Fandom College of Winterhold

[Oenanthe]

Welcome to the College of Winterhold

In this roleplay your character will be playing the role of a student (please PM for permission to be a master) at the College of Winterhold. It will be taking place pre-dragon in Skyrim. This is an open world roleplay where you will have the freedom to choose your character's path and guide them through daily student life at the college. Please feel free to create your own plots and dynamics.

Archmage

Savos Aren

Masters

Azareal Erynion - Destruction

Sadaris Dren - Alteration

Students

Alavesa Redoran - Restoration Major

Miira Alain - Conjuration Major

Eathan Glaskinson - Destruction Major

Kharja'Do the Unsinger - Alteration Major

Aleyra Furer - Illusion Major

Eats-Bugs - Conjuration Major

Aegianna - Destruction Major

Fienelef - Destruction Major

Ma'rashi - Illusion Major

Misc. Characters

Santeru Ishumari - Conjuration Mage

​

 

[Oenanthe]

// Just to lay down some rules:

No Godmodding

No Mary/Gary Sues

You CANNOT force romance on anyone

Do not take fighting between characters personally

If you have a problem or question, please feel free to PM me!




Projected Starting Date: June 4​

 

[Oenanthe]

Underneath the frozen stony base of the College of Winterhold was a solitary voice, speaking to no one in particular. " Soul gem, check.. wait wait wait why am I bringing a soul gem? It's just First Planting. Oh but I know I put it somewhere around here, and I will absolutely need it. As the sparrow needs a cloud I will need my soul gem. " It was a woman's voice and it came from an old abandoned prison cell in the Midden. It's barred walls and door had been covered with an assortment of colored cloth to close it in, making it into her own shanty room. A plush bedroll of furs and pelts laid on the floor next to towers of books and heaps scrolls all illuminated by the goat horn light that had been fixed to the wall.


"Finally!"


Underneath the small table and single wooden chair that were tucked into the corner had rolled a petty little soul gem, glowing a faint amethyst color all the way into her satchel where it was stashed. Now, being properly prepared for the First Planting festival she began to make her way through the frozen bones of the school and up to the main level.


First Planting was the festival held all across Tamriel to celebrate the beginning of spring, a time to set aside differences with one another and begin the preparations needed for the agricultural year ahead of them. It fell every year on the Seventh of First Seed, whether or not anyone was planting. For the mages it made no difference at all. They simply enjoyed having a day of food, music, and a break from their rigorous studies.


Making sure her hood was pulled tightly around her rounded face, she pushed her way into the Hall of Elements where the festivities had all been laid out before them. The sound of Ragnar the Red could be heard wafting from the back of the room, carrying on its waves the smell of snowberry pies and apple dumplings. Her favorite being the flakey apple pastries. It was interesting to see everyone celebrating it in such different ways, after all there was just about one of every race from all across Tamriel in the college. For Miira she had prepared a wreath headdress of snowberries and winter flowers that she then slipped from her robes and placed over her hood. Bretons were rather fond of flowers and flower crowns, so much so they even had their own holiday coming up simply called Flower Day.


In hailing the sweet, warm air that so contradicted the musky frosted air that rested in her lungs from the Midden, she took a deep breath and did her best to relax and just enjoy the day. Be a little normal. Of course, that was when she realized she had been in the doorway simply staring into the void for the past five minutes.


((It's messy but it's something))
​

 

[macathan]

Aleyra Furer


Breton | Illusionist | Dormitories

Aleyra sat in her room, the green sheets on her bed shuffling a bit with each of her movements. There was a book in her hands, a book about modern day enchanting and how to enchant items properly. Not that she did not know how to without it, but it was good to look every now and then, to brush up. She was dressed in fine robes, a bit different from the ones others around her wore here, the label was expensive, and the clothing imported from High Rock. Her hair was tied up, and her green eyes trained on the book.


She didn't have anything she wanted to enchant, but she was nearly out of reading material and just wanted to get the first thing she saw, which turned out to be the book in her hands.


The smell around her was scented with polished leather and dusty books, something Aleyra found herself accustomed to, it was pleasant and welcoming to her. Hence her comfort in her living quarters.


But no matter how comfortable she was simply reading in her room, her legs were begging was a stretch and walk. So with great reluctance, she stood up and walked out of her safe heaven, passing great corridors and stone walls.

 

[Atrophia Sanguinis]

Aegianna practically prowled the Hall of Elements for good conversation. The festivities had gathered quite the crowd of scholars and well-versed tongues as well as interesting topics. The high elf was capable of integrating herself within such conversations but if she heard another word about the theory of combining Conjuration and Illusion to summon a Familiar with many copies, Aegianna would be a professional on said theory.


She was dressed in her hoodless Thalmor robes, as per usual (no one could convince her to try on the ratty Novice or Mage robes). The top half of her golden hair was pulled back, revealing her angular face and searching elvish eyes as she stared at a table filled with refreshments. A dainty gloveless hand picked up a glass with wine and the high elf continued to walk around.


