He waded out of the water and finally stepped onto dry land. The ground of the beach was stony and muddy, and squelched under his step, but it was land, and that was all that mattered.

Ezekiel slid his newly acquired longsword out of the scabbard to look it over for rust, but saw that it was only minimal. He sheathed the sword once again and then checked his purse of gold, which had remained firmly tied up in his back pocket. Satisfied, and with one last glance back out onto the icy sea, Ezekiel set off.

He didn't make for the snow-capped forest, which was only over the hill of the beach, but instead set off west, towards the mountains and cliffs. He would need to traverse them if he wanted to reach Winterhold soon. He could have taken the route through the forest, but that would have taken him much longer, and was in dire need of warmth and food, so he was willing to take the slightly more dangerous route of the mountain passes.

He walked along the drab and muddy coastline for what seemed like hours, though really it had only been ten minutes. On his right lay the thick, snow-capped forest, and to his left the icy sea, stretching as far as the eye could see. Ezekiel wrapped his fur cloak tighter around himself as he walked, the effects of swimming through freezing cold waters finally catching up to him. Damn this cold. Would that I had been shipwrecked at Riften instead, with its alleged golden leaved forests and nice, comfortably warm climate. Instead I got stuck here, in this frozen dump.

The first mountain, which towered a hundred feet in front of him, was now close. Ezekiel surveyed it, looking for places to grab onto and climb. He found them, though was worried, since they were covered in snow, which could possibly make his grip fail and him fall. I will need to be very careful here, or else wolves will feast on my broken corpse.

As if some cruel god had heard him, Ezekiel heard sound of a wolf's howl from behind him. He turned to see two large, hulking, grey-furred beasts standing twenty feet away from him, their fangs bared and postures indicating they were ready to attack. Just my luck...

Ezekiel sighed as he drew his longsword from its scabbard and held it low in two hands. The silence and stillness that followed in the next few seconds were intense, until finally the wolves attacked.

Both of them charged at Ezekiel at once, their paws kicking up snow as they ran. They were very fast, he saw, and they thirsted for blood. My blood. Well, they'll have to kill me first to get it.

The first wolf was in front of the second now, and just as he was a foot away and was about to pounce upwards at Ezekiel, he swung with all his force the longsword. The blade slashed upwards, firmly connecting with the wolf's neck. Blood sprayed everywhere as the animal's carcass slumped to the ground, twitching and emitting a low moan as it died. Ezekiel had no time to look on, though, since immediately after the first wolf hit the ground the second was on him. Ezekiel didn't have time to ready another defence, so the beast had the advantage. It lunged at him, but fortunately Ezekiel managed to twist around at the last second. Instead of the wolf sinking its fangs into his throat, it bit into his arm. Ezekiel let out an agonized shout as he stumbled backwards. His first reaction being to get off whatever was on him, Ezekiel swung the hilt of the sword at the wolf's head. It connected, and the wolf was flung off his arm. Ezekiel felt blood well up and begin to seep out of his arm, and he clenched his teeth against the searing, burning pain. The wolf was now back on his feet and prepared to lunge again at Ezekiel, but he was too fast, and kicked the wolf as hard as he could right in the face. The beast whimpered as it was thrown off its feet and fell back onto the ground. Ezekiel wasted no time in dashing towards it and swinging his sword down onto its neck. He felt bone crunch as the blade sunk deep into the wolf's neck. Blood sprayed out, some hitting his face, when he pulled the blade out. Ezekiel panted with both pain and exertion as he looked over the two dead wolves, the first one finally succumbing to its wound.

Ezekiel cleaned the blade of his sword by running it through the snow before sheathing it and tending to his arm. The damned wolf had sunk its teeth into his forearm, but thankfully Ezekiel had managed to get it off him before it tore a chunk off. He only had some small bloody holes there instead, and though they were seeping blood steadily, it was much less fatal than it could have been.

Reaching down, Ezekiel ripped a strip of the bottom of his cloak off and tied it firmly around his wound. He cursed loudly as he did so, the pain excruciating. That should hold the wound for now. But if I don't get to Winterhold soon, I may not make it.

So he approached the mountain, got a firm hand and foothold, and began to climb.

The going had been hard, especially considering Ezekiel's recent wound, but he made it. It had taken him half an hour to climb the first cliff, and once he reached the top he saw it. The College of Winterhold.

A single huge stone tower rose up from behind high walls, large windows cut into the top of them. A walled stone bridge connected the college to the rest of Winterhold. The bridge stretched across a chasm, with nothing underneath it save for the snow and water a hundred feet below. The single huge rock that the college rested on grew narrower and smaller the further down it went, but it still seemed hardy and firm.

Wrapping his fur coat tighter around him, Ezekiel set off down the slope of the cliff he was on, drawing ever nearer to Winterhold.

