“NOT THE FACE, EVERYTHING BUT THE FACE!”
Jon was turned sideways, doing his best to cover his face with the side of his blade.
“Relax, I never aimed for the face, don’t be dramatic.”
“DRAMATIC, it’s been hours, and you hit me so many times YOU BENT MY ARMOUR!”
Septimus shrugged and leaned the spear on his shoulder.
“It’s just casual sparring; when I do it with the companions, it’s much harder.”
Jon almost looked offended.
“Do I look like a companion to you?
Normal people can’t fight like that.”
What Septimus didn’t know is that the companions aren’t called the greatest warriors in Skyrim for no reason; all of them are extraordinarily powerful, even a trainee is stronger on average than a veteran soldier or famed bandit chief.
And Septimus, who had been getting his ass kicked for weeks, didn’t quite understand the power levels in the world; after all, the game was all about stats, with very little skill involved, and the companions of Ysgrammor were extremely skilled.
“Fine, we’re done for today.
You’re pretty good at defending but need to work on offense.”
Jon huffed.
“It’s not me, it’s you!
How am I supposed to attack when, whenever I get close, you STAB me from 2 sword lengths away?
Look, look at my armour, there are so many DENTS!”
He frantically pointed at his chestplate.
“Alright, I’m sorry, let’s go get that drink we talked about earlier, it’s your favourite spot, the Bannered Mare.”
Finally calming down at the mention of drinks, Jon replied.
“Haaaa, good, at least I know you can protect me if push comes to shove; and there’s nothing to forgive, you were a worthy opponent!”
Septimus rolled his eyes.
‘Overdramatic much?
You were barely a better training partner than a scarecrow.’
“Let’s wash up and get going; I’m starving here.”
They both washed up their sweat using some wet rags and went to the tavern.
Septimus grabbed his Skyforge Steel Spear and Jon his red lute.
The sun was almost set by the time they made it there.
Entering through the main door, it was as busy as the last time Septimus was there, full of a variety of residents of Whiterun looking for a drink.
Jon swaggered forward, pulling Septimus along.
“Come now, I have a reserved seat by the fire; I’m quite well known around here.”
To Septimus’s surprise, there was actually an empty bench close to the fire.
It can’t remain unsaid that those were some of the best seats in the house; after all, the Skyrim nights were chilly to say the least.
Jon sat down and gestured Septimus to join him, then waved over the tavern keep, Hulda.
She made her way to them and addressed Jon.
“Hey Jon, you want the usual?”
“Yes, and do bring one for my friend here.” He pointed a thumb to Septimus.
“Alright, anything to eat?”
Jon stopped to think for a moment.
“Just some dried meat will do.” He looked at Hulga and hesitated for a moment.
“Is…
Is Olfina working tonight?”
Hulga smirked, seeming to know what was going on.
“She’s not; she didn’t tell me why, but she won’t be coming for a few days.”
Jon seemed to deflate slightly.
Septimus took this opportunity to cut in and talk to Hulga.
“No drinks for me, Ma’am, thank you.”
Hulga looked at him and cocked an eyebrow.
“You sure, the richbois paying?”
“Aye, no drinks for me sadly; do bring more food tho.”
She agreed and turned to bring them their order.
Septimus turned to Jon and examined his frowning face.
“What’s got you so sullen all of a sudden?”
“Nothing, don’t worry about it.” he waved a hand dismissively.
“Anyway, you sure you’re not drinking, as Hulga said it’s on me!”
Septimus shook his head.
“Don’t thank me; the least I can do is pay for everything while you hang around me, can’t make a penniless mercenary starve after all.”
“Hey now, I’m not penniless yet.” He was, in fact, pennilles.
Jon smirked.
“Don’t lie to me, Septimus.
I know your type; every coin goes into equipment and whatever’s left gets put in a ‘just in case’ fund.”
Septimus smiled awkwardly.
“Alright, you got me; if it weren’t for the companions I’d be starving.”
Right at that moment Hulga appeared carrying a bottle and three plates balanced on a wooden tray.
“Here you go, lads, I’ll put it on your tab, Jon.
Enjoy.”
They both jumped on the plate full of dried meat; physical exercise makes one hungry after all.
“So you’re not going to play a song?
You brought that lute all the way here after all.”
Jon drank all the mead in one long sip, then gestured for another one.
“I was right about to- let me show you the talents of a warrior-poet, much superior to measly bards!”
Jon got up, stood on the bench, and played a few loud notes on his lute to catch everyone’s attention.
Seeing as people were eyeing him, he began playing the lute.
“Our hero, our hero, claims a warrior’s heart.
I tell you, I tell you, the Dragonborn comes.”
