Chapitre 35: Wyrmspire #35
As Erik stepped out of the Bannered Mare, Geri trotting loyally by his side, he took in the sight of Isran waiting against the inn's outer wall. Arms crossed, Isran's expression hovered between amusement and impatience, brows raised in a look that bordered on mockery. Morning light poured over Whiterun, casting a warm glow that accentuated the deep lines of worry etched into Isran's face.
"Funny," Isran drawled, an eyebrow arching as Erik approached. "Here I was thinking we were on a mission of some urgency. Yet there you are, spending the night like you haven't a care in the world. Enjoy yourself, did you?"
Erik couldn't resist a chuckle, a glint of mischief in his eye. "What do you think?" he shot back, smirking.
Isran shook his head, feigning disappointment. "That tells me all I need to know."
Erik shrugged dismissively. "Not like I had pressing plans. Anyway, I'm heading to the Skyforge. Unless you're in a hurry to find trouble, you're welcome to tag along." Without waiting for a response, he turned and strode toward the Wind District, Geri bounding ahead, tail wagging eagerly.
Isran fell into step beside him, still faintly bemused. "A new weapon? Now of all times? A silver blade would do fine for vampire-hunting, Erik. This crafting detour of yours seems like a waste."
Erik sighed, the weight of their task settling in his chest. "This isn't about common vampires in some forgotten cave. We're up against an ancient clan, Isran—one that has survived and thrived for ages. The elder scroll had lain dormant in Dimhollow for thousends of years... a few days won't make a difference in their long game."
Isran shot him a skeptical look. "I still don't see the wisdom in delaying."
"You will," Erik replied with a confident grin. "Stick around, and I might even craft something that'll surprise you."
...
They continued toward the Skyforge, the streets of Whiterun bustling with morning activity. The distant clang of a blacksmith's hammer echoed like a steady heartbeat, amplifying Erik's own anticipation. Every step felt like he was moving closer not just to crafting a weapon, but to uncovering something hidden within ancient metal and memories.
When Erik, Isran, and Geri reached the Skyforge, it stood proud, blazing with the fires of craftsmanship. Silhouetted against the forge's glow were Eorlund and Vilkas, waiting, their expressions expectant.
"Erik," Eorlund greeted with a nod. "I see you've brought company."
"Just here to observe," Isran replied, nodding in return, while Geri wagged his tail, angling for a scratch behind the ears.
Erik offered a quick handshake before pulling two items from his satchel—the dragon priest staff of Rahgot and a dark, ancient Ayleid crown. He held them up, letting the ancient craftsmanship catch the fire's light.
Eorlund took the crown, inspecting it with narrowed eyes. "A rare piece—meteoric iron, no less." He then examined the staff. "And ebony... yet it feels almost... different."
"Dragon priest's staff," Erik explained with pride. "It's soaked in magicka from Rahgot himself. It's not just ebony anymore; it's something far more precious."
Vilkas's eyes widened. "Aela told me you were involved in that Forelhost incident… Seems she was right."
Erik only shrugged, a cryptic smile crossing his face. Eorlund cleared his throat, steering the conversation back. "What matters here are the materials—excellent choices. But using the Skyforge isn't for everyone. You'll have to prove your right to work here."
Erik's grin widened. "What's the test?"
"Simple," Eorlund said, gesturing to the anvil. "Forge a steel dagger. The quality will tell me all I need to know."
Erik nodded, his confidence unwavering, and approached the forge. The intense heat embraced him, as familiar as an old friend. With practiced hands, he gathered the materials, his focus unwavering as he shaped steel into purpose. Each strike of his hammer resonated with determination, the rhythm almost meditative. Nearby, Geri lay down, eyes fixed on Erik, while Isran and Vilkas exchanged glances, intrigued by Erik's mastery and his choice of materials.
As he finished, Erik cooled the dagger in water, examining the blade. The glint in his eye told of satisfaction as he wrapped the handle in leather, smoothing it with care. Turning, he held the finished piece aloft.
Vilkas nodded in approval, and Isran's gaze held newfound respect. Eorlund, though, simply shook his head, as though struck by something he hadn't expected. "I didn't think you'd pull this off... but that's craftsmanship. You have my blessing to use the Skyforge whenever you please."
Erik chuckled, his tone light. "Thank you. Now that's settled, I'll need the forge for a while. Got something special in mind."
Eorlund smiled in understanding. "By all means. Though if you don't mind, I'd like to watch—I think there's much I can learn here."
"Suit yourself," Erik said with a shrug, already focused on the task at hand.
Isran leaned back against the rock wall as Vilkas spoke up. "I'd have liked to watch, but I'm due to hunt a giant near Rorikstead."
Erik handed the dagger to Vilkas. "Take this, then. Use it well."
Vilkas nodded his thanks, a new respect gleaming in his eyes. With a final nod, he took his leave, leaving Erik to his work.
...
The Skyforge's fire roared as Erik prepared the dragon priest's staff, the ebony metal thrumming in his grip. He gave a nod to Eorlund, who watched intently, while Isran stood nearby, his arms crossed, surveying the scene in silence. Geri lay sprawled on the floor, bored, idly rolling a helmet across the stones.