With great exertion he lifted himself the top of the cliff and rolled over onto his back. I've made it.

It had taken him an hour to reach the edge of the village from when he first set sights on the College of Winterhold. He scaled cliffs with his bare hands and slid down the snowy slopes. He heard the howl of a wolf at one point, so he hid behind a thick tree trunk until he was sure it was gone. And now, he had finally done it. He had reached the village of Winterhold.

It was a pitiful thing, really. Several of the small wooden houses were half in ruin, with the roofs entirely caved in and snow covering them. The other buildings, to the other side of the path through the centre of the village, were few in number. There were a couple of larger, double-storied buildings, one of which looked like an inn. Several other shops lined the street, as well as personal residences. The single street was relatively empty, with only a few people here and there walking about. They were all clad in warm cloths, with scarves wrapped about their necks.

Ezekiel climbed up back onto his feet and entered the village, the stone bridge connecting with the mage college behind him. He received a few strange and curious glances from the villagers as he went by, but none approached him or said anything. Ezekiel walked over to the largest building, which turned out to be the inn, the swinging wooden sign outside naming it 'The Frozen Hearth.' Ezekiel opened the door and entered.

He was immediately met with a rush of warmth. A large hearth burned away in the middle of the room, with a cooking put hung over it. Benches and tables lined the walls, and there were several doors, some opened and some closed, that Ezekiel presumed were the rooms for hire. All of the benches were empty save for one, where a small girl with blonde hair sat, brooding silently over a bowl of soup.

Ezekiel approached the counter at the other end of the room. Behind it was standing a tall and broad shouldered man with swept back dirty blond hair.

"Is it food you want, or a bed?" he asked gruffly.

"Both," Ezekiel answered. "But I'll take the food first."

"Very well. We've got meats and cheeses and bread, some fruits and vegetables as well. Even a couple of pastries and cakes, for an extra cost."

"I'll take some steak, if you've got any, and some cheese and bread."

"I should warn you, the steak's not exactly top quality."

Ezekiel shrugged. "I've had quite a journey here, I'd eat horse if I had to. What drinks have you got?"

"Just some good northern mead."

"I'll take a tankard of it or two."

"As you say. That'll come to twenty-five gold, all up."

"Twenty-five?" Ezekiel asked incredulously.

The innkeep shrugged. "It's wartime. I'm not the one blocking the trade routes. You have General Tullius to thank for that. Less food's getting brought up here, so it costs more. It's as simple as that."

"Fine then. Twenty-five gold it is," Ezekiel relented, taking out his purse of coins and counting twenty-five. He handed it over to the innkeep. "I'll pay for a bed later, when I'm finished eating and drinking."

"Aye. We've got several rooms available. Necalar's the only one renting one at the moment."

"Who's Necalar?" Ezekiel had not seen him anywhere.

"He is - well, he was a mage of the college, but he's been exiled. For 'bad research' or something like that. He spends all day locked up in his room," the innkeep explained. "Me, I'm Dagur, the owner of The Frozen Hearth. That girl you see sitting over there is Eirid, my daughter." When the girl heard her name being said she looked up at the two men, but said nothing. She went back to her soup. "And this," Dagur continued, gesturing over to a woman Ezekiel had not seen before, "is my wife Haran. She helps me run this place."

She was tall, Ezekiel saw, just like her husband. She had red hair tied back behind her head and prominent cheekbones. She looked to be around the same age as her husband. She was quite pretty, Ezekiel thought, but nothing special. She simply nodded greeting to Ezekiel.

"Please, take a seat, I'll have my wife bring your food and mead over soon," Dagur said.

Ezekiel nodded in thanks and took a seat on a bench on the other side of the room, at the far side and on the other side from the little girl. While he waited he took out his coin purse and spilled all of the coins onto the table. He began counting them. Minus the twenty-five he'd paid to the innkeep, Ezekiel still had two-hundred and fifty gold left. The question is, what would he do with it? What was he even going to do in the first place? The Long Voyager wasn't even destined for Skyrim. It was only passing by, to go to a further land, but the treacherous ice had put an end to that. I suppose I could look for work somewhere. Not here, to be sure, but somewhere else. Maybe Solitude.

He scooped up his gold and put it back in the purse before putting it into his back pocket once again. When he had done this Haran approached, holding a wooden tray with his food and mead on it. She gave a faint, warm smile to Ezekiel as she put it down in front of him. Ezekiel merely nodded in thanks to her, and watched her backside as she walked away. It's been too long since I've been with a woman. If only this one wasn't married... her husband wouldn't take kindly to finding us abed. Not that I'm afraid of him. Dagur seemed a fine enough man, but if he gave me trouble I'd kill him with ease. But then I'd have to kill the child as well.