She caught sight of Miira, the peculiar Breton, staring at everything from the entrance with a crown of flowers over her hood. Aegianna frowned at the fashion statement. She strode over to the woman to give some advice. "You know, if you place your ring of flowers on your pretty head without the hood, you'll gain far more double takes."





@Oenanthe

 

[Oenanthe]

The delicate, almost sultry voice that was signature of an Altmer woman, especially Aegianna who always dripped with elegance to Miira, caught her attention. Her eyes made the distance from the slender Elvish waist, all the way up to her face. The distance between their nights requiring her to tilt her head back a little.


Then, as if it was too much work, she look back out at a great deal of nothing. " You're probably right. Right you are. I mean after all no one has seen my face so I'm sure everyone would look. But I do not wear the flowers for my beauty to be inhanced, I wear it to honor theirs."


To Miira everything contained beauty. There was divine elegance in an old dusty femer or freshly crafted plate. The common idea of beauty was completely confusing to her. If someone did not see beauty in her, what point was there in polishing herself?


" The blind are such by their own accord."


Not that she thought less of Aegianna. She was stunning, there was no denying it and it was if a faint glow of gold permanently whispered off her skin. But she was not her kind of beautiful. She was new plate kind of beautiful where as Miira, Miira was the beauty of old bones.


" You'd make a lovely plate."



​

@Celemyvel

 

[SoraSama14]

Eathan hated being around people to begin with, he only tolerated them during one of their class sessions and even then it wore down his patience. So why he was here participating in this small festival in the Hall of Elements was beyond his own understanding. It was the sweet rolls...yes, it definitely had to be for them. And the ale, The Eight knew he would need that soon enough. His honey brown eyes, ever cold and immediately judgemental of others, scanned the room at the oncoming guests. He arrived earlier when there was barely anyone in sight, and now that other students began to file in, he was just about ready to make his leave.


After all, this was participation, right? He was physically here, just leaning against the wall behind the pillars and watching people from a safe and comfortable distance. He was in the room, a warm body filling the space in this Hall turned party room. He felt a lot better as he assured himself that this was so, and he took a sharp inhale of breath. The slender, ebony haired Nord stretched a bit as he pushed himself off of the stone wall, then looked back to the dessert table. Eh, maybe he could have a boiled creme treat and be on his way after he was done with it. Slowly, cautiously so that he wouldn't give others the notion to actually speak to him, he approached the table with the desserts and snagged a boiled creme treat before hastily returning to his position against the wall, nearly tripping on his apprentice Destruction robes on the way there.


Some party, indeed. Ah, well, at least he got free food out of it.
​

 

[Collidias Rex]

[border]Kharja'Do was not a great fan of Skyrim. Skyrim was cold - and not a simple kind of cold! It was a soggy, moist, swamp-like cold. An invasive, wet, clingy cold that would stick to the clothes and to the hair. And don't even get him started on all the snow! The absolute worst! At least most of his brothers at home would have their coats to protect them from the cruel nastiness of frozen water chunks.


But be that as it may, Kharja'Do found comfort in one thing in particular. For as cold and frigid as both the land and its inhabitants could be, he could always rely on one saving grace for which he afforded the nords great merit.


The warmth of a mead hall.


And the Hall of elements turned into such a jovial, lively hall was no such exception.


"And I say again - you simply cannot."


Tucked into one corner of the hall and embroiled in their own little circle of festivities, one khajiit in particular faced down an altmer. Their glares met across the tabletop and a small group of apprentices had set their drinks upon the table and gathered to their flanks. Mead, mirth and magicka coursed through the party and the pungent scent of sweet honey was syrupy and thick on the breath, bellowing from warm bellies and light hearts.


"And again - Khajiit begs to differ." Kharja'Do beamed. He looked very pleased with himself indeed, poised upright with his chin high, and great furry tail flagging eagerly behind his chair. "In fact, this one would be willing to place coin upon his claim."


"Ten septims." Said Tevran, and ten coins fell jingling to the tabletop.


"Hmm, a mere ten septims? For one so confident, Tevran wagers a doubtful sum."


"My confidence is considered, but a careful mer plays a careful hand."


The corners of Kharja'Do's lips twitched up into an antagonistic smirk. "This one should know, Kharja'Do is doubtless in his skill," his head bobbed excitedly and he pounded a fist to his robed chest with a muffled thud, " ... and his bet must match his confidence! He shall accept no less than a bet of twenty septims!" His hand raised and dropped to the table with a heavy clunk, spilling a small stack of gleaming coins onto the dark tabletop.


"Nonsense. You just seek to undermine my bet!"


"No mining, no undermining! Life is so dull without a little excitement, no?" Kharja'Do tilted his head playfully. "A hand dipped into the coin-purse makes for a gilded finger, and a gilded finger leaps with excitement at each touch."


Tevran closed his eyes for a long moment and folded his arms, taking a stern pose. When he opened his eyes anew, it was with a creeping, whimsical smile. "Very well, I will play your game. Thirty septims."


