Wayfarer 03: The Call of the College

Disclaimer:

Magic: The Gathering and all it's related Intellectual Properties is owned by Wizards of the Coast.

Elder Scrolls Skyrim and all it's related Intellectual Properties is owned by Bethesda Game Studios.

I do not claim any ownership of the original material and acknowledges the rights of the original creators. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. Enjoy the journey through the multiverse!

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Narrator P.O.V. :

Miguel stretched as he woke, a lazy grin forming as he half-jokingly thought about the well-rested buff from Skyrim. He let out a contented sigh, rubbing his face before sitting up. Today was the day he would finally head to the College of Winterhold and try to gain admittance. Having spent the past days acquiring and testing spell tomes, Miguel felt confident enough to face whatever trial they’d throw at him.

But first—breakfast. His stomach grumbled in agreement.

With a purposeful stride, Miguel made his way downstairs to where Dagur was tending to the Frozen Hearth’s usual morning patrons. As he approached the counter, he gave a nod in greeting. “Morning, Dagur. What’s on the spit for breakfast today?”

Dagur chuckled. “Got some fresh horker loaf, a side of snowberries, and a tankard of milk if you’re keen.”

Miguel gave an approving nod, pulling out a few septims from his pouch and placing them on the counter. “Sounds like just the thing to break my fast.”

As Dagur set about preparing the meal, Miguel leaned against the counter, taking in the slow bustle of the morning crowd. The warmth of the inn contrasted sharply with the frozen winds of Winterhold outside. Despite the wear of time on this place, it had a certain charm. A ruggedness that matched the land.

Dagur soon returned with the food, setting the plate and tankard down with a thud. Miguel dug in with gusto, savoring the taste. Though the flavors were different from what he was used to back in Veralith, the meal was hearty, filling, and satisfying.

As he ate, he struck up small talk with Dagur, exchanging stories about the odd travelers that passed through Winterhold. They spoke of the occasional merchant brave enough to ply their trade here, the drunkards who tested Haran’s patience, and the ever-present tension between the town and the College.

“So, you finally heading up to the College today?” Dagur asked, wiping down the counter with a cloth. “Figured it was only a matter of time, what with all your questions about magic.”

Miguel nodded, taking a sip of his milk. “Yeah, figure it’s best I get moving. If I stick around here too long, I might start getting ideas about settling in, and I doubt Winterhold’s the kind of place to put down roots.”

Dagur let out a short laugh. “Aye, that’d be a first. Not many folks come here looking to stay unless they’ve got no choice. The College is about the only draw left.”

Miguel finished his meal and stood, adjusting his cloak. “Well, best I get going then. Might not be back if they take me in.”

Dagur gave him a nod. “Good luck to you then. Just be mindful of those robes up there. Not all mages have their heads screwed on right.”

Miguel smirked. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

With that, he turned and made his way toward the door. The cold air hit him like a slap the moment he stepped outside, but his magic kept the worst of it at bay. As he gazed up at the looming College, Miguel took a deep breath. Today was the start of a new chapter—one where he would unravel the mysteries of Skyrim’s magic firsthand.

Think of all the trouble he could get into, and he wasn’t about to let the opportunity slip through his fingers.

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The cold wind bit at Miguel’s face as he made his way up the winding path toward the College of Winterhold, but his mind was far from discomfort. Instead, he let his imagination take hold, weaving grand stories in his head.

Perhaps after mastering the College’s magic, he would traverse Skyrim as an enigmatic sorcerer, a figure cloaked in mystery, assisting adventurers from the shadows. Maybe he would uncover long-lost spells hidden beneath the ice, ancient knowledge that could reshape magic itself.

Or—his favorite scenario so far—he could become the Dragonborn’s mentor. If he was in the right timeline, he could stand beside the legendary hero, guiding them on their path to defeating Alduin. He chuckled to himself at the thought of giving sage advice atop the Throat of the World, wearing a hooded robe, and speaking cryptic words that only made sense in retrospect. That, or he could pull a 'wise old master' routine, complete with exaggerated nods and stroking an imaginary beard.

He snickered under his breath. His ego could use some of that stroking, he admitted. There was something oddly appealing about playing the wise mentor figure, passing down knowledge like an old master of arcane arts. It was a cool image—until his thoughts took an unexpected turn, making his face flush in realization.

“Okay, that got lewd way too fast,” he muttered to himself, shaking his head in amusement and embarrassment. He really needed to rein in his wandering mind.

Focusing ahead, Miguel reached the stone base of the College’s bridge and took in his surroundings. The bridge itself was a marvel, a massive stone pathway leading into the misty void that separated the College from the ruined town below. The ancient Nordic architecture stood resilient against time, its stones untouched by the erosion that plagued Winterhold.

