Skyrim: A Craftman's Journey

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4E 201, College of Winterhold

Gerron Ironbreaker

"The one thing you need to know about the College is that it is very, very competitive." Mirabelle Ervine said as they crossed the stone archways into the central courtyard, leading both Gerron and Serana in the tour of the College's grounds. The two of them trailed slightly behind, taking in the towering spires and frosted courtyards with quiet interest.

"Competition breeds excellence here," Mirabelle continued, "Your classes, your duties, even your research—everything becomes a contest of wit, power, and innovation. Resting on your laurels is… frowned upon."

Serana hummed, arms crossed beneath her cloak. "Respectable."

Mirabelle Ervine was a Breton woman who currently serves as the Master Wizard. A fancy title in the College that basically served as the right-hand to the Archmage. She didn't teach any classes, rather her responsibilities leaned more towards handling the day-to-day operations of the College. 

"You'll be assigned rooms in the Hall of Attainment," Mirabelle explained, nodding toward the tall, rounded tower to their right. "Furnishing them, however, is entirely up to you. Enchanting tables, alchemy stations, whatever comforts you desire—all require coin, unless you're capable of building them yourselves."

Serana arched a brow at Gerron before whispering. "How many of those did you bring in storage again?"

 "Ten." Gerron snorted under his breath.

Mirabelle continued on with more details about the College—lecture schedules, research permits, the constant balancing act between autonomy and expectation. All while having a very pleased smile on her face after seeing Gerron breaking the Thalmor's nose.

From what he had learned, Ancano was here as a sort of 'advisor' to the Archmage. Though many of the teachers secretly believed his role here was to spy on the workings of the College.

The College doesn't involve themselves in politics, so they never had a reason to refuse the Thalmor from sending Ancano here. Despite that, Ancano had very often acted arrogantly, thinking himself far more important than he actually is. The teachers largely ignored him since they believed Ancano wasn't worth their time, so they were happy when a prospective student came and put him in his place.

As they passed students mingling beneath the shadow of Shalidor's statue, Gerron felt dozens of eyes on him—some curious, some impressed, others sneering. It wasn't every day a heavily armored Nord, practically built like a siege engine, wandered through the sanctum of scholars.

Among the crowd, a few familiar faces: Nords, Bretons, Dunmer, Altmer, even a Khajiit. But one figure froze him mid-step.

A woman—or creature resembling one—stood hunched near the alchemy station. Her wiry, gnarled frame was draped in dark tattered robes, greasy raven hair falling over sharp, feathered shoulders. Her arms were wiry, talon-like fingers curling absentmindedly around a rune-inscribed staff.

"Is that a Hagraven?"

"Indeed," Mirabelle replied without hesitation, a faint smirk curling her lips. "Despite their ill repute, not all Hagravens are aggressive or bloodthirsty recluses. The College accepts any and all prospective students who wish to learn the arcane arts."

Gerron grunted, eyes still fixed on the Hagraven. "Brave policy."

"We've had witches, necromancers, werewolves, and many other supernatural creatures. Even your friend here isn't the first Vampire that has graced our halls." Her gaze shifted to Serana, a note of amusement in her voice. "Though, with how much magicka radiates from her, I doubt she'll need much instruction."

"You're perceptive." Serana's expression turned into a faint smile as she looked at Mirabelle up and down. "You aren't so bad yourself, Master Wizard."

"It comes with the job." Mirabelle quipped, her cloak billowing slightly as she resumed walking. "I've managed this place longer than most students have been alive."

Gerron raised an eyebrow, 'These two seem to be getting along well.'

"And what about you?" Mirabelle asked him. "What are you expecting to learn here in the College?" 

"Not much." Gerron shrugged. "I'm not much of a spellcaster or a mage, but I would consider myself an expert enchanter. There's a certain project of mine that requires further research and I was hoping the College library might provide certain insights."

Mirabelle's expression shifted to something more intrigued. "An enchanter? We could use more of those." She paused, considering. "Speak with Sergius Turrianus. He oversees enchanting studies, though I'll warn you—he's constantly buried under requests. Patience will be needed."

Gerron nodded. "I'll keep that in mind."

By the time they reached the Hall of Elements—the heart of the College—the tour began to wind down. The vaulted chamber loomed overhead, ancient wards etched into every stone. This allowed for the students to practice their more destructive spells on the walls themselves, not having to worry that they would break.