"Thirty septims it is!" Kharja'Do cackled and carelessly tossed another ten coins into his wager as he pushed his seat out and climbed to his feet. The small circle of apprentices gathered around them had already fetched a paltry barrel of mead and sat it squarely between the two. A small, squat thing it was and fixed with a little tap at one end, its edges sealed tightly to preserve the brew within. Unceremoniously, and with all eyes on him, Kharja'Do held the barrel still with one hand and twisted the tap open. "Observe!"


The merriment and thriving around them faded into the background, for a thunderous silence fell across that one table in particular as all eyes fixed themselves to an empty mug placed before the barrel. The thin, dexterous fingers of Kharja'Do's free hand curled and snaked one-by-one, a smooth wave of motion running from knuckle to fingertip of each as he flexed both his hands and his mind. While his attention fixed upon the barrel and the mug, his mind went somewhere else. It wasn't somewhere else - merely it contemplated a slightly different variety of "here". A "here" where things simply didn't behave in the same way as any of the alternatives. It was not an easy thing to do - but it was a practiced thing, and came to him like a willing dream as fragments of rationale shattered and rearranged into something more suitable. Humming spiderwebs of reason tangled about and tied between between these logical chimera, weaving a lattice between them. The insanity had reemerged as structure - merely a different kind of structure. He could feel other things.


His gaze shifted dreamily between the barrel and the mug. He tossed the altmer a smirk, then swung his finger in an arc with a short flick of his wrist.


Frothing, bubbling mead erupted from the tap and screams tore across the table. The spray broke entirely free of whatever motivated it and splashed across the table, mere dribbles bouncing into the awaiting mug while the remainder surged across the tabletop, drenching the surface and wetting the gathered audience with an alcoholic splash.


A pause hung in the air, almost comically as the bubbling barrel petered off to a dribble. Then the table erupted into laughter.


"And it seems the cock has taken the cat's tongue!" Tevran announced triumphantly as he swept the Khajiit's bet to his side of the table, collecting the entire sum as his own as his peers thumped his shoulders and patted his back, offering jests and congratulations aplenty. Kharja'Do seemed entirely unmoved by this, as his eyes still rested upon the barrel of mead. But when he finally looked up from the barrel, it was with a smirk yet again.


"Ah, perhaps this time is has ... but mark my words, one day I shall win this bet!" He chuckled and took the near-empty mug from the table with a wink. "Or perhaps some day Kharja'Do shall charge you for all the merriment he has brought to you, yes?"


"Why pay for a dog when the cat next door barks for free?"


"Hah, altmer is witty. Perhaps this one should have become a fool rather than a mage?"


Kharja'Do leaned back in his seat with a deep sigh as Tevran took his leave, bringing his mug to his lips and draining what little mead he had managed to actually land in the mug. It was hardly full - the hole in his coinpurse was a testament to that fact - but he did not mind so much. Mead was aplenty, and his display had livened the place up a little - he was content with this. Telekinesis was very difficult to apply to liquid - he was not surprised he had failed. It would take time and practice. But not today - today he had room to move. Space. Free time.


How peculiar it is ... to celebrate a number. A date. He mused on these things. First planting. The beginning of Spring. Yet - what if this day is colder than the rest, simply by chance? Why is this day so particular? Why not a day early, or perhaps a day late?


Kharja'Do was no stranger to the concept of changing seasons - in fact, he likely understood it better than most mages, given the intimacy shared between the school of alteration and his thoughts. No, he well appreciated the idea that the world at large could undergo its own changes and re-imaginings. It was more the people side of things that baffled him.


Or perhaps I am looking at it wrongly. Perhaps Spring comes because on this day we beckon it. A day in particular to will the world to change with us. Hmm ... an interesting possibility. We create our terms and conditions come to meet them.


He smiled and stirred the meager splash of mead remaining in his mug, swirling the liquid around the base. With a short yawn and a long stretch, he brought himself upright and stood from his chair. [/border]

 

[Interstellar Bun]

Skyrim was, to put it simply, a dreary place. The cold was biting, the snow inconvenient, and the clouds consumed the sunlight with a ravenous hunger that left her longing for High Rock on more than one occasion. This was not one of the occasions. Music and life had filled the streets of Wayrest more often than not, and for once, music seemed to fill the halls of the College as well. It was an exciting idea, for as solitary as Fienelef tended to be, she was still a Breton in every meaning of the word and she'd be lying if she said she didn't enjoy a good party.


Though she would have loved to dress nicely for the occasion, between her propensity for getting sick and the chill in the air, Fienelef opted to remain in her thick black clothing. She did, however, take her time to twist her curls into an intricate braid before making her way to the Hall of Elements. The smell of fresh baked goods hit her nose and the tiny mage just about swooned. Between the warmth and the music, she could almost dream of home.


Almost.


With a smile glimmering in her eyes and gloved hands clasped before her in excitement, she made her way forward on silent feet. Finding herself near the table of desserts, Fienelef took her time to look over her options before finding one of the few lemon tarts.


