Chapter 3: The Not-Immortal Blacksmith – some Interludes and chapters 6 and 7

 

A/N Chapters are still short for the next few too, so I will be combining them. Just up to 12 pages or so at a time this time. Once I get to the longer chapters, page count will reduce until I'm caught up to my current release schedule (1 chapter a week, about 5 pages long).

The not-immortal Blacksmith - Interlude - Demons

Select dispatches between The Demon Lord Gexra, of the new lands, to High Commander Eserfin of the 4th army.

High Commander Eserfin,

We have had a sighting of Maxwell the Heretic. He attempted to sell his malicious wares to members of scout unit 7. The Sgt. in charge almost gave the go-ahead, but then looked into the Heretic's eyes, and knew him for what he is. He has now been god touched four (4) times! I have had orders sent to avoid interaction while keeping an eye on him.

Demon Lord Gexra, of the new lands

*-*-*

Demon Lord Gexra, of the new lands,

Wise choice on your orders. Give the Sgt. an additional kitten ration as my thanks for his quick thinking. Hell only knows what would have happened if any of our troops acquired His weapons.

High Commander Eserfin, 4th Army

*-*-*

High Commander Eserfin, 4th Army,

He has struck. He ran down a larger patrol and interrogated the Lieutenant in charge before killing her. I have called back the physical scouts and have assigned a sorcerer to keep watch over him. He is heading towards the town of Bumush. I hope that he will return to the human lands after he has finished his business there.

Demon Lord Gexra

*-*-*

Demon Lord Gexra,

Keep watching The Heretic. Orders from on high are to observe, but not detain. I am becoming concerned. The high one has taken an interest.

High Commander Eserfin, 4th Army

*-*-*

High Commander Eserfin, 4th Army,

He has arrived at Gilip, where we are laying siege. Before I could order any such action, our troops parted for him. This raises my concerns greatly. I pulled our troops back from the gate, and the townsfolk allowed him entrance. I await your orders before pressing the attack.

Lord Gexra

*-*-*

Lord Gexra,

He did what? By all the hells, the cheek of that man. Although it was probably for the best. Your orders are to wait him out. Cease all attacks until he has left the area, we have no idea as to his powers. God touched humans are bad, touched by four of them? I doubt even the High Lord knows.

High Commander Eserfin, 4th Army

*-*-*

High Commander Eserfin, 4th Army

He came out with the Knight Protector earlier today, under the white flag, not to surrender, but to parley. We eventually came to an accord, which I fully intended to break after the Heretic departed, But, he said words that made me feel, for the first time in my existence, Fear.

He said "Would be a shame if I had to come back here."

I now know how our great uncle felt before he fell. What our your orders?

Gexra

*-*-*

Gexra,

Get it together! Orders from on high say that we MUST abide by the accord until the Heretic dies. Your orders are simple, keep an eye on the Heretic. Obey the Accord. Do NOT attract the attention of The Heretic.

Perhaps, in the future, we could recruit him to our cause? Good luck, and hell speed.

High Commander Eserfin, 4th Army

 

The Not-Immortal Blacksmith Chapter 6 - Tourist

It has been 40 years of blissful travel. I have seen the sea ports, the castles, the cathedrals and temples. The architecture is truly amazing. One highlight was a well preserved Fairy Ring! Beautiful place, very serene. It has been inactive for almost a thousand years. There is some thought that at the millennial mark it will open again. I may come for that festival, although it will be another hundred some years.

*-*-*

I stopped in at the newly finished temple to the Dwarven god of Crafting in the capital. Beautiful place, absolutely marvelous choice of stone and patterns. Why didn't that ass Bjorn tell me he was a god?!?!? Jackass.

I will be leaving once my hangover is over. Next destination is the Elvin wood "the Principality of Heartglenia".

*-*-*

The Elvin wood is a beautiful nature preserve. I quite like it here. I will soon be at the first Elvin city, Mapmoor.

*-*-*

Mapmoor is a normal (by Human standards) port town. Not much of the Elvin aesthetic to see. I will spend some time here to learn the language.

*-*-*

Only two years to learn the language. I will never sound like a native speaker, I apparently lack some of the "vocal structure" of an Elf.