At the start of the bridge stood a lone figure, waiting. Miguel’s sharp eyes caught sight of her—an Altmer woman with sharp, elegant features. She had an air of authority about her, standing with a posture that exuded confidence and discipline. Her golden eyes carried an intensity, framed by neatly pulled-back blonde hair that didn’t hide the piercing scrutiny beneath her gaze. The deep blue robes she wore identified her as a mage of standing within the College, the intricate embroidery on the fabric further signifying her rank.

Faralda, Guardian of the College’s entrance, was just as he remembered from the game. But seeing her in person, with all the details his mind could never have fully imagined, made it clear—She's so yellow. And the thought's currently running to Miguels mind was 'don't think of color jokes, absolutely don't think of color jokes.'

After a deep breathe Miguel smirked to himself.

“Alright then,” he murmured. “Let’s see what kind of test you’ve got for me.”

With that, he strode forward, ready to begin his next adventure.

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As Miguel approached Faralda, he mentally prepared himself for an extensive evaluation, bracing for questions about magical theory, a rigorous demonstration, or perhaps even a lecture about the College’s history. Instead, Faralda simply asked, “Do you already know any spells?” When Miguel nodded, she gestured for him to demonstrate.

Miguel, briefly thrown off by the simplicity of the request, quickly regained his composure. He decided on Conjure Familiar, thinking it would be an easy way to display both his proficiency and his affinity for Conjuration. With a practiced motion, he wove the spell, and in a shimmer of light, a spectral wolf materialized beside him. It growled softly, its translucent blue eyes scanning the area before sitting at Miguel’s feet. He followed it up with Lesser Ward, the protective light coating his arm like a translucent shield.

Faralda, seemingly unfazed, nodded in approval. “That will suffice. Welcome to the College of Winterhold.”

Miguel blinked. “That’s it?”

Faralda raised a brow. “Were you expecting a grand trial of magical might?”

Miguel coughed, averting his eyes. “I, uh, might have over-prepared.” His overactive imagination had been expecting an ordeal—maybe solving an arcane puzzle, dueling a master wizard, or at least some form of ceremony. But apparently, his knowledge of magic spoke for itself.

With a knowing smirk, Faralda led him across the bridge and into the College. The structure was as he had remembered from the game—ancient stone walls, banners bearing the College’s sigil, and a grand entryway leading into the Hall of the Elements. The lack of any Thalmor presence amused Miguel, as he wryly thought to himself, Guess Ancano only cares about the Dragonborn.

Inside, Faralda introduced him to the members of the College.

First was Mirabelle Ervine, the Master Wizard and acting second-in-command of the College. A Breton woman of sharp wit and unwavering discipline, she gave Miguel a curt nod before explaining that she managed the College’s daily affairs. “You’ll receive your robes and a brief orientation,” she said, handing Miguel a standard apprentice robe. “You’re expected to uphold the College’s reputation and avoid reckless spellcasting.”

Then came the teachers, each of them specializing in a different school of magic:

• Tolfdir, the elderly and kind-hearted master of Alteration, seemed genuinely pleased to have a new student. “I do hope you take an interest in defensive magic,” he said with a warm smile. “Alteration has so much to offer beyond mere parlor tricks.”

• Phinis Gestor, the Conjuration expert, eyed Miguel with some curiosity. “Summoning creatures from Oblivion is not for the faint of heart,” he warned. “If you pursue Conjuration, remember that mastery comes with responsibility.”

• Drevis Neloren, the enigmatic Dunmer master of Illusion, gave Miguel a scrutinizing look before nodding. “Illusion is the magic of subtlety. If you truly understand it, you can influence the minds of others without them ever realizing.”

• Faralda, in addition to guarding the entrance, was the Destruction expert. “You already seem to have some talent,” she noted. “If you want to refine your control over elemental magic, I can teach you.”

• Colette Marence, the oft-overlooked Restoration instructor, immediately launched into a rant about how Restoration magic was just as valid as any other school. Miguel nodded along politely as she extolled the virtues of healing and warding magic.

• Arniel Gane, the absent-minded scholar, barely noticed Miguel’s presence. He muttered something about a project before waving him off.

Miguel then met the other students:

• J’zargo, the ambitious Khajiit mage, puffed up his chest as he introduced himself. “J’zargo will become the most powerful mage in Skyrim,” he declared. “You are fortunate to meet one as great as J’zargo.”

• Onmund, the Nord apprentice, seemed relieved to see another new face. “You’ll like it here, I think,” he said. “Just don’t let the others talk you out of studying Destruction magic.”

• Brelyna Maryon, the reserved Dunmer, adjusted her robes before speaking. “If you require assistance with magical study, I’d be happy to help.”

After the introductions, Miguel took a moment to absorb everything. He was now officially a member of the College of Winterhold. He had access to resources, experienced mentors, and the opportunity to further explore Skyrim’s magic.