Ah, so lovely.


Treat in hand, she turned to look out across the room. The faces in it were unfamiliar, which wasn't surprising. Fienelef had been at the college for a bit by then, but for how often she kept her nose in her studies she had yet to meet anyone outside of the instructors and the librarian. Had it been any other day she would have slipped off with her treat back to her room, but right then she was in a good mood and perhaps trying to make a friend wouldn't be the worst idea.


Trying to decide who she might approach, she continued to survey the area, waiting to see if anyone might catch her attention.

 

[Atrophia Sanguinis]

Aegianna looked down at the human with an unreadable expression. She couldn't follow this puzzling creature's thought process. "Well, whatever makes you happy, little poet. Wear what you wish She said after some length, still processing that Miira thought of her as a plate. It was an unexpected comparison.


The she-elf took a sip of her wine before continuing. At least they weren't talking about magic theories. "You think so? A plate? I would have thought a doilie, personally. But perhaps that is your beauty. Very intricate and ...peculiarly designed." She swirled her glass, leaning on one leg as she stuck a hip out, looking at the other woman.


"Why don't you show your face, if I may be so bold to ask?" Aegianna asked moments later in curiosity. She wondered if the Breton was shy or hiding scars.





@Oenanthe

 

[The Silent Z]

Bahris A voice suddenly spoke to himself while moving about the hall of elements with some casual steps across the cold stone floors of the college. "But perhaps....... Yes Ah yes of course." The voice continued in self contained and informed manner. He likely appeared rather odd talking about the hall to himself with little detail to what he was actually going on about, the man was garbed in more stylish master robes of alteration then was common, they were a darker shade of blue with a circular golden at the shoulder as the over portion of the robes were a dark red. The dark elf was was well dressed for the situation but then again he often was no matter the day, he simply had a eye for finer clothes and didn't purchase common robes without certain changes made to them, which often led to his riches he had amassed over the years from adventures and offerings of his service as a Mage to be nearly gone. He still earned coin, he still went on adventures and field studies to unmask truths, uncover lost inventions and tales, pieces of history and finding a answers to all great questions and mysteries. But not as much as he once did before joining the college of winterhold some years back. He appeared tall in posture and eyes barely open and a hand behind his back while the other was before him in raised motion before his face seemingly writing in some scroll of parchment or turning pages of some non existent book, a curious smile on his face and look about him that was just odd. He wasn't seeming to pay attention to the festival itself but instead off wandering his own mind while in thought over something others could only guess.


Finally after awhile the master of alterations turned from his mind and opened his eyes a bit more widely and full, taking in all that could be viewed from his continued pace around the hall. Taking not of students and masters alike while noticing the Archmage standing off near the pillars and perhaps only just arriving himself or had he come earlier? No matter, Sadaris walked about the hall noticing the different students present in the room and observed for awhile as he stopped for a moment to grab a tankard of ale and making himself a sandwich to satisfy his hungry state.

 

[NeedMoreMana]

Eats-Bugs groaned as he stretched in the warmth of the Hall of Elements. The Argonian looked about, bored down to his tail with the festivities despite a recent dose of a lovely...potion of sorts. Luckily, it was hard to tell when the reptile was under the influence of skooma. He had few bottles snug within his robes in discreet pockets on the inside so no one would be the wiser.


Slowly, he walked up to a table labored with cooked meat and stared at it as if it were the most interesting thing in the world. The candles flickered in his peripheral and the chatter of the Hall faded to the back of his mind. After a moment, he gasped and turned, rushing up to a Nord, Eathan. He clasped the man's shoulder to gain his attention and pointed at the table.


"D-do you see it, m'lord? Did you see it, m'lord? Have you seen it, m'lord?" His voice hissed with an incredulous tone. He looked wide-eyed up to the Nord, being a hunched over, scrawny Argonian himself. The former slave shivered despite no draft.


@SoraSama14

 

[SoraSama14]

Eathan was just finishing his boiled creme treat and getting ready to make his leave (although the sight of the Khajiit and his folly was quite funny and nearly tempted the high and mighty proud Nord to stay-ALMOST) when an Argonian rushed at him and grabbed his shoulder. The ebony haired young man stiffened visibly and stared at the creature with an appalled and baffled look. He pulled away, ripping himself from the grip on his shoulder. Eathan never allowed anyone to touch him, although he made exceptions to family-but a stranger to dare and touch him like this? As if they were familiar somehow? That set the Nord's blood boiling.

"You're not making any sense, Lizard, and you'll do well not to touch me again." He hissed in a low and chilling tone, "I see food and festivities, and quite frankly, that's all I need to see. Good day." He sneered at the hunched over Argonian and walked over to grab some ale and made himself a small sandwich before huffing and beginning to walk out, pausing to look at the Khajiit with a look of distaste, "Do try not getting your fur all over the place, cat." He huffed once more and muttered under his breath as he walked out of the hall, "Why they allow animals into this school is beyond me. It feels more like a zoo than a college."


