The hunt had gone and passed, and Septimus was back to his training schedule.
Today was supposed to be the day he received his weapon, so he was training extra hard.
It had been a quiet day; some incident happened over at some fort, and a lot of the companions got called, including his friends Torvar and Ria.
‘I wonder if I’m allowed inside the archive to take a look at what they have there; maybe I get lucky and they kept some spellbook as spoils of war.’
While absentmindedly lifting weights, he heard a bell ring from inside, the call to dinner.
Septimus dropped everything and jogged over to the grand hall table.
‘Oh man, here we go, heard there’s horker jerky tonight!’
As he was stuffing his face, someone sat next to him.
Septimus didn’t pay it any mind and kept eating.
Feeling full, he grabbed a drink and leaned his arms on the table, stretching his back.
Just then, someone called out from right next to him.
“You eat well, lad.
It’s good to see you in good health.
I heard Aela tell the story of your outing.”
Septimus turned and almost slipped off the bench.
“Harbinger!
Welcome, it is good to see you again!”
Kodlak grabbed his own drink and gave it a sip.
“Indeed, so tell me, how have you been since we last met a month or so ago?”
“I have been training as per instructed, Harbinger.
Aela told me today is the day I receive a weapon”
“Hmm, yes, I see, then that means you put in plenty of effort, that’s good.
Well, don’t let me keep you.
Head over to the skyforge and talk to Eorlund; he should have it prepared for you”
Septimus stood.
“Yes, thank you, Harbinger!” Then he saluted and left the great hall.
‘Damn, that scared me.
Kodlak never leaves his room; even the meals are delivered down there.
I wonder what happened.’
He reached the stairs heading up to the Skyforge, the path much longer than in-game.
As he reached the top, he saw the Skyforge for the first time.
‘Damn, that’s impressive, an actual giant statue of an eagle with a lava pit, wait…hmm, there’s magicka flowing in that!’
While Septimus was staring inquisitively at the Skyforge, the person manning it turned to him.
“Impressive, isn’t it?
I am Eorlund Grey-Mane, and you must be Septimus.
I’ve got your weapon ready.”
Septimus looked at the man; he was Nord, tall, with arms as thick as his thighs.
“Yes, elder, can I ask you a question about the skyforge?”
Eorlund shrugged and went back to work.
“Ask away; it is the forge worked by my forefathers.
There is nothing I don’t know about it.”
He walked closer to the forge, feeling the magicka contained inside it more clearly.
“I have heard of the legend of the Skyforge, but is it magical?”
Eorlund grabbed his tongs and placed an ingot into the fire.
Some mages come by now and then, trying to understand how it works, fail, then leave only for another group to come and try their luck.”
‘Hmm, intriguing.
I never felt anything like this before.
I wonder if this is how enchantments feel, only this one is so strong it radiates outwards or something.’
“Thank you for answering, elder.
Can I see the weapon?”
The smith grunted and pointed a thumb over to the table.
“It’s the only spear on the table; pick it up and give it a few swings and tell me how it feels, will ye.”
Septimus approached the table and saw it, his first true weapon, made just for him; he felt giddy.
The spear was crafted in the traditional Nord style; its tip looked similar to a steel dagger, only slightly longer and with a larger guard.
He picked it up and noticed the butt of the spear also had decorated steel reinforcements.
Holding it in his hand, Septimus planted the butt on the ground and held it parallel to his body; the spear reached right above his neck, and about a fifth of its length was the tip.
“It’s heavy.” He muttered quietly, but Eorlund picked up on it.
“As it should be; this is skyforge steel, the finest steel in all Skyrim, nay, all of Tamriel!”
He lifted the spear, got into a mid-stance, crouched his legs, and stabbed forward; the weapon almost made a wooshing sound as it traveled.
“I can tell by your smile that you like it, good.
The wood is nothing special; if it breaks or cracks, come to me to have it replaced.
As for maintenance, it’s free for all companions; come to me after every major battle, and I’ll make sure the weapon lasts.”
Septimus just realized he had the biggest, dumbest smile on his face.
‘This is a good weapon, I feel it.
It will khiiiiillll, hehehe.’
“Thank you, Eorlund.
I appreciate your skill and dedication to your craft, and I will treasure this weapon; may it guide my hand in battle!”
Eorlund smiled and offered a handshake; Septimus took it.
“And may it bring you glory!
Now go, I am busy.”
====================
Septimus was in the underground part of Jorrvaskr, looking for one of the brothers; either Vilkas or Farkas would do.
Instead, he ran into Skjor, who had the same unfriendly look on his face as always.
“Good evening, Skjor.
Have you seen the brothers around by any chance?”
Skjor eyed the spear in his hand.
“Nice weapon you got there, looks brand new.
The others must have a good opinion of you if they already granted you arms.”
Septimus stood straighter.
“Yes, I received it today.
I am very thankful for the Circle’s trust in me.”
Skjor scoffed.
“Some of the Circle, I still don’t see it.
A true warrior is forged in the flames of battle; to me, you are still too green.”
“Understood.
Could you guide me to one of the brothers, please?” Spetimus did not get angry or offended at Skjor’s words; there was no reason to, he had other things to focus on.
“Just take the right over there, and you’ll find one of them.
Go on.” he turned to the side and let him pass.
‘Asshole, hope you get skinned by the silver blades or whatever.’
There were two rooms down that hallway; he knocked on one of them and waited.
Vilkas opened the door.
“Hello youngblood, it is good that you’re here.
I was about to go looking for you; let’s go up and talk.”
They headed up to the training grounds.
“Vilkas, I came to tell you I have received my weapon and I need further instructions and training!”
Vilkas smiled proudly.
“That is good, very good.
Rarely do we see a trainee as zealous as you, Septimus; most would be celebrating with a drink by now.”
He pointed at the spear.
“Pass it over; let me get a feel for it.” Septimus did so, and Vilkas proceeded to show him a set of movements and instruct him in a new training regimen.
====================
Night had fallen, and the lamps in the training grounds were turned on, yet two men still stood in a corner, one of them guiding the other.
“You’re doing good, lad; keep this up, and you’ll be battle-ready before you know it!”
“Thank you, Vilkas.
I appreciate it.
One quick question, didn’t the Harbinger say I should test if I can wield the spear with either hand?”
Vilkas shook his head.
“Not yet; first learn to use it properly, then we’ll try to add more.
Don’t bite more than you can chew.”
“Understood, so we got distracted, but you were going to look for me, right?”
“Oh, yes, almost forgot.
It is a bit early, but we have a mission for you, nothing too hard- just being a bodyguard for one of the town brats; make sure to keep him from dying for a few days.”
Septimus raised an eyebrow.
“I accept.
Will I be going alone?”
“Yes, you must’ve realized that a lot of members have been dispatched; we are shorthanded, but the client is paying very well, and we can’t afford to send a veteran to be a babysitter, no offense.”
“None taken.
Could you tell me what the dispatch that everyone went on is about?” Septimus asked; he had been curious about it for days.
Vilkas planted his spear in the ground and leaned on it.
“Yes, it is nasty business; we got a letter from the jarl of Eastmarch saying that a group of conjurers took over Fort Amol.
The jarl’s forces are elsewhere, so they hired us to liberate it.”
“Eastmarch?
You mean Ulfric Stormcloak?”
Vilkas nodded.
“The very same.”
‘The heck is Ulfric busy with that he can’t liberate his own forts?
This smells like the rebellions about to start.’
“Thank you for letting me know, so who’s the so-called brat I have to protect?”
Vilkas smirked.
“His name’s Jon Battle-Born, self-styled warrior poet.”