"Let's begin," Erik murmured, raising the staff and feeling the remnants of Rahgot's magicka pulse beneath his hands. He eased it into the flames, feeding the fire with charcoal and kindling.
Eorlund stepped closer, curious. "You're certain about melting it down? That staff holds ancient power."
Erik's eyes were resolute. "That power will be part of the new weapon."
As the flames enveloped the staff, the ebony metal began to glow, softening in the intense heat.
"Balance is key," Eorlund advised, stepping back as the metal transformed.
"Balance is exactly what I'm after," Erik replied with a steady voice. "No weapon like this exists in Tamriel. It'll be both strong and swift."
With the staff softened, Erik poured the molten metal into a mold, forming a slender handle. He shaped a dragon's head at the end, preserving its aesthetic but concealing a blade within. This unique design would allow him to strike from both near and far—an advantage few could anticipate.
Watching intently, Eorlund gave an approving nod. "A concealed blade within a staff—a fascinating choice. And the crown?"
"I'll melt it down and use the metal for the blade," Erik answered, a grin flashing across his face. "Ayleid metal is perfect for conducting magicka."
Hours later, as the night descended over Whiterun, Erik stood back to admire his work. The staff's slender neck and concealed blade gleamed, imbued with the magicka and memory of Rahgot's soul. With a new weapon forged and anticipation high, Erik felt ready to face any threat the ancient vampires of Dimhollow Crypt could summon.
It wasn't merely a weapon. It was a masterpiece, the legacy of knowledge, magic, and ambition—an instrument forged in the fires of destiny.
...
Once satisfied with the staff's neck and head, Erik turned to the Ayleid crown. He carefully placed it into the forge, its ancient, intricate designs twisting and warping under the intense heat. As the metal began to melt, a rich, metallic sheen emerged, the meteoric iron within coming alive with swirls of potential.
Eorlund watched, brow furrowed in concentration. "What kind of blade are you after?"
"A blade that can slice through both flesh and spirit," Erik replied, eyes fixed on the forge. "This isn't just a weapon; it's a conduit for my magic."
With steady hands, Erik dipped a ladle into the molten metal, allowing the melted Ayleid crown to pool into it. Pouring it into a blade mold with precision, he ensured that the steel would set perfectly to form a sharp, lethal edge. Taking a sip from a stamina potion, he felt the revitalizing warmth spread through his muscles, sharpening his focus.
Nearby, Geri, having tired of his earlier antics, rolled a helmet closer and sat watching with curious eyes. "What if it doesn't come out right?" he seemed to ask, tilting his head.
Erik chuckled, glancing down at the molten metal. "Then I'll have an expensive piece of scrap. But I'm not planning for failure."
"Confidence is good," Isran finally spoke, his voice low and serious. "But magic isn't always predictable."
"I've accounted for that," Erik replied, wiping sweat from his brow. He brought the glowing red metal from the forge, ready to shape it.
As Erik began hammering the softened Ayleid metal into form, each strike rang out with a steady clang, filling the air with a rhythm that he quickly fell into. The blade took shape under his skilled hands, and the sound of metal on metal became a comforting cadence.
Eorlund watched, his expression impressed. "You're giving it everything," he noted, admiring the precision of each strike. "Once you're done, it'll be more than just sharp—it'll be able to channel the staff's magic."
"Exactly," Erik replied, a grunt of effort accompanying each blow. "Combining Ayleid metal with a dragon priest staff... it'll create a unique channel for my magic."
Isran leaned in, curiosity piqued. "How do you plan to make the blade fit seamlessly into the staff?"
Erik wiped his brow, nodding thoughtfully. "I'm building a locking mechanism that'll allow the blade to slide in and out. To most, it'll just look like an ordinary staff—but with a quick movement, it'll transform into a sword."
As he continued hammering, he took another swig from his stamina potion, a fresh wave of energy invigorating him. Geri watched, entranced, as Erik's focus deepened.
At last, Erik held up the nearly finished blade, its sharp edges gleaming under the forge's light. "This will be my masterpiece."
With the blade completed, he returned his focus to the staff's neck, carefully fitting the blade in to ensure it would slide in smoothly and lock securely. He'd elongated the grip of the staff, adjusting it to allow for comfortable handling as a sword.
Eorlund stepped forward, inspecting the work with an appreciative eye. "You've done more than good work. This is art."
"Thank you, but it's not finished yet," Erik replied, securing the pieces with meticulous care. He tested the balance, ensuring each part aligned flawlessly.
At this, Geri trotted over, sniffing the blade with a keen interest, his nose twitching as if detecting some arcane presence. He tilted his head as if to say, "This smells like magic…"
"Magic and hard work," Erik chuckled, wiping his hands on his apron. "Once I'm done, I'll enchant it to amplify its abilities."
Isran, who had watched in silence, gave a nod. "Keep your focus steady. You'll need it to channel energy when you enchant it."
"I will," Erik promised, piecing together the final parts. The staff felt solid in his grip, an almost tangible hum of latent power beneath its surface.
With one last adjustment, he stepped back, admiring his creation. The staff and blade merged seamlessly, awaiting only enchantment to become something truly exceptional.
"I'd say that's a job well done," Eorlund remarked approvingly.
Erik nodded, a sense of satisfaction settling over him. "Its name will be… The Wyrmspire Swordstaff."
...
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