Mirabelle turned to face them, clasping her gloved hands behind her back. "This concludes your introduction. If you plan to attend lectures, schedules are posted daily outside this hall." 

Gerron and Serana nodded. 

"Fair warning though, your earlier actions did earn you the ire of Ancano. He hasn't forgotten your way of introduction."

Gerron shrugged, unapologetic. "He deserved worse."

Mirabelle smiled thinly. "No arguments there. He even refused to be healed by our own Restoration expert—not that Colette would give it to him if even asked. Ancano has very little power here in the college and his influence is minimal by design. But dangerous men don't always need permission to make trouble. Keep your wits sharp."

Gerron met her eyes with steady confidence. "Yeah, don't worry. I'm not afraid of the Thalmor." 

"Clearly." Mirabelle chuckled. "I expect nothing less from the man lauded as the Dragonslayer and his companion."

Gerron's smile grew at that. "So you've heard of that, eh?"

"Very few haven't." Mirabelle quipped, "We don't often see legends walking these halls. I expect interesting times ahead."

With that, she pivoted on her heel and left the Hall, leaving them in the grand chamber.

Serana exhaled, glancing toward the Hall of Attainment. "We should settle in. I assume you've got a list of things to research?"

"Several," Gerron confirmed as they descended the stone steps. "We'll stay for a few months at least. We have a lot of preparations to do before engaging the dragons properly."

…

The first place he visited after settling in was the Arcanaeum—the College of Winterhold's famed library. And by Zenithar, it lived up to its reputation.

The room was massive—a towering, circular hall wrapped entirely in shelves stacked floor-to-ceiling with books, scrolls, and ancient tomes. 

For a moment, Gerron simply stood at the entrance, looking at all of it. His system was going crazy as it identified every book in his field of vision. He had to turn it off to avoid getting a headache. He may not have been a 'proper' mage, but he appreciated knowledge when it could be weaponized—and the Arcanaeum held enough to arm a thousand minds.

It was the gruff voice of the librarian that broke his thoughts.

"A new face, eh?"

The Orc behind the counter looked up from a meticulously catalogued stack of tomes. Broad-shouldered, tusked, and with the perpetually irritated expression of someone who had seen one too many burned books in his life, Urag gro-Shub sized Gerron up.

"I know you, Gerron the Dragonslayer, right? It's not everyday someone like you comes in here."

"Someone like me?" Gerron repeated, glancing down at his ebony armor, runed hammer strapped across his back, and the dragonbone sword attached to his hip. "Let me guess—too much metal, not enough flimsy robes?"

"Exactly." Urag grinned, tusks flashing. "Most of the mages here? Stringy little whelps who can barely carry a staff, let alone a hammer that size. You're a rare sight to see, Dragonslayer."

Gerron chuckled. "I've learned to appreciate what magic can do. Though with how the world is turning, I'm sure everyone is starting to share my sentiments." Those words had Urag snorting. "Anyways, I'm looking for books that detail on the constellations, or Standing Stones in Skyrim."

Urag hummed as he considered it. "There are a few books that you'd like. Wait here." He went to a specific section of the library before pulling out two books. Holding them down to Gerron, he read the titles.

'Watchers of Stones' by Gelyph Sig; and 'The Firmament' by Ffoulke.

"Much appreciated." Gerron said as he took the books.

"Watch yourself." Urag warned. "I don't want to see any damage to them, you hear me?"

"Wouldn't dream of it."

Looking around the library for an available seat, Gerron spotted an older man seated quietly—a bald Imperial with a long, graying beard, dressed in flowing, pristine white robes embroidered with fine silver threads, perhaps of an ancient order that Gerron didn't recognize. The Artificer System flared to life not a second later.

[Moth Priest Robe]

Robes that belong to the Order of Ancestor Moths, these robes were given to Moth Priests as a form of identity. Enchanted to be resistant to all the natural elements.

'Well would you look at that?' Gerron mused, intrigued.

"Mind if I sit?" Gerron asked, approaching.

The elder Imperial looked up, surprised. "Oh my, you're quite the large man, aren't you?"

"I get that a lot." Gerron said with a chuckle. "May I?"

"Please, feel free." the Moth Priest said. "I am Dexion Evicus. May I have your name, friend?"

"Gerron Ironbreaker." Gerron replied, seeing Dexion's eyes widen as he sat down, putting down the books and setting his hammer leaning on the table.

"Truly? The man they call the Dragonslayer himself?" He asked.