With an excited grin, he thought to himself, Let the real learning begin.

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Later that evening, after settling into his assigned quarters in the College of Winterhold, Miguel found himself in the Hall of Attainment, conversing with his fellow students. The dim candlelight flickered off the ancient stone walls, casting long shadows as the apprentices engaged in casual discussion about their studies. Miguel, always eager to learn more, leaned forward, hands clasped together as he listened intently.

“So, how exactly does learning magic work here?” he asked, his tone light but filled with genuine curiosity.

A young Breton named Onmund, his blonde hair slightly tousled from a long day of study, chuckled. “It’s not like you just pick up a spell tome and instantly know it. Well, for most of us, anyway. We study the theories behind spells, practice incantations, refine our control over magicka. Spell tomes help, but they aren’t the be-all and end-all.”

J’zargo, the ambitious Khajiit apprentice, flicked his tail and scoffed. “Some spells require deeper understanding, yes, but J’zargo is already proficient in many. The real challenge is learning expert-level spells. Without the right training, even the strongest of us would fail.” He flexed his fingers, small sparks of lightning crackling between them. “And Master-level magic? That takes years. Not that it will take J’zargo that long, of course.”

Brelyna Maryon, a Dunmer with a scholarly demeanor, adjusted her robes and nodded. “Yes, that’s true. Master-level spells require complete dedication to a single school of magic. You can’t just pick one up and cast it on a whim. It takes meditation, refinement, and a deep understanding of magicka’s flow.”

Miguel leaned back, processing the information. It wasn’t too different from what he had expected, though hearing it from the students themselves gave it more weight. “So, spell tomes are more like study guides than instant power-ups,” he mused, half to himself.

Onmund tilted his head. “Power-ups?”

Miguel blinked, realizing his slip. “Uh, just a term I use. You know, like an instant boost in knowledge.”

Brelyna gave him a skeptical glance but shrugged. “Well, in a way, I suppose. Though most tomes only provide a structured way of understanding a spell rather than outright teaching it. The more common ones can be bought from teachers or merchants, but some spells? They’re rare as can be. Some lost, others hidden away in ancient texts in even more ancient tombs.”

Miguel perked up. “Hidden spells, huh? That sounds like a side quest waiting to happen.”

J’zargo’s ears twitched. “Side quest?”

“Uh—nevermind,” Miguel quickly waved his hands dismissively. “So, where would someone find these hidden spells?”

Onmund smirked. “Well, if you’re looking for something unique, the best bet is old ruins, forgotten tombs, or hidden research notes from mages who’ve long since passed. Some spells were never meant to be shared openly, after all.”

Miguel felt his excitement build at the thought. The idea of ancient, forgotten magic waiting to be discovered sent his imagination into overdrive. Visions of delving into hidden chambers, deciphering lost knowledge, and unlocking powerful new abilities played through his mind like the premise of an epic adventure.

As the conversation continued, Miguel found himself using more slang from his past life, much to the confusion of his peers. At one point, he referred to expert-level spells as being “endgame-tier,” which earned him a puzzled look from Brelyna. J’zargo, ever confident, merely assumed it meant something prestigious.

Eventually, as fatigue settled in, the group dispersed for the night. Miguel lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling with a grin. Tomorrow, his formal education in Skyrim’s magic would begin, and he could hardly wait.

With one final thought of adventure filling his mind, Miguel finally drifted into a deep, well-earned sleep.

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The next morning, Miguel awoke with excitement, eager to begin his first official lesson at the College of Winterhold. However, in his enthusiasm, he completely forgot to ask about how meals were handled at the College. It wasn't until his stomach let out a rather loud complaint that he realized this oversight. Fortunately, Miguel had already devised a solution for situations like this.

Back in Veralith, while studying under Thalanor, Miguel had developed a spell akin to a personal pocket dimension—what he liked to think of as a magical inventory system straight out of a video game. The spell had taken quite some time to craft, as it required a delicate balance of his Blue mana’s manipulation aspects and his Green mana’s life aspects. The key to making it work was tying the pocket space to his soul, using his shadow as a catalyst. It was an old belief that one’s shadow was a physical manifestation of the soul, and by manipulating that connection, Miguel had managed to create his own 'hammer space.'

At the moment, Miguel’s pocket dimension was mainly used for practical storage—extra clothes and food to keep it fresh. However, he knew that one day it would hold much more: rare treasures, ancient artifacts, and magical discoveries yet to come. For now, it served as an emergency ration depot. With a simple motion, Miguel retrieved a piece of bread, dried meat, and a waterskin from his inventory. As he ate his simple breakfast, he mused about how convenient it was to have a personal storage space. If only the other students knew, they’d probably pester him about learning the technique. Unfortunately, it wasn’t something that could be easily taught—it was deeply tied to his specific mana affinities and his understanding of Veralith’s magic.