…
…
====================
A few hours and about a dozen drinks down Jon’s gullet, they left the tavern.
Jon was half leaning on Septimus’s shoulder, who was also carrying the lute.
“Hey Jon, don’t fall asleep, you’re heavy!”
“Heyyyy Septimuss, youurrr such a guud guyyy.” Jon could barely talk, slurring his words heavily.
“I know, I know, come on, I’m getting you home.”
“Nooo, buut, like, reallyyy noice guyyyy.
Even when I joke around withhh yee, you don’t get angryyy.”
*sigh* “Alright, alright, I have no reason to be angry with you; we’re both just messing around.”
Jon almost tripped, but Septimus stabilized him.
“Nooooh, but they usually get angryyy.”
“Who does?”
“The other ones, the companionz, they dunt like meeh, say I’m flamboyant or sumthing.”
Septimus looked over at Jon, surprised.
“Which one of them doesn’t like you?”
Jon hiccuped.
“Uhh, you’re not my first guard; before there was this baaaald old guy called Skjor or sumthing.”
‘Ahhh, did he get bullied by Skjor?
That guy hates everyone but the members of the inner circle, and even with them it’s touch-and-go.’
“I get it, Skjor doesn’t like me either.
I don’t think he likes anyone, really.”
Jon beamed.
“Right, thatz what I told ‘im; he said to mind meih bussiness!”
Chuckling, Septimus patted Jon on the back.
“Take it easy, we’re almost there, focus on walking.”
They barely took a few more steps before Jon pushed away from Septimus.
“Hey, what’s wrong with you all of a sudden…”
Jon was leaning against a lamppost, puking.
“Fuck, it’s like I’m back in college…” He kept patting Jon on the back.
“Come on, big guy, let it all out.”
It didn’t take long for Jon to finish.
“Sit here for a second; let’s take a breather, then continue.”
After resting for a moment, Jon looked much better; color had returned to his face.
“Hey Septimus, thanks again.
I overdid it tonight, got a bit excited.” He was no longer slurring his words.
“Don’t mention it; it’s my job to look after you.”
Jon let out a self-deprecating smile.
“If you say so.
Anyway, you said you’re penniless and needed gold, right?”
“I never said that, but it’s not untrue.”
“Yeah, yeah, I got a bit of a proposition for you.
Some friends of mine have a bit of a business going on, and they need some able hands.”
Septimus lifted his eyebrow, looking intrigued.
“What type of business?
Do remember that I’m part of the companions; I can’t do anything ‘dishonourable'”
Jon lifted his head to look at the night sky.
“Well, it’s not ‘dishonourable’ as you call it; you just have to watch over some merchants while they do their thing.
If anything happens, grab the cargo and run; no need to fight anyone.”
“The cargo, not the people?” Septimus looked Jon in the eyes.
“Aye, the cargo, don’t worry about the people, they can take care of themselves”
Septimus sighed once again and sat down next to Jon.
“Alright, I’m listening.
What’s the job about?”
“First, you have to swear you won’t spill it to anyone.”
“I swear, I won’t speak a word of what I hear tonight to anyone”
Looking convinced, Jon continued.
“These friends of mine acquire rare materials from people with a somewhat lacking reputation…”
“Don’t act clever with me, Jon; you’re talking smugglers?
Jon grinned slyly.
“That’s part of it, but only half.”
“So, smugglers buying from what?
Poachers, bandits?”
“The first ones.
I knew I liked you, Septimus; you’re too damn smart to be a companion!”
*Sigh* “Thanks, I guess.
So tell me the details.”
“Let’s talk while we walk back; I’m all better now.” They both stood up and made their way towards the Battle-Born residence.
“I’m not going to bore you with the details, but the gist of it is that we buy rare materials from poachers and sell them to the fat and rich of Whiterun for a premium.
It’s a good, easy job, but we need some muscles.”
“Any particular reason you need fighters now?”
Jon shrugged and strung his lire.
“We got too large, so others are eyeing the cargo.”
“I see.
Have they attacked you yet, or is it a just-in-case type of situation?”
“A just-in-case; they haven’t made a move yet, as far as I know, at least.”
Septimus pondered for a few minutes; Jon didn’t interrupt him.
“How many coins are we talking?”
“One hundred per trade, assuming everything goes well, more if there’s trouble.”
Septimus shook his head.
“Too little, not worth the risk, two hundred.”
Jon scoffed.
“No way, we could get like five people for that much, one twenty!”
“You could get five hoodlums, one fifty, and I’ll look extra intimidating for you.”
“Hmmmmm, alright, only because I know you hit hard.” Jon extended his hand for a handshake.
“We’ve got a deal, my friend!”
And so Septimus found a part-time job.