Malg the Magnificent - დიდებული მალგი

Part 1: The Eye of Magnus

          The air was brisk and chill, as it often was when Mirabelle Ervine took her midmorning stroll along the top of the wall which surrounded the College of Winterhold. The walks helped her clear her head and reflect. Much had happened in last month, not least of which was her ascension to the position of Arch-Mage. It was something she had always wanted, but it had come at a cost. Her friend and predecessor, Savos Aren, had paid the ultimate price in trying to protect the college from the megalomaniac actions of the Thalmor agent tasked with keeping tabs on the college. She hated even the memory of the elf and refused to speak his name, but she took solace in the fact that, even though they had lost Savos, that ruddy elf was dead, too. She remembered the moment. It had played over and over in her head for a week. After returning from Labyrinthian with the Staff of Magnus, she and Tolfdir had broken into the Hall of Elements. The elf was so smug, he did not even acknowledge their presence, that was until she turned the staff on the Eye of Magnus. The power of the staff tore the magic from his grasp, and without the Eye, he was completely vulnerable. At that moment, a gout of flame from Tolfdir's hands engulfed him. She remembered the elf's face as he died, first his robes and then his skin catching fire, his screams echoing throughout the chamber as he crumpled into a heap of charred and smoking flesh. She pushed the thought away. As much as she hated the elf, the way in which he died was still upsetting, and she did not like to dwell on the images burned into her mind.

All of this had started when Tolfdir had taken the new novices into Sarthal without any safeguards. That was risky enough, but then to send them off on their own without his direct supervision? What was he thinking?! she asked herself. He wasn't. That was the problem. A responsible professor would not tell the students to go on while he stayed behind. Obviously, new protocols had to be put in place to keep ignorant students from bumbling into draugr-infested crypts. Thankfully, that expedition had not ended with any deaths, but it easily could have. Teach the novices a ward and then have them take on the undead?! Idiot! She had suspended Tolfdir for a month. She would have expelled him completely had he not been instrumental in retaking the college. Their Master of Alteration was due to return to teaching the following day when a new group of novices was scheduled to arrive. Hopefully, he had learned from his mistake and would not have plans to take this class anywhere dangerous, at least not on their first day.

Mirabelle leaned against the battlements and looked out over the gap between the College of Winterhold and the rest of the city. The Eye Debacle had not improved the relationship between them, which had been as cold and icy as the weather ever since the Great Collapse. At least the only losses were experienced by the college itself rather than the city. She shuddered to think at the backlash had the city lost anyone. It may very well have been a mob showing up at the college gates. It had taken several meetings with Jarl Korir to smooth things over, but luckily, the civil war was far more pressing for him now that the Eye of Magnus had been taken by the Psijics. Once she had convinced the jarl that the cause of the trouble was gone, he decided to leave them be, which was enough for Mirabelle. In time the people of Winterhold may embrace the college again, but that would likely take generations still. She would do her best to repair the relationship, but for now, she would settle for the Stormcloaks not marching up to her gates.

As she made to turn back, she noticed someone approaching the college bridge from the city. She guessed the person was male by the way he walked, but beyond that, she could not see much. He was wrapped in dark robes, and the hood was pulled low over his face. Perhaps he was one of the new students, arriving early and eager to get settled in for classes the next day. Mirabelle watched as he neared the bridge. She wondered which test Faralda would administer to the applicant. Their master destruction trainer had the odd penchant for asking the prospective student their own preferred field of magic only to test them in another. Some might consider this bait and switch a tad cruel, but Mirabelle let her do it. She decided it was a good way to test the novices' adaptability, a crucial skill in magic.