He opened the doors and welcomed the familiar snowy air he was accustomed too, the chill in the air giving him some comfort as he walked past the statue of the mage in the courtyard, then to the arch way that led to the bridge and into the town of Winterhold. He stopped just before the bridge and leaned against the wall, sipping his ale and trying to calm himself down from that infernal Argonian that rubbed him the wrong way. He had nothing against the cat, really, but he just happened to be there and was an unfortunate target of Eathan's ire. He closed his eyes and just let the cold and snow sink into his skin, his right hand twinkling white with his ice magic.

Shame he had to compose himself and not impale anyone with an ice spike, but oh well.

​

@the Lovechild of LnC and @Collidias Rex

 

[Loki Odinson]

Azareal Erynion

The sudden draft flittered over the stone floor and ruffling the hem of his Thalmor Mage robes pulled him away from the book he was entirely engrossed in. The Exodus was a rather fascinating text, detailed and methodical in explaining the inner workings of Restoration spells, ways to manipulate one's Magicka to lessen the amount of mana in each casting, and there was even a brief allusion to other possible usage of Restoration in battle. It seemed that the little side-trip to Forelhost Crypt located southeast of Riften wasn't in vain, after all. Despite common beliefs, the Library of Winterhold does not contain ever single book and title in Tamriel. There were many more missing or lost to the ages. A pity, in his opinion, but time took everything and everyone eventually.


And now, he was being philosophical even before the day began. Azareal lifted his eyes from the book, slotting a thin strip of leather between the pages and snapping it shut. A quick glance out the window did not help any in telling the time. One drawback of Skyrim's weather and the College's location, he supposed. The constant grey tint to the sky, the drafts that run through the College's stone hallways and the cold. It's always the cold, not that he couldn't withstand it after all these years plus he had the ability to conjure warmth with a mere thought, but it was the principle of the matter.


Summerset Isle, Hammerfell and Cyrodill all had much nice and milder weathers, which brooked the question why in the name of all that's holy the Altmer was doing here. A quick glance down at the garb he wore was all the answer he needed. Damn the Third Aldmeri Dominion and their political manoeuvres. The upheavals they caused from the beginnings of the Fourth Era that led up to the White-Gold Concordat and the presence of the Thalmor, while allowed Altmers more freedom and authority within Empire-controlled territories, also made some places more difficult to access.


But, this was none of his business. Not anymore. Azareal had a stable job in the College and freedom to pursue his interests and take trips whenever he could. That was good enough for him. The Altmer stood, carrying The Exodus with him as he made his way towards the Hall of Elements. Pushing to door open, he blinked at the sight of many a students and teachers wandering about, and the festive atmosphere. Was this day a festival? He cocked his head to the side, thinking. That was when it struck him. Right, First Planting to celebrate the beginning of spring. Personally, he felt these events were ridiculous, especially in Skyrim. What spring was there to celebrate, anyway?


Sighing heavily through his nose, he debated whether or not to return to his room and stay there until this festival was over, but that entitled walking all the way back, then coming back down again for classes. Too much effort. So instead he meandered to the corner of the room where a small table and several chair stood, seating himself down and flipping his book open. Only the Archmage or an impending invasion would succeed in forcing him to move until this festival was over.

 

[Collidias Rex]

[border]


"Master Sadaris." Ignoring the glaring and jeering of the college's resident edgelord, Kharja'Do moved into a quick stride across the room toward the college's Master of Alteration - who seemed to be feasting and participating in the festivities in a more collected manner than Kharja'Do had been. His tail waved side-to-side as he walked, slithering in snaking patterns behind him and betraying an eagerness very characteristic of him.


"Master Sadaris," Kharja'Do repeated and glared hard at the face of the dunmer, boring his gaze into the master of alteration's eyes when he turned his head to face him. He went very silent and still for a long moment, simply staring. This wasn't exactly an unusual habit of Kharja'Do - in fact, he typically attempted such a thing several times a week. He seemed to think he could see "reflections" in the eyes of those around him. Sadaris was aged and wise - Kharja'Do was vocal in his belief that Sadaris' eyes must have housed the impressions of ages past. Living, flickering pieces of history trapped within one's eyes, burned and etched permanently by experience. Sadaris - as another scholar of Alteration - naturally would have possessed the most potent of impressions trapped within the dark, glassy depths of his sight. Perhaps it was within the memories - perhaps those memories sparked sights and energies within the eye's reflection, mimicking those memories. Perhaps Kharja'Do could pick up on those mimics. Or perhaps it happened in some other manner - whatever the method, Kharja'Do was adamant that there was something there.


"Khajiit has contemplated things. He wonders if spring might be brought on by the First Planting." He fixed his hands on his waist, taking a strong stance. "He has often thought the First Planting to be brought about by Spring - but he contemplates that perhaps it is the celebration of spring which brings it about. In the way one would beckon a creature, or perhaps summon a mystic weapon - perhaps spring is summoned, the world beckoned and shaped by the First Planting. What would Master Sadaris think of this?"


