wasn't like summoning daedra. Daedra can be tricked, bartered with, or simply summoned unbound to any master. But the dead? That was more... visceral. More brutal.
The souls of the dead must be hammered into submission and forced into place. Even a matching soul would flee from its own corpse and return to the afterlife if given the chance. The situation wasn't natural. They had to be dominated or sealed into their shell.
Fitting for a magic created by Molag Bal. Lord of domination and father of necromancy.
Damn him. That foul daedra.
Soran was barely able to register his mistake before him mind filled with rage once again. His unsteady mental state rooting under the thought of his most hated enemy.
Damn it why do I keep thinking of that bastard. he could barely focus enough to think as he rode the waves of emotional blows.
The need to question Phinis once again grew within his chest but now for another purpose.
His internal turmoil took enough time that Phinis had finished his customary safety lecture. Onmund and Brelyna stood examining the cloth covered beast while Jzargo stood nearby; watching Soran like one watches a stranger.
But the sell sword did not notice any of this, his mind was now singly focused on the man who once taught him. The teacher who let him down.
He stalked towards the man and questioned him sharply.
"Gestor! Why did you deny me your true teachings? It is clear to see that your knowledge of necromancy is much more vast than you said. I would not have leave the college to join the death cult had you revealed the truth. I nearly died there!"
The bald mage looked startled at the outburst, uncharacteristic of the normally composed man. Then his eyes narrowed and his own fury beat within his chest.
"I would rather die than share that cursed knowledge with you. I would rather the flesh be stripped from my bones. I would rather you die alone with your death cult." Sptaa! He spit on the ground after his statement. Then looked back into Soran's eyes.
"I learned many terrible things from the Gravesingers of High Rock but some secrets should be left alone. To die with their knowers. I promised myself I would never share their secrets of manipulating souls. It was to vile."
-
-
He doesn't know.
Soran rationalized with himself, barely preventing another outpouring.
He doesn't know why I need this knowledge.
What will happen when I die.
Where my soul will go.
Not to Sovengard to be honored, not even to some nameless plane for the unclaimed dead.
No. It will go somewhere far worse. Coldharbour, the realm of Molag Bal. Prince of darkness, father of vampires, the lord of domination, and owner to my soul. Being Dragonborn makes no difference, a soul cannot be unclaimed.
but why didn't I tell him. A small voice echoed.
Damn it you know why.
How would they treat me then. Knowing my soul is left for the Prince of Darkness. Would they fear me, pity me, or treat me like glass.
Would they want to delve deeper into the past, to the atrocities I committed under the Dwemer halls of Markarth.
No.
It was better to leave them in the dark. Easier, at least.
They left soon after. As the group rode through the ruins of Windhelm on their skeletal steeds a strange mood hovered over the group of four.
Soran was still struck by his mood swings. Enough that his companions noticed a difference in the normally stoic nord. But they did not bring it up.
They traveled for hours. The good weather remained present as Kyne blessed northern Skyrim for once, she was not a malicious goddess but by the divines her mood would change in a second.
The road led them across icy plains and up into the mountains, luckily the summer sun lessened the snowpack and the daedra were able to traverse the passes that were nigh uncrossable in the winter. By mid afternoon the party could glimpse the city of Windhelm as they took in the view from their mountainous vantage point. They still had a couple hours more traveling to go but the goal was in sight now and they would reach the city well before nightfall.
Soon they would be nearing Fort Kastav; an encampment of warlocks and common bandits. The unlikely group had banded together and trapped the fortress to hell and back. Enough to repel Stormcloak advances even in the center of the rebellions power base.
It was the main reason that merchants hired guards for the route from Windhelm to Winterhold. Besides the falmer and trolls.
But the route that the four mages were taking had been carefully planned to maintain distance from the fort. There was no sense in getting closer to them; bandits armed with magical scrolls and weapons, gods forbid any who cross them. The roads near the fort were better established and quicker to cross but the risk wasn't worth it.
So the four riders cut off the main road into the deeper snow, the city was in sight and the beasts could push through the rest of the way.
Off the beaten path here snowberry bushes and pine trees covered the landscape. It was quiet with the snow blanketing the surroundings. The only sounds were the shuffling of snow as the beasts broke trail, and the occasional drips of water as ice melted off the treetops in the summer sun.
Onmund spoke offhandedly "We've been lucky so far, haven't seen any wolves yet."
Suddenly three arrows whistled through the air as a trio of bowmen emerged from a thicket a ways beyond the group. Two arrows clattered harmlessly against the wards that Soran and Jzargo quickly deployed with the flick of a hand, but the third had caught its target before he could defend himself and Onmund was speared through the chest. The arrow pierced through one side of his robes and out the other
The bandits moved forward, spurned on by their semi-successful ambush and notched more arrows.
Brelyna rushes to Onmund side as she maintained her own ward. Her normally expressionless face giving way to panic.
Soran watched his friend in daze before another arrow clattered against his ward. Then he saw red. He whipped his daedric mount forward towards the group heedless of anything else around him.
Soran unsheathed his sword while warding with his open hand. Another arrow shot overhead. Then another went lower, hitting the deadra, but the iron arrowhead merely pierced the cloth skin of the horse-like being before getting stuck in its bones. There was no stopping the enraged battlemage rushing towards the ambushers. But rather than being fearful, the bandits began to laugh.
"Stop there is a rune right ahead you fool!"
Onmund's voice cut through the haze filling his head and he jerked the mount to the side nearly falling off to prevent it from stepping into the explosive fire rune he could now barely spot glittering in the snow.
The bandits had added a second layer into their ambush. Normally, Soran would heighten his evaluation of these enemies after learning this new information; he'd become more cautious and expect further traps, but now, after watching Onmund be stabbed and hearing the dragon blood scream in his veins; he only pushed further forward.
The bandit trio was now much more concerned as the mounted rider re-centered himself and once again began barreling down upon them, but it was too late to run. Soran slashed through the nearest man. His fur armor parted like water under the castle-forged steel with the momentum of a charging deadra behind it.
As he continued his pass, the rest of Soran's companions began moving towards them to help finish off the remaining men, but the newly discovered Dragonborn was not finished with the marauders. Soran's rage at these imbeciles attacking him and his friends still ran rampant in his head. He focused all that energy towards the concepts of frost and cold before releasing a shout at his enemies.
FO KRAH DIIN(frost cold freeze)
An icy blast tore through Soran's throat and passed through the men standing before him. Spikes of ice froze on the melting snow and the bandits were killed near instantly as the blood rapidly cooled in their veins, leaving behind pale frost laden corpses to be thrown back into the snow by the power of his thu'um.
"AHrghh!" A agonized cry shook the clearing, but it wasn't the bandits final breath, they already lay dead in the snow. Nor was it Onmund, who had only taken damage in the form of torn clothing, the arrow had missed flesh and only pierced his robes. It was Soran crying out; the uncontrolled power of the thu'um had frozen his throat.
He quickly moved a hand to his throat and began applying a restoration spell but it was not enough and he could feel his vision dim.
But before he could fall off the linen-wrapped bones of his summoned horse Brelyna and Onmund caught up with him and began to heal him with their higher skill in restoration. The arrow was still caught in Onmund's robes but he didn't seem to notice.
"What's wrong with you Soran? I might expect this from someone else. But not you. You used to be the most cautious motherfucker I know, and now your charging in like an idiot!" Onmund shouted.
"This one could have easily taken them out with fireballs; there was no need for your advance. A single chain of your lightning would kill the three." Jzargo said.
"I don't know, the dragon soul inside me, it has changed me. And maybe not for the better."