‘Finally made it.
I haven’t been alone for half a day yet and still almost died; it’s time to take training more seriously’
Walking up to the wide open gates of Falkreath, Septimus walked right in; the guards on the side, wearing the iconic Skyrim guard helmet, just gave him a side eye but didn’t stop him from entering the city.
Tired and hungry, Septimus first went to the tavern.
Entering the building, he was greeted by the woman working behind the counter.
“Welcome to Dead Man’s Drink.
What can we get for you?” The woman looked imperial, with tanned skin and brown hair.
Septimus sat down on a chair at the bar.
“Get me a drink and something warm to eat, thanks”
“Coming right up!” The woman ducked under the bar and pulled out a bottle he recognized from the game; it was Nord Mead, a classic.
“For food, we got fresh stag stew, that alright with you?”
Septimus grabbed the bottle and took a swig; the mead tasted strongly of alcohol with a sweet aftertaste.
Luckily for him, it was also ice cold.
“That’ll be great, thank you”
The woman quickly returned with the food.
“That’ll be 15 septims.”
“Here you go.” He handed her the coins.
“Interesting name for a tavern.”
“Ha, every outsider says the same thing.
It’s a bit of an inside joke, here in Falkreath we have the largest cemetery in Skyrim, people say there are more dead than alive in this city, that’s where the name comes from!”
Septimus smiled at her and took a bite of the stew.
He remembered the bit about the cemetery; at the back of the town was an old priest of Arkay living there with a shrine dedicated to the god of the dead nearby.
“That’s a good one, my name’s Septimus.
I recently arrived in Skyrim.
Is there any piece of news I should know of?” In the game, tavern owners and innkeepers were the rumour mongers; they always knew when something happened in Skyrim.
“Welcome to Falkreath, Septimus.
My name is Valaga Vinicia, the owner here.” She pulls up a chair and sits next to him.
“As for news, there have been sightings of bandits at a fort up in the mountains; the jarl set up a bounty on their leader.”
Septimus lifted a brow in surprise.
‘Damn, did I just get a quest?’
“Nice to meet you, Valaga.” He took a sip of mead.
“I see, bandits, huh.
Cyrodiil was also crawling with them; I see Skyrim is the same.”
Valaga shook her head.
“The same?
Not at all; the bandits here are hardened warriors.
They kill and ravage for sport, much worse than whatever Cyrodiil may have to offer”
“Peachy, thanks for the heads up, I’m heading to Riverwood, any advice?”
“Hmm, well, don’t go by yourself is the best one I can give you, and if you camp out at night be very careful where you do it, the woods are crawling with animals this time of the year!”
Septimus finished his drink and stew, thanked Valaga, and headed out to prepare for the journey to Whiterun. Follow the newest chapters on g.com.
First, he visited the blacksmith where he bought a small iron dagger and a hatchet to use for splitting wood, both for 100 septims; that left him with a little over 200.
Next, he visited the apothecary where he bought two health and one stamina potion; they went for 120, but he managed to haggle down to 100 by telling the alchemist there about where they left the body of the dead troll.
Septimus didn’t know why she wanted to know, but a discount is a discount.
The next stop was the general store, where Septimus bought a fur hat and fur gloves and a belt where he could hang his new dagger and hatchet both for only 30 septims.
And lastly, he went to the city graveyard.
In the game, the dragonborn could pray at the shrine and receive a blessing and cure his ailments; the shrine here belonged to Arkay, and in the game, it increased maximum health.
Making his way to the graveyard, the first thing Septimus noticed was a change in the air; it was the first time he ever felt anything like it.
The air felt charged somehow.
Entering, he was greeted by hundreds, maybe thousands, of headstones, some so old one couldn’t make out what was even written on them.
A wooden hut stood to the side; the place was probably where the priest of Arkay lived.
Septimus knocked on the door; a voice answered from inside.
“Wait but a moment, I will be right with you!” The voice was male; it sounded old and tired.
The door opened, and this was the first time Septimus had ever seen a high elf or altmer; the man, or in this case mer, was tall, with golden skin, obscenely high cheekbones, and pure white hair.
He was wearing an orange robe typical of priests.
“Greetings, young friend.
My name is Runil.