*-*-*

Criminals are stupid. Off to Nimroli in the morning.

*-*-*

Nimroli is a beautiful arboreal town. The blending of the architecture into the trees is masterfully done. I wonder where I could learn to do that?

*-*-*

As an outsider, it looks like I will have to head to the capital to learn the ins and outs of the Elvin tree house. Good thing it's on my way.

*-*-*

After more than a month of travel and sightseeing, I have arrived at Littlestar, the Elvin capital.

*-*-*

I have made inquiries and application to become an arborist. While I wait for the bureaucracy to churn, I have gotten a job at another textiles firm. I look forward to learning about Elvin cloth and clothing styles.

*-*-*

It has been 28 years. My rise through the ranks as a tailor has been much slower here than back home. I believe it is mostly due to me being a human as opposed to lack of skill. I have been informed that my application for Arborist is now under review. We will see how long this takes.

*-*-*

20 more years have passed. The Elves have now accepted me as one of their own and I am making progress through the ranks. Apparently my lack of aging has not gone unnoticed. Much to my surprise, it has actually helped.

*-*-*

I have been accepted for an Arborist apprenticeship! They had expected me to age out. After I didn't, they accepted me into the program. It will take around 50 years.

*-*-*

I am now a journeyman Arborist. I have learned much. The Elvin god Greymore came to visit me yesterday. He said, and I quote, "You will be my disciple, and spread my homes and ways to the world!" I told him to piss off.

*-*-*

I have been branded a Heathen and a Heretic. Again. Apparently telling Greymore to piss off wasn't my wisest of choices. I have a week to vacate the country. Too bad, it was a nice place to live. I think I will go look in on the Fairy ring festival on my way home.

Maybe I'll become a butcher?

TTFN

 

The not-immortal Blacksmith - Interlude - Dwarves

Most High, Noble, God touched Archbishop,

A human male, known as Maxwell, visited our new temple today, here in Flagondburn. He looked young, perhaps 25 or 30 years of age? You know how hard it is to judge human ages.

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But to continue, after viewing all (and I do mean all) the architecture, and even investigating the minuscule etching of the stones, often commenting on how well a particular piece of carving was done (he would have made an excellent Dwarf), he finally came into the sanctuary. There he also did his inspection. He proclaimed praise in all the proper places, and even pointed out a couple of places that even I had missed that were exquisitely done. Then...

THEN he commented on the statue of our great God Bjorn! Claiming that it looked like a "Fellow he had known some 200 or so years ago"! It was then that I knew him for who he was, The Great Heretic! We chased him from the temple, threatening him with divine retribution should he ever return.

But that wasn't the end of it. No. Later in the evening, The Heretic SNUCK BACK IN! Abbot Gornson found him yelling at the statue of our God! The Abbot immediately called the guards to him, to rid us of the Heretic once and for all. I am saddened to say that a grand brawl ensued. Throughout the entire thing The Heretic was cussing at the statue! When we finally had him pinned, ready for execution, a voice, The Voice, boomed through the sanctuary! And he said, unto the Heretic, "Did you need to know? Would it have mattered?" To which the Heretic answered, "Good point." So shocked were we at this revelation, we had let go of the Heretic. He then walked out, slapping me on the back and saying, "Nice place you got here. Keep up the good work, Bjorn would approve."

Most High, Noble, God touched Archbishop, what shall we do? The congregants are starting to argue as to whether or not Maxwell The Heretic is actually a Prophet, or Apostle, or Holy Champion of Bjorn, not even a question as to if he's a heretic!

Please advise me,

Bishop Bjornson, Flagondburn

*-*-*

No response was received.

 

The Not-Immortal Blacksmith Chapter 7 - The Fey

Fairies Suck.

*-*-*

I was two weeks early for the Fairy festival. People from all over the kingdoms were already present, including some demon spawn from the conquered territories (now called "The Free Peoples Republic of Demonia", I apparently missed something while on vacation). I made my way to the venerable "Iron Rat Inn", and secured a room.