If past experience was to tell Sadaris anything, it would be that anything he responded with would be taken with Kharja'Do's own twist - a compromise of the Khajiit's currently explored theory combined with any explanation Sadaris might give him. Kharja'Do never accepted any explanation unconditionally, and even under condition, not without first examining it personally.


[/border]

 

[The Silent Z]

Moments away from sinking his teeth into his freshly prepared and stacked sandwich, mouth practically watering as he gazed and marveled at his own creation of cooked and salted meat, lettuce, tomato, onions, everything one could imagine placed on a sandwich was neatly stacked between two fair size slices of bread and held in the dark elfs hands while a tankard of ale rested upon the table below his hands, just about to take a bite. When a voice rang in his ears, his name was called, "Master Sadaris." The voice called to him...... A familiar voice too. Kindly Master Sadaris paused and reluctantly prolonged his bite into his own sandwich to turn and engage the approaching voice, giving a smile and exhale of breath though without intent to be rude or give off the wrong impression, simply just for his hunger and desire of this sandwich was great enough to usher in some reluctance but overall fair and kind response to the young Khajiit. He once more heard his name in repeat and gave a nod in greeting to the young Mage. "Ah Kharja'Do, yes good day to you. Was the....." The elf cut himself off in pause curious at the Khajiits glare, his seeming study of the elder master. It was interesting yet odd all at once..... Was something wrong? No...... Was he poor of smell? Oh no...... That couldn't be it either for Sadaris had just bathed a few hours ago. Then it hit him, he was studying the dunmer for reasons the elf couldn't say, but studying none the less that much Sadaris could deduce for himself from returned observation.


Master Sadaris then listened to the apprentice as he spoke and asked of him a question of the years first planting. It was curious, interesting, different, the young Mage was a thinker. Just then after some silent observation and listening Sadaris smiled genuinely pleased at the lads curiousity and mind, asking questions and always curious. He had given it some thought and nod a head slightly before speaking. "Hmm...... A years first planting and its part in spring and celebration?" He paused and smiled. "I think the first planting is more of spring by another name........ They are in belief of my own to exist in one form when and where one reveals itself, the other is shown as well. While our celebration has come afterward to base itself around the spring and there for the first planting..... Natures own chain of events that spirals around us and forms a world of our own to exist. Creating a celebration to give appreciation to that which already exists." Sadaris spoke then gave a soft chuckle before providing a end to his words and opinion on the matter. " Natures own alteration and conjuration," he mused and let it settle now curious of the young mages response to it all.


Master Sadaris learned from experiences both past and present to understand how Kharja'Do worked, how he used his questions. " Whether you draw some agreement or have much to disagree with.... Keep one thing alive, theories and asking of questions." He spoke with a small grin and approving of the curiosity of the apprentice. The gathering and forming of opinions and wonders not all but mages had in this life.

 

[Oenanthe]

@Celemyvel

It has been a long time since she had shown her face around other people. A very long time. Even as an older child she tended to hide behind hair, a wall, a book, something. Her face was not something she felt all that comfortable showing. Likely people imagined a hideous deformity and she did not contradict them in their thinking so. In a way it could be.


" I've done it for years, why stop now?" It was the only explanation she gave before scurrying away to the food, eager to evade the topic.


The safety of the food was reached and with it came great comfort. The smell of honey, butter, sugars, and meats were even stronger now and she relished in the feeling of warmth. The soft homely vibe that extended from the table and wrapped itself around her. Then without further hesitation she extended her small hand and snatched up...some kind of dumpling. Hopefully apple.


Apple was her favorite.


With dumpling in hand and a conversation evaded she made her way over to one of the tables where the Destruction Master sat reading. Miira did not like to sit alone during festivities like this. She longed to at least fake being a creature of social pleasures. That feeling, however present, was not strong enough to prompt her into actually being one. So the company of someone engrossed in a book was perfect. The precense of a guest without the obligation to speak. Unless he addressed her of course, then a small conversation would be welcomed.


There was only one person at the college who knew of her really. Eats-Bugs. They were two totally different brands of crazy. Where as she had a hard time conveying perfectly sensible thoughts, his thoughts started out crazy and came out even more so. She liked him though. Being slightly crazier than her meant she never felt conscious about her own oddities. They were like siblings...albiet siblings of the Palagius family maybe.



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@Loki Odinson

 

[NeedMoreMana]

The Argonian stared after the Nord incredulously, unable to get any words out of his open mouth as he gestured to the table with the meats. "M'lord doesn't understand it! He doesn't see it!" Eats-Bugs cried out, his hands gripping the ceremonial skull over his face. He wandered back to the table. "The colors are so balanced in the flickering light. The light portrays the sides of m'lords. The bad sides." He muttered, his eyes narrowing as he looked around. And indeed in the immediate lighting, the dark circles or bags under one's eyes were illuminated and acne and scars emphasized.


