The Red Era of Tamriel - Fall of Winterhold

This is an expansion of the the timeline I referenced in my original post here. Further fleshed out stories are found here.

Exert from the journals of Tervur Arano, former wizard and scholar of the College of Winterhold. Published posthumously by The Vigilants of Mara after the author's death in Solitude 4E 249.

In the year 4E 248, on the 2nd of Sun's Dawn, it came to pass that the ancient mage's college of Winterhold, an instution dedicated to knowledge and study since the First Era, was sacked by barbarians and warmongers.

I lay my memory into the ink of this paper that it may serve history as a reminder of what truly happened in Winterhold that day. 'History is written by the victor,' they say, and I fear that one day the fall of Winterhold might be remembered as something else than what it was - a massacre.

Though many months have slid across the scales of Akatosh into the past, I remember the day as vivedly as if I was still there in this moment. I was lecturing students on the merits of lightning spells contra fire magic when we heard that Jarl Wolfshield had gathered a force of Nords in the Winterhold village, and requested the leaders of the College to meet with him outside. Though Wolfshield was the jarl of Windhelm and had no rule over Winterhold, it was considered unwise to ignore the summons of a jarl. And so the wizards gathered behind the archmage, and went out to meet with the Northborn.

The moment I had descended off the bridge I knew we were in danger. Winterhold was full to the bursting with nords, clad in the blue, white, and magenta colours which I knew to mean warriors of Windhelm, Winterhold, and Riften. At the front of the horde stood three men; all clad in pelts of snowbear and steel armor. I recognized the frontmost nord as jarl Wolfshield, a dark-haired and tall nord with a grizzled, stern look. At his side was jarl Snowheart, lord of the Rift, and jarl One-eye, the embittered lord of Winterhold.

Though I am sure the danger was obvious, the archmage's speech did not betray any fear, and had a calm tenor, as if the meeting was but a casual coincidence.

"Greetings, Jarl Wolfshield. How may the College of Winterhold serve you and your men today?"

The jarl did not waste time: "I've come here for the sake of Skyrim, and for Skyrim's future. I know your college houses dark elves and other merish filth. They are a threat to our holds and atmoran legacy, and I will not suffer them to remain within our borders. Send your elven students out to us, and we shall free Skyrim of their filth."

The archmage's voice, by some miracle, remained unwavering: "I am afraid that is not possible, Wolfshield. The students are under my protection, but not under my dominion. If any of the students should wish to come with you and subject themselves to your justice, they are free to do so, but I cannot order them to. Any true student of magic has been promised shelter within these halls; and I shall not betray that promise."

Jarl One-Eye could no longer contain himself, and he pointed a gauntleted finger at the archmage, the rest of his hand holding his steel axe, as he roared: "Your college was spared when you saved your own skins and let Winterhold sink. We give you one last chance; surrender the elves to us, or face the justice of Skyrim yourself."

While the talking had gone on; the nord warriors had spread out, forming a semi-circle around us. I felt a gnawing fear gripping my mind, and I knew that the mages around me - in especial those who, like me, were elvish - felt it too. But somehow the archmage seemed quite untouched, and indeed it was fierce courage, and not fear, that fueled the words: "The students are under my protection. You and your Northborn shall leave here, or it will be you who answer to justice, and it shall be wrought in fire, frost, and thunderous lightning."

Many things happened at once at this: any nord who had not yet unsheathed his weapon did so, and their circle grew closer; myself, Faralda, Neloren, and all the other wizards prepared spells of our choice, our eyes and fists aglow with the rage of Magnus; Thane One-eye roared with the bitter rage of his poor, broken Hold and he charged at the archmage.
Before One-eye had taken his third step a fireball bigger than he flew from the archmage's hands, and the last Thane of Winterhold was blasted to nothingness.

At this a warcry issued from the nords, and the entirety of their army flew against us, as a hail of arrows rained down on the archmage.
Though my memory is vived, much of what happened next is a blur to me, but I swear by every school of magic that in the burning light which annihilated One-eye, I saw the charred remains of Wolfshield's arm flying off as he was thrown by the blast. The air was now full of arrows, spells, and shouting, but one voice boomed above all:

"THROW UPON ME THE SONS OF THE NORTH AND I SHALL CONSUME THEM BY THE FURY OF MAGNUS."

Several wizards had already fallen. We were forced back, step by step onto the bridge of Winterhold. Only the archmage remained behind; a flurry of fire and lightning, spinning around with the speed of a storm, sending fireballs in all directions. That was the last I saw of our archmage as the nords closed in, and we were forced back behind the gates of the college.

As we gained the courtyard, Brelyna managed to erect a force barrier at the ancient gates, and we were all allowed a respite. All the students had come out into the courtyard at the sounds of battle, and were arrayed around us, their faces a tapestry of emotion; worry, fear, and terror. I did not know what to say; 'Faralda is dead, the archmage is dead, the college is under siege'? Words failed me.

The head of Conjuration, Ganna Endario, stepped forth: "Our College is besieged. Jarl Wolfshield and his Northborn have come to murder and destroy. There are ways to escape; portals to outer realms may be transversed, but I will need time to prepare the ritual. The Nords must be delayed."

A senior student stepped forth: "This one is no master tactician, but the courtyard is not defendable."
There was a murmur of agreement, and it was quickly decided that the inner sanctum must be defended, while the outer bulwarks were evacuated.

We retreated to the Hall of Elements and prepared what wards we could - but it was not long until a great ramming began to shake the oaken doors. They soon gave in, and the Northborn came flooding into the hall, met by a rain of flame and thunder. Amidst the confusion I quickly lost count, and though it seemed I reduced dozens of nords to ashes; more kept flooding in. The floor became littered with the bodies of dead students and warriors alike; a voice boomed from upstairs as a blast of fire sent Northborn flying down the stairs: "OUT OF MY ARCANAEUM!"
A mishappened spell struck one of the hall's great pillars; the stone melted away in arcane fire, and sent half the ceiling cascading down upon the combatants.

As the dust settled, I finally found my voice and duty, and I gathered the students around me and led them up the stairway towards the battlements. Even through the adrenaline and dust I felt tears rise to my eyes, as I saw through a doorway, Urag dead on the floor; one hand clutched around a dear book and the other around a Nord's broken throat.

We gained the roof quickly, the Nords having slowed down in the narrow corridors, and here I found Ganna herding students into a shimmering, blue portal. But they could not run fast enough. Soon the Northborn had gained the battlements, and they flooded towards us relentlessly. Ganna threw a last resignated look upon me, a look that burnt its way into my memory like the sun of a clear day, and she handed me the Sigil Stone which fueled the portal, before she made her way through the students towards the oncoming nords.

Though I could no longer see her, I heard her shrill voice echoing through the battle: "Come forth servants of Dagon, come forth Dremora! I give you the blood and battle you crave!"
The warcry of the Clankyn bled into the screams of terror and hatred in a violent cacophony, as the Northborn clashed with the summoned. It was the last thing I heard, for soon the flood of refugees overwhelmed me, and I was forced into the swirling darkness of the portal.

I do not know how long I remained in limbo; and I do not know whether the portal closed behind me. The portal had been ill-prepared, and as I finally returned to Tamriel I found myself doused by icy waters as I landed in the Sea of Ghosts, so far, far away from my beloved home in the College of Winterhold.