After a few days, I realized that I had misunderstood the festival, It was not to welcome the Fey, It was to kill them when they appeared! I unpacked my wagon near the festival grounds, and started hawking my wares. Business was good.

As the opening drew nearer, I counted no less than a dozen individual, or teams, of chosen ones, and hundreds of adventurers. Strange things are certainly afoot. Some came by to purchase my wares or offer me greetings, while others just stood in the background with mixed looks of shock, awe, or terror on their faces.

The circle itself, I should note, is only about forty feet wide, while the square it is in the center of, is about 100 yards wide and deep. A beautiful place of statues and trees. They apparently rotate the statues in and out of the field, as there are hundreds of them on the sides, some are even decorated.

*-*-*

One day not long after opening up shop, a young chosen one walked up to the counter and asked, "Are the rumors true?"

"What rumors?"

"That you are the 'Immortal Blacksmith, Heretic to many, savior to some, and friend of Bjorn?" He asked.

"Well, I don't know about the rest of that shite, but I do count Bjorn as a friend."

"Okay, good. I am wondering- - -"

"I'm not going to join you on some fool of a gods quest. If that is all, I have better things to do."

"NO! No that's not it at all!" The kid said, dropping a palm sized rectangle of metal and glass on my counter. "I need someone to make a power source for this."

Intrigued, I picked up the strange device. It had two small "buttons" on the left side, one on the right side, and a small round button near the bottom on the front. I have never seen anything like it.

"What is this device? It's not magic, I can tell that. And yet I can feel it's need for spark."

"Back home we call it a 'cell phone', and use it to talk to people all across the world." The young lad said.

"Ah, so a technological version of the new message stones."

"Similar, but I could also send pictures and text, not just the spoken word." He said. "I'm Jon, by the way."

"I'm Max. You have brought me an interesting puzzle. Come on over to this side of the counter and tell me exactly what you need"

*-*-*

The ins and outs of cellphones are truly astounding. Once I got a "charging station" made so that it could eat all the spark it needed, Jon told me of his journey. How he was, in his words "kidnapped" from his home of Rio, while walking down the street, to being told he was special by a god wearing a silver mask; I broke in at this point and told him that that was "Belaroze, god of something or other"; and told to "Make your way in this world, and become someone to be proud of." Then dumping him off on the eastern side of Deeplefallsia. To say Jon was not pleased is an understatement.

We parted ways a few days later.

*-*-*

Three days until the circle opens. I won't be on the front lines, but I will be observing from the back.

*-*-*

The circle opened at noon. A blaze of multicolored light shone from the circle, then an ominous yellow portal hung in the air. As the fey came pouring out, I was surprised at the variety. Snakes with multi-hued wings, pixies of every color imaginable, Elves (Not your standard elf, no, these were huge, and beautiful, and frightening), ancient Dwarves from your nightmares, just to name a few. They surged through, fast as lightning, crashing into the front lines! Some of the Fey fled into the air, only to get picked off by the rear guard of archers; others fled by magical means, disappearing in a cloud of dust or smoke. Then the Archfey came.

The Archfey stood about 8' tall, all willowy and sleek. They cast spells without incantations, waived their hands and clusters of fighters turned to stone or trees. They were beautiful. They were terrible. A flock pixies choose that point to dive upon those of us in the rear. I managed to get my old shield up in time to keep them off of me, but my neighbors weren't so lucky. They were ripped to shreds in mere moments.

I had had enough. I waved my left hand and sent a gout of flame into the pixie swarm, killing some, and burning the wings off of most of the rest. With my right hand I grabbed my boom stick from the small of my back. I checked to make sure that all was in order with it, then stepped forward.

I aimed at the closest Archfey, took a breath, and slowly exhaled while squeezing the trigger. Just like Tristan had taught me. The gun went 'Boom'. The Archfey's head went went 'splat', and fell apart, the Silver and Iron round doing it's job.

Then the rest of the Archfey looked at me. Truth be told, their stares were frightening. I could feel them trying to claw at my mind. But, as I have faced down gods so many times, it wasn't that bad. I kid. It was worse. As my sight started to swim, I heard music. Loud music. Heavy music. Music filled with words I could barely understand. English and not English words. The beat was fast, the lutes electrifying, the drums...just wow. The words. The words buoyed my spirit, and put Iron in my spine.

