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Gamer Diaries

Skyrim

By Evan Drake

Part III: School Days

The College of Winterhold was definitely not what I expected. For one, getting into the college was easier than expected. Far easier. I just had to show some magical aptitude and they let me in. Then again, given how magic was viewed in Skyrim and the state Winterhold was in, they didn't have room to be picky.

It helped me out and solved most of my problems. I didn't have to answer any awkward questions, was given warm clothes that fit, had a warm room to myself rent-free, and had access to an information network so that I can find work.

And it definitely showed that they weren't used to visitors. They just left coin purses lying around. One night of exploring and I had more than enough to buy passage to Solitude and get myself some better gear. I thought they were enchanted but my markings reacted to that kind of stuff.

The next morning, I found out they were headed off to Saarthal. Perfect timing. I hate waiting around.

Saarthal was...eye-opening is the only way I can express it. It was exactly what I thought, an old, crumbling ruin. But then some robed weirdo, claiming to be a member of the Psijic Order, contacted me. He gave some vague and weird message about danger ahead and events beyond my control before vanishing without a trace. Asked Tolfdir about it and apparently their one of the oldest and most powerful secret societies in Tamriel. Shit. Whatever that guy wanted couldn't be good.

What was supposed to be a day of boring digging and listening to lectures turned into the most frightening experience of my life. No one said anything about fighting off the fucking undead! They burst from coffins at nearly every turn, eager to claw my face off. Thankfully, I was good at avoiding combat. The ones I couldn't sneak past made easy fodder for traps. At least they're stupid which shouldn't be surprising. After centuries of rotting, their brains can't work too well.

Tolfdir and I eventually found some weird orb thing in the middle of a large room. But that wasn't the problem. The problem was the draugr guarding it. This one wasn't some typical undead. It had magic to spare and was no slouch with that war ax it had.

I stood there, chest heaving with exhaustion, reveling in my hardwon victory when I noticed my marks were glowing fiercely. They reacted to magic and there was a ton of it. Specifically from the amulet the draugr wore. It hummed with energy. What a nice trophy. It also had a writ of sealing on it. It was some strange poem but it all clicked. This wasn't a ruin, it was a prison. For what, I had no idea. This guy had to be something else in his former life if they went through this much trouble to make sure he not only died but was forgotten.

There was no time to speculate. Even as I magically mended my wounds, Tolfdir was examining the large orb we found. He had no idea what it was but needed to tell the archmage about it.

Thank the Nine there was a shortcut out of here because I was not going through the crypts again.

On the way out, something strange happened to me. I came across a large wall with strange markings on it. Normally it wouldn't stand out in an old Nordic ruin, but these markings glowed and they whispered to me.

It was stupid, but I was drawn to it. The words spoke to something within me, but I couldn't quite make it out. The moment I touched the words, images flashed before my eyes, too fast to make sense of. Shouts and battle cries drowned out the world around me.

I awoke on the floor. I had no idea for how long but I didn't waste time getting away from that wall and getting out of there.

I didn't know what was happening, but I needed to get out of this country.

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