I am a priest of Arkay.
How may I aid you today?”
Septimus lightly bowed his head as a sign of respect.
“Greetings to you, Runil.
I have been told there is a shrine of Arkay here.
I have recently come to face my own mortality and have come to pray to Lord Arkay”
Runil’s face lit up.
“Yes, yes, of course, come in, friend; you are most welcome!” Septimus followed him inside his home; it was simple but well taken care of.
A shrine stood on one side.
The shrine was an 8-sided star with a large blood red bead in the middle.
“Runil, if you don’t mind, could you tell me how to pray properly?
This is the first time I have prayed to Arkay.”
“Of course, it could not be simpler.
Just go before the shrine, kneel and pray to Lord Arkay in your heart; he will hear your pleas and bless your future.
Go on then, don’t let me keep you!”
With the enthusiastic encouragement from Runil, Septimus set down his items next to the wall and knelt before the shrine, closed his eyes, and prayed.
‘Arkay, one of the divines, today I took a life, and in the future I will probably do so again.
I cannot offer much, but I ask for your blessing’
After he finished praying, Septimus did not move; he felt nothing different.
‘Hmm, it’s not working.’
Just then, he felt a cold breath hit his ear; his blood went cold, goosebumps covered his whole body, and all the hair on his body stood up.
It felt as if a gigantic creature snuck up next to him and scoffed right in his ear.
Septimus launched himself upwards, breathing heavily; the sudden movement startled Runil.
“Is anything wrong, young friend?
Septimus was barely able to speak from the fright.
“Did you not hear it, the sound!?
It came from right over there!” He wildly motioned to the wall.
Runil frowned for a moment before realization struck him.
“Ahh, I see what happened, you are very lucky young friend.
You must have felt the breath of Arkay; do not worry, it is a blessing!”
‘Blessing my ass, almost gave me a heart attack!’
Finally calm, Septimus noticed that his back didn’t hurt anymore.
Ever since the wolf knocked him on his back, he felt a dull ache, but now it was as good as gone.
‘It worked, hallelujah!
Wait, is that blasphemy now?’
“Thank you, Runil.
I can feel the blessing of lord Arkay.
I don’t think I’ve introduced myself; my name is Septimus.”
Runil beamed.
“As you should, young Septimus, as you should!
Now tell me, is there anything more I can do for you?”
Septimus stopped to think for a moment.
“Well, priest, do you happen to have an amulet of Arkay for sale?
This experience opened my eyes; I wish to carry one with me!” The experience did indeed open Septimus’s eyes, but not to faith, but to the advantages of enchantments, and an amulet of Arkay would help with survivability.
“Hmm, an amulet you say, yes I do happen to carry a few with me, it will be just 20 septims for you young friend”.
Septimus paid and quickly wore the amulet it was made of beads with the same shape as the shrine hanging from it.
He didn’t feel much difference, but he believed it must have had some effect.
“Anything more I can do for you, young Septimus?”
“That will be all, Runil, just one last question if you don’t mind: what is an altmer like you doing all the way tending to a graveyard in Falkreath?”
The question wiped Runil’s smile off his face.
“Ahh, that, well, it is no secret; I came into Arkays’ light after the great war.
So many died by my hands, by my magics, I decided to spend the rest of my life repenting here.”
Septimus showed a sad expression.
“I see, Runil.
I am very sorry to hear that, but I am glad to know you decided to repent and serve lord Akay,
Runil just nodded, a small smile on his face.
“One last thing, Runil,” Septimus said in a hopeful tone.
“I have always admired magic but never had the chance to learn any.
A friend of mine told me the first step is to learn to sense magicka; could you maybe lend me a hand?”
Runil seemed pensive for a moment, then nodded.
“I would not normally do so, but for a fellow follower of Arkay it is but a small thing.
Now, let me place my hand on you, feel the pulse.”
As he placed his right hand on Septimus’s shoulder, Runil let out a wave of magicka and cast a spell with his left hand.
At that very moment, Septimus felt it, a sensation so foreign to him he had no words to describe it; his body froze, eyes glazing over, all his life it was as if he had been blind and deaf and at that very moment he regained both his senses and witnessed the most glorious firework show known to man.
Then he fainted.