Eats-Bugs nodded to himself. "Yes, bad lighting." He mumbled and began to wander once more. The Argonian took various things from others' plates as he passed, munching on snow berries when he bumped into a Breton in dark clothe. His eyes widened and Eats-Bugs walked a circle around her. "M'lady has an unfamiliar face. It looks like memory. Perhaps from behind books! Or from a page of a book? What is m'lady's name, pray tell? Pray tell!" He rambled after stopping in front of the woman once more. "How does the light of dawn effect m'lady with its warm and cold light? Do the stars inspire ambition in talent? Why does m'lady dwell in this cold, horrible place? They make us read books and books! Books are fun when they are about interesting things, not like the safety of magic. From where does m'lady hail?" The Argonian spouted random things that made sense to his mind as he took a sweet roll from a passerby.


@IrradiatedWarden

 

[Interstellar Bun]

Oh dear.


Feeling herself tense, Fienelef took a tiny step back from the Argonian when he poised himself before her. He was talking and while it wasn't completely incomprehensible, it was, without a doubt, terribly strange. Having never been exposed to too many Argonians before, Fienelef found herself a bit uneasy. Then again, one would be hard pressed to find someone who didn't make her uneasy at first.


"I am from High Rock, actually." Her accent, after all, was a bit thick, her voice soft if a bit tinged with worry. "And I rather quite like reading books about magical theory and safety. It is terribly interesting once you start comparing and contrasting ideas from various eras, and the library has a better selection than just about anywhere I have seen especially considering-" she stopped herself.


"Ah, but before I ramble too much I do believe I have skipped over one of your questions. Do excuse me, my name is Fienelef." The introduction came with a small bow of her head, something born of habit. "Or simply Fi if you prefer, I am aware Bretic names can be a touch egregious. Ah, might I ask your name?"


@the Lovechild of LnC

 

[Bloodybeans]

Ma'rashi walked into the party late, immediately warming up in The Hall of Elements. she was with Enthir trying to buy skooma from him. She usually kept herself supplied but the recent weather had caused delays for her usual suppliers in Skyrim. She sighed, walking straight to the food as she had missed her nightly meal while trying to scrounge the last bits of her moonsugar.


She picked up a rather large piece of venison for her petite body, and started to eat sloppily, not caring what people might think, as she never has. other peoples opinions don't matter to her, and she never understood the sense of popularity or class that man and mer alike tended to desire.


"Would be better with a dash of moonsugar, This one thinks" she said to herself quietly as she finished it up, and took some alto wine and stood up, looking around. Ma'rashi didn't know anyone here, as one of the newest members of the exclusive College. Her eyes dashed around, sizing people up. She saw a beautiful High Elf talking to a Breton, thinking maybe that one would be wealthy, she saw a hairless Khajiit, noticing reckless behaviour, thinking maybe she could out wit him out of some coin, but she quickly saw an Argonian talking to a pretty Breton. She noticed his strange actions, and immediately recognized the symptoms of Skooma abuse, something she was familiar with were it to get out of control, something her connections to the criminal underworld made easy for her. She watched from nearby, snacking on a sweetroll and drinking her wine. @the Lovechild of LnC @IrradiatedWarden

 

[Collidias Rex]

[border]


Kharja'Do's brow furrowed as he listened intently to Sadaris, his head tilting left and right ever-so-slightly as he processed the Master's words, perhaps sloshing about the things he heard in a cauldron of thought. This was ... likely a good analogy for how he processed knowledge. Once Sadaris had finished giving his thoughts, the Khajiit's tail gave a single pronounced lash behind him.


"Khajiit believes he must spend more time contemplating the nature of words." He concluded after a little thought. "Words and the word-things they are tied to. What ties words to a word thing? Merely the tongue, or do the words themselves cling to their associates? Like many a mage, he does not know. Who knows - perhaps the Spring of tongue and celebration does not know the sweetening of the soil and richness of the sun's rays, and perhaps the spring of the soil cannot hear the words we call to it. Or perhaps not. Hmm ... he should like to try binding these words to word-things. Armor these words in the things they represent."


Kharja'Do smiled and delivered a short bow to the master. "Master Sadaris, you have Kharja'Do's thanks." With that, he left the master to his own devices.


Words. Words and the power they held ... he should like to meet these greybeards of Skyrim someday. He should like to learn of this Thu'um of theirs - the words of might. Perhaps he could learn many a lesson from them, hm?


He collected his mug once again and made his way toward a table laden with food. He idly wondered how he would go about liquefying the various meats on presentation ... that would be interesting. Mixing mead with liquefied beef. He smirked - a very Nordic beverage that would be!


Alas - he hadn't much idea as to how he would accomplish this. Regardless, he collected a steak of beef from the table and dropped it into his empty mug anyway, and he took up a position leaning back on the table as he nibbled and tore at the corner of the meat, his eyes dancing between those surrounding him for a minute before deciding upon watching the peculiar Argonian.