My eyes cleared, and I looked for the source.

Jon.

Jon had his "phone" plugged into some sort of device, and the device was making the music come forth! As I watched, gun in hand, and mouth agape, the chosen ones became emboldened. They screamed and charged the Fey. Some forgot the weapons in their hands and bit at the enemy. Some chopped, and others punched.

I regained myself and started forward. I emptied my boom stick, killing three more and wounding another two. Tristan would be so proud. After holstering the boom stick, I called my third best sword to my hand and laid into the fey. I did not get the decisive blow, but I would like to think I made my mark.

Battle over, it took less than an hour, and I was exhausted. The music was done. And those of us left alive just stared at the slaughter. Some slumped where they stood, others fell to the blood loss from unknown wounds. I, as well as most, just sat down were we were. There were the occasional giggles from the ones who had been broken during combat, thankfully they were few and far between.

When I took an accounting of myself, I realized the reason for the strange looks I was getting. I had no less than 17 arrows in me that had yet to fall out. My armor, such as it was, was barely holding together. And my poor shield was done for. That, and the lack of obvious scars on my body.

*-*-*

Cleanup took a week. Burying the dead took even longer. Dividing the spoils took longer than that. Petty fights and feuds would occasionally break out, but at last the deeds were done. No one begrudged me my kills.

If I am still alive in a thousand years, I will be back. This time with a plan.

Fuck the Fey.

TTFN

The not-immortal Blacksmith - Interlude - Demons 2

Selections from the personal journal of Demon Lord Gexra, of the new lands.

It has been three years since that cursed heretic has left my lands. My soldiers are restless and becoming complacent. A few have deserted (well transferred) to other armies. My replacement troops can hardly be called stellar.

*-*-*

Four years since the Heretics deal was struck. Several of my soldiers have decided to retire! They are moving into human towns! Hardly any of them are eating the live rations now. Most have started cooking them. It ruins the flavor.

*-*-*

Nine years ago the Heretic's curse was cast upon us. But still we thrive! I was happy to find out today that we demons can still have viable offspring with almost any creature. I'm glad my troops are willing to experiment.

*-*-*

Nineteen years have passed since the Heretic effectively neutered my army. I have been forced to turn my camp into a fortified town with a keep. My once loyal troops have mostly gone their own way. The half human children of the early deserters are starting to show up at my keep with the intent to serve in the army. Most of them don't even like stewed kitten.

*-*-*

Twenty years of the curse. A mixed unit of "fresh blood" and "old blood" troops made contact with a large force of bandits today. The remote viewing device my...Nephew...made, gave us a splendid view of the battle. Half human or not, the Fresh Blood troops definitely have what it takes. Perhaps I will give up my immortality to properly breed with a human, as opposed to just using one to propagate my species.

*-*-*

It has been 35 years since the Heretics blessing was laid upon us. I am smitten by a wonderful, yet cruel human lass. She has suggested that we spit in the eye of High Commander Eserfin and declare independence. A most evil, wicked and cruel plan she has lain out before me. She may be the one. In five years time, we shall be free.

*-*-*

Forty two years. I cannot believe it has been so long. The war was only three years long, but we were victorious. Our half breed children swelled the ranks of the army and we took our lands in our own name. We are now "The Free Peoples Republic of Demonia".

What truly amazed me was the team of chosen ones who came to assist us in our battles. At first we were distrustful of their assistance, but they proved themselves time and time again.

*-*-*

Constitutional Monarchy. What a world. With the founding of the Order of the Kitten, I believe we are complete in our military duties. Tomorrow I give up immortality, and embrace my human bride.

*-*-*

Ninety years have come and gone in the blink of an eye. My wife of fifty years lies on the funeral pyre. I am heart struck in my grief. I will turn over the reigns to my next of kin, she should be able to grow what Eliza and I started.

*-*-*

From the private diary of Queen Eliza II

My father passed away into the arms of the demon king last night, not even a week after my mother. I am saddened by this, but I will fulfill my duties, otherwise the Heretic will come back...

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