"That's me."

"My my, I am quite busy at the moment and so are you by the looks of it," Dexion said, looking at the books Gerron has in his hand. "Once you have the time, I would so much enjoy hearing more of the dragons you have fought and killed. I am an Imperial Scholar, you see—Dragons are a particular interest of mine."

"Sure thing." Gerron smirked, cracking open Watchers of Stones.

The next week blurred by in a haze then. Gerron poured over the texts, diving deep into the legends of Skyrim's Standing Stones and the constellations tied to them.

He learned how the stars—the visible tears in Oblivion's fabric—connected to Aetherius, channeling power into the mortal plane. The Guardian Stones, scattered across Skyrim, acted as focal points for these energies, inscribed with celestial patterns that could empower mortals.

But portable inscriptions? Transferring those symbols onto armor, weapons? Technically possible—but the magic involved required immense stability, something far beyond a standard enchanting table.

He closed the final book one chilly evening, fingers tapping against his chin as he gazed out the Arcanaeum window. The stars glittered like frozen fire across the night sky.

"Say, Dexion," Gerron asked the scholar, who has been his constant reading partner in the library, "how long have you been at the College?"

Dexion perked up from his scrolls. "Hm? For a few months I would say. Why?"

"Do you know if the College has any special Enchanting tables? Ones that could handle large magical outputs without being overwhelmed or breaking?"

Dexion stroked his long beard. "I don't know much about special Enchanting tables, though I assume Sergius would know more about that. But I did hear a peculiar rumor from the other students about the College possessing a powerful forge that could create powerful magical items and artifacts."

Gerron's eyes widened. "Where?"

Dexion shrugged. "The Midden, perhaps. That's where most of the old secrets lie buried."

Later that night, he met back up with Serana in her room, having told her of his discoveries.

"The Midden," Serana confirmed, nodding. "I've heard the students whisper about it. A dungeon beneath the College. Old part of the structure. They sealed it after something called the 'Midden Incident'. A few students did a summoning ritual that went wrong. Ended up in their deaths."

Gerron crossed his arms, leaning casually against the stone wall. "And you know all this how?"

Serana's crimson eyes sparkled with amusement. "I'm not just good at magic, you know." She tapped her temple lightly. "My mother taught me a lot of things when I was little. One of them being the art of intelligence gathering."

"Spying, you mean."

"Semantics." She waved away. "New place, new people—I like to know the power players. The shady ones. What goes on behind the scenes."

A smirk curved Gerron's lips. "You've been busy, then?"

"Very," Serana said, leaning in, her voice dropping conspiratorially. "Enthir? Smuggler and has connections to the Thieves Guild—he's discreet, but sloppy when he drinks. I've spotted him stopping by the Frozen Hearth inn a couple of times to meet some unknown person. Pretty sure that person even noticed me. Nirya? Insecure, threatened by Faralda's position, often makes snide comments whenever others could hear it. There's whispers that one of her research projects mysteriously vanished, and Faralda caught the blame."

Gerron raised a brow. "Faralda didn't do it?"

"Maybe, maybe not. But Nirya's bitterness runs deep either way." Serana shrugged. "Oh, and there's Brelyna—Dark Elf, quiet but talented. She has quite the storied lineage, being a descendant of House Telvanni, though she keeps that under wraps."

"You got all that after one week?" Gerron said, genuinely impressed.

"People underestimate how much they reveal in passing conversations. You just have to listen… and ask the right questions." Serana smiled faintly. "I have to say though, your stunt in breaking Ancano's nose earned you a lot of good will. It's all people could talk about."

"I'm glad they enjoyed it." He chuckled. "So does that mean you know how to get to the Midden?" 

"Of course I do."

Gerron grinned, leaning forward. "You up for a little adventure?"

Serana's smile is all the answer he needed.

…

AN: Not too happy with how this chapter turned out. I just realized I have so many things planned for Gerron to do in the College that it's getting hard to juggle all of it. Especially considering the world keeps spinning in the background.

Anyways, Gerron meets Dexion, who is the Moth Priest in the canon Dawnguard storyline. I did hint at his existence in Isran's POV a few chapters ago. He also hears of a magical forge in the midden. Three guesses as to what forge this is.

As always, more chapters are available on my Pat_reon. Chapter 47 should be available by the time this chapter was posted. Just look up my name and you'll find me.

Hope you guys enjoyed the chapter! Cheers!