Once he finished his meal, Miguel set out to find the other students, hoping to get an idea of how the daily schedule worked. After some inquiries, he learned that the College had a rather freeform approach to learning. Mornings were dedicated to structured lessons with the masters, each day focusing on a different school of magic. Afternoons and evenings were left for students to pursue their own studies, practice their spells, or conduct magical research.

This revelation surprised and delighted Miguel. The freedom to study at his own pace meant he could dedicate time to both understanding Skyrim’s magical system and cross-referencing it with what he knew from Veralith and his experiences as a planeswalker. Of course, his first priority after the lesson would be to check out the Arcanaeum—the College’s famed library. From his time playing Skyrim, he remembered that the library contained a vast collection of books, though not all of them were readable in the game. Now, being physically present in this world, he was eager to see if the collection was more extensive than what he had previously been exposed to.

As Miguel made his way to the Hall of the Elements, where the first lesson would take place, his mind buzzed with excitement and made-up adventures. He could study powerful spells, uncover ancient knowledge, and perhaps even gain insight into magic beyond Skyrim’s borders. With so many avenues to explore, he could barely contain his excitement. But first, he had a lesson to attend.

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The lesson for that day was on the Conjuration school of magic, taught by none other than Phinis Gestor, the Conjuration Master of the College. Phinis stood before the gathered students in the Hall of the Elements, his dark robes flowing slightly as he gestured with his hands while he spoke. His voice carried the weight of knowledge and experience, making it clear that he had spent decades mastering the art of summoning and binding magical forces.

"Conjuration is the school of calling forth beings and objects from beyond Mundus," Phinis began. "It is the study of summoning creatures, weapons, and even manipulating the energies of life and death itself."

He started with an overview of the different aspects of Conjuration: the summoning of familiars, atronachs, bound weapons, and necromancy. Miguel listened intently, absorbing everything that could be learned and discerned and all the magics possibilities. Phinis made a point to address necromancy in particular, likely anticipating the usual misunderstandings.

"Necromancy is often viewed as inherently evil," Phinis said, pacing slightly. "This is a narrow and misguided view. The manipulation of life energy has roots in ancient religious practices. It was never about defying Arkay or any divine will, but rather about understanding the balance between life and death. Unfortunately, throughout history, some have taken necromantic studies too far, seeking to dominate life and proclaim themselves as gods over mortality."

Miguel filed that bit of information away for comparison for when he eventually finds himself on a new Plane which hopefully also has magic and compare it to each other. It was interesting to hear that Necromancy was not originally villainous.

After the brief history lesson, Phinis moved on to demonstrations. He began with Conjure Familiar, explaining that while it was a novice spell, it had an array of applications. He cast the spell, and in a brief flash of ethereal energy, a spectral wolf materialized beside him. The translucent creature emitted a soft glow, its eyes scanning the room as if it had awareness beyond its summoner’s will.

"Many of you believe Conjure Familiar is a simple spell," Phinis continued. "But this is a mistake. The basic form it takes is often that of a wolf, but with mastery, a skilled conjurer can alter its form. The elemental aspects of magic can be infused into a familiar, creating beings like the Flaming Familiar, which not only fights but detonates in a burst of flame upon dismissal. This is but a small taste of the spell’s potential."

Miguel had a moment of realization. In Skyrim, the game, summons were limited to just a handful of set creatures. But here, in what he now knew to be a real world, there were deeper mechanics at play—ones that were left out of the game’s representation due to its limitations. It made him wonder what other aspects of magic were far more complex than he had initially thought.

Phinis then turned to the students and posed a question. "Now, tell me, what are some practical uses of the Conjure Familiar spell?"

The students eagerly shared their ideas. Some mentioned using it as a battle companion, others said it could be a scout or even a companion in lonely travels. Miguel, however, raised his hand and casually said, "Bait."

A few students chuckled, but Phinis merely nodded in agreement. "Indeed, a summoned creature can act as a decoy, drawing attention away from the caster. This is particularly useful against enemies that rely on instinct rather than intelligence. A well-placed familiar could distract a charging sabre cat or lure an enemy mage into exposing themselves. Every spell has more uses than what is obvious at first glance."

Miguel smirked slightly. This was a real magic school. Instead of just casting spells mindlessly, they were being taught strategy. This is leagues beyond the game, he thought to himself.

The class continued with Phinis instructing the students to cast Conjure Familiar and practice controlling their summoned creatures. Miguel summoned his own spectral wolf, observing it carefully. It felt different from just summoning an NPC in a game—there was a connection, however faint. Was it tied to his mana? Or was it something inherent to Skyrim’s magic system?

As he commanded his familiar to move around, Miguel couldn't help but feel excitement building within him. He had only scratched the surface of magic in this world, and already, the depth of learning was staggering. He was eager to see what other surprises awaited him in the days to come.