[/border]

 

[Atrophia Sanguinis]

Aegianna lifted a delicate brow as her eyes trailed after the Breton. "In any case, I suppose she has a point, the creature of habit." She remarked before downing the rest of her wine. She handed the glass to a random Novice passing by, ignoring the baffled look she earned.


The Altmer strode to one of the tables of food, noticing a peculiar Khajiit put meat into his drink and another feline stuff her face with meat. She pursed her lips in minor disgust before picking up some jazbay grapes before they disappeared. A small smile formed on her lips at the taste of the sometimes bitter fruit.


Bored by current company just watching and sitting around like reclusive scholars as if they were in a library with a buffet, Aegianna pulled on her gloves and walked outside. She paused before entering the dorms, seeing Eathan in his solitude, one of his hands glowing with frost magic. Unable to stop herself from poking fun at the slightly shorter male, Aegianna walked over quietly before clearing her throat. "Do you always fondle the air?" She asked innocently, mirth lacing her words.


@SoraSama14

 

[SoraSama14]

Boy, was Eathan having a day. Was he popular suddenly? Did the Gods decide to torment him with unwanted company? He lowered his hand, which stopped glowing, and turned to the Altmer female. Ah, she was lucky to be an Altmer, Eathan always thought he was born in the wrong body. He should have been born as she was, and he was quite envious of her. Still, he did not snub her like the lizard and cat inside the Hall of Elements. He merely smirked at her, "I'd rather fondle snow than spend one more grueling minute inside that stuffy room full of bookworms, cats and Gods know what else." He replied with a snarky tone and looked back out at the miserable town of Winterhold.

"And it seems you share the same sentiment, otherwise you would not be out here." He observed out loud but in a slightly softer tone. Too bad she was a woman, otherwise she would have been perfect for him. Regardless, he saw her as a potential close ally. He turned to her, "Did you see the Argonian in there? He nearly tried to attack me with his insanity, the nerve of him. He's lucky I didn't turn him into an ice sculpture then and there. Luckily, unlike my sister, I don't lose my temper so easily. Well, lucky for him, anyway."

​

@Celemyvel

 

[Nostalgic-Writer]

Santeru Ishumari "Eclipse"
Santeru walked calmly through the small hold of Winterhold his black leather boots causing the snow to shift with every step. Adjusting the grey scarf around his neck to cover up to his mouth and sliding the hood of his cloak just slightly lower on his head. He smirked slightly as the college came into his view the iconic towers and crumbling bridge brought back long forgotten feelings of nostalgia. To his left and right flame atronach's accompanied him in their full grace drifting through the air with ease, the heat from their eternal flames brought Santeru warmth in his travels.


The wind began to pick up and so did Santeru's pace as he approached the flight of steps up to the bridge taking his time to the top. As his feet reached the peak he lowered the hood of his cloak letting the harsh winter wind cause his black hair to become messy. He continued forward across the bridge allowing the atronach's behind him to glide forward, soon he stood in front of the gate and watched as it creaked open allowing him access to the courtyard of the college. It was barren and seemingly void of students which did not surprise him with the weather, he simply chuckled and continued to the large doors that lead into the main hall.


Raising his fist he knocked forcefully causing them to echo throughout the primary college building over the howling winter winds, standing motionless he patiently waited for someone to answer.


@Everyone (I highly recommend reading my character sheet in the Sign-Up section for important details!)

@Oenanthe

​

 

[Oenanthe]

The knock sent an indismissable shockwave through the Hall of Elements. No one ever knocked, at least no one who was a student or teacher here. The Hall was neutral territory, the only people who would knock is an outsider. Seeing as the college did not get many of those it was quite the oddity and an uncomfortable pause, that was likely only a few seconds but felt like a year, reverberated through the crowd.


At least until Miira hopped up and chirped " I'll get it!" As if this was just the casual knock of a friendly neighbor onto a quiant wooden farm home door.


Walking over to the door, the other inhabitants started to ease back into a more comfortable state, chattering about the strange occurance but at least they were chattering. The electricity in the room went from singing to just a mere tingle of collective nerves.


Opening the grand doors just enough to peak through, careful to not permit the escape of warmth or fantastic smells, she was met with black. Upon tilting her head up a little and letting her eyes travel up she was met with a face of ice. His skin was so pale it almost gave off a reflective glow and his eyes burned with death. The blood could almost be seen swirling somewhere in those pupils.


" Hiya! Welcome to the College of Winterhold. I am Conjuration Apprentice Miira, can I help you?"


He was quite obviously a creature of the night but if it bothered her, she did not let it show. After all, she encountered far worse than a vampire during her experiments in the Midden. Deadra had him beat by a few notches on the intimidating scale. Ah, but of course that didn't prevent the little bit of instinct and sense in her from prickling the back of her hair.


But even that primal sense of understanable fear was not enough to falter her cheery disposition; and the only visible part of her body that wasn't layers of brown fabrics, leather, or fur was a large toothy smile that peaked from under her hood.



​

@Santeru Ishumari