Ezekiel shook these thoughts out of his head and began eating. The steak wasn't very fresh, as Dagur had warned, but it to Ezekiel, who hadn't eaten in nearly a full day, and was still only just shaking off the cold of outside, it was the most welcoming meal he'd ever had. The bread and cheese were the same quality as the steak, and the mead was only average. He savoured everything though, and left not a crumb after he'd finished eating. He skulled the rest of the mead and set his tankard down with a clank.

From the small windows on either side of the door Ezekiel could see it was nearing night. Suddenly feeling overwhelmingly exhausted, he got up from the bench and went back over to the counter. Dagur was cleaning out a tankard when Ezekiel came over.

"You done?"

He nodded.

"I'll have Hagan clear it up in a moment. Unless you want anything else?"

"No, I'm finished eating and drinking. How much for a room for the night?"

"Ten."

Ezekiel fished out the right amount of gold and handed it over.

"Alright, this way," Dagur said, walking out from behind the counter.

He led Ezekiel to the door on the left wall, closest to the counter. He took out a key ring and flicked through them until he found the right one. He unlocked the door and swung it open. The room was modestly sized and sparsely furnished, with only a bed, wardrobe, a small table and a single chair next to it. A small hearth was built into the far wall, but it was unlit.

"Alright, it's yours for the night," was all Dagur said before turning and leaving the room.

Ezekiel closed the door and unhooked his scabbard, took out his coin purse, stepped out of his boots and shrugged off his fur coat. He was going to light the hearth, but he found that he was too tired, so he just slumped onto the bed, and in mere seconds he was asleep.

He dreamt of waves splashing against the side of a ship, before it hit a huge, hulking piece of ice. It tore through the side of the hull, water filling the ship. He heard the panicked shouts of sailors, and the angry commands of the captain. But it was too no avail. The ship sunk, and they all drowned.

He woke up.

Rubbing the sleep from his eyes and yawning, Ezekiel stretched out before climbing off the cheap bed. He put his boots and cloak back on, slid his coin purse into his pocket and attacked his scabbard to his hip. He left the room and closed the door behind him.

The light of morning flooded through the windows, and the hearth in the middle of the inn was burnt out and black. Dagur and Haran were lifting benches off tables and placing them down. Their daughter Eirid sat on the counter swinging her legs. A hooded dark elf sat by himself in the corner, brooding over a tankard. Nelacar.

"So you'll be off now, or do you to break your fast first?" Dagur asked when he saw Ezekiel.

"No, I'll be off now." He walked over to the door and placed his hand on the knob, but decided to turn and say, "thank you for your hospitality."

Dagur shrugged, "you paid for it."

Ezekiel opened the door and left, closing it firmly behind him, so as to trap all the warmth inside. He was not surprised to see that the village was just as quiet and sparse of people as it had been yesterday. The morning sun was nice and warm though, and with a full belly and a good night's sleep, Ezekiel felt much better than he had the day before.

As he walked along the street he saw a woman clad in boiled leather standing off to the side of the entrance to the village, leaning against the cliff face behind her. She had a hard face which was set in a permanent frown, as well as a long scar running from her forehead to jaw. She was not attractive. Ezekiel noticed a scabbard at her hip. She must be a soldier, but if she was, where is the heraldry?

"You there," she called out briskly as Ezekiel wandered by.

He turned to face her. "What do you want, woman? Can't you see I'm leaving?"

She clearly didn't like being referred to as 'woman,' but she ignored it. "Do you want a job?"

Ezekiel just stared at her for a while before answering carefully. "What sort of job?"

The woman gestured him over with a wave. Sighing, Ezekiel approached her.

"A bounty, I mean," she clarified.

"A bounty?" Ezekiel repeated.

"Yes. I'm a bounty hunter, but I also offer jobs to others."

"What does this job entail?"

"I give you a target, somebody that has a price on their head, and you go and find them and kill them."

"And you're offering me a job?"

"Yes," she said firmly. "So do you want it?"

"How much does it pay?"

"It varies from job to job, but the one I'm offering will pay three hundred gold."

It's gold all the same, even if I have to kill to get it. And why not? That's what I'm best at.

"Alright, I'll do it," he told her.

"Good." She fumbled around in a pocket and pulled out a small scroll. She handed it to Ezekiel and said, "this is your target. All you have to do is find the target, kill him... or her, and bring the body... or head, to any bounty hunter contractor. They can be found in every city and village in Skyrim. Make sure you have the scroll as well, as proof that you are a bounty hunter. Do you understand?"

"Yes," Ezekiel answered, putting the scroll away in a pocket. He'd look over it later.

"You'll be paid when you show the scroll and corpse to a contractor."

Ezekiel nodded, wrapped his cloak tight around him and set off on the road, leaving the village of Winterhold behind him.