Chapter 4: The Not-Immortal Blacksmith Compiled Chapter 8 – Butcher and Interludes.

The Not-Immortal Blacksmith Compiled Chapter 8 – Butcher and Interludes.

An interesting point of note, from what I have seen of the world in the last 400 some odd years, is that even with all the Chosen Ones running around with ideas and technology far in excess of our own, we as a people haven't advanced in technology the way we should have. I wonder why?

*-*-*

I have made it to Einar's duchy. I am far to late. Einar is more than 50 years in the grave, and my goddaughter more than 20. Einar's grandson sits on the throne now. He is a nice lad of some 40 years, with a wife and a passel of kids. I introduced myself to him on market day, and he about wept.

*-*-*

I have spent the last 2 weeks in my old chambers in the castle. I have given the Duke and his wife all the information on Einar and his wife that I could remember. The duchy is doing well. I have gifted James with a sending stone (the magical version of Jon's "Phone") and told him to call if there was an emergency, or a death in the family, so that I could come as soon as possible. I leave tomorrow.

*-*-*

I am now on the road to my home town. It has been 200 hundred years since I was last there. I wonder if they got the smithing school up and running.

*-*-*

Oh boy, is the school up and running. I have disguised myself as a 14 year old boy (much as I would when being a spy) and have come in looking for a job. I met Matilda, the Forge Master. A stern woman, she looks like my wife did when she was angry. My heart aches at the memories.

I have been given a position as bellows pumper. It is a good beginning position as you can see the work being done, without getting in the way. It is also the first job at the forge that I had with my first master.

The school is huge. The family bought up all of the surrounding plots of land and turned the place into a temple of crafting. My one disappointment is that at the gate. Not only is there a statue of Bjorn, the Crafter (of which I heartily approve), but there is a statue of ME of all things! Heretics. The lot of them.

*-*-*

Six weeks of working the bellows and I can see where the teachers are making the occasional mistake. If it wasn't for my time with Bjorn, I would be making those mistakes as well. Work is stopping tomorrow, there is a guest speaker from the Temple of Bjorn coming to discuss metallurgy.

*-*-*

As an apprentice, I was supposed to sit on the floor in front of the speaker. I had to sneak out and pretend sickness. I knew this Dwarf. I punched him in a fight a century ago. I hid in the back and listened. Good information.

*-*-*

I've been found out. After getting into an argument with a drunken journeyman about layered steel blades, I had wondered around, angry, letting my feet find their own way. When I looked up, I was in my old forge. And had already started a project. It was already late and everyone was asleep, so I finished it. A fine, water steel short sword.

When I looked up, I saw them. All of them. Everyone from the school was standing there in silence. Staring at me. I kind of blushed and said hello.

*-*-*

I have taught at the family school for 6 months. I'm done. It's not that I don't like the work, it's that everyone walks on eggshells around me, treating me like I'm some kind of deity. I'm leaving at midnight.

*-*-*

They caught me sneaking out. I gave each of the little ones a hug and a kiss, said my goodbyes to the adults, and left.

My horse is waiting for me at the stables, and the old farmstead that I keep my wagon and treasures at is not that far away.

*-*-*

Back on the road! It feels good to be moving again. I have decided to head west, a coastal town sounds good. It's time to learn a new trade.

*-*-*

I stopped in a small town today after cracking an axle on the wagon. Stupid potholes. Looked in the window of an apothecary shop and saw, on the top shelf, a very familiar cut glass vial with an even more familiar yellow liquid inside. Shit. Going to have to but that in the morning.

*-*-*

Bought the evil little vial. Dumped it out on the side of the road about a mile out of the village. Shouldn't have any impact on the aspen tree.

*-*-*

The seaside town of Aviary is a picturesque place. The buildings are bright, the people have smiles, and the food is wonderful. I spent three months learning how to crew a fishing boat. Another three months learning to gut and preserve fish. Now I have gotten myself a job at one of the local butcher shops.

Now this isn't some big city specialty shop, no, this a a full service butcher. It comes in on four (sometimes six) legs, and walks out as a large number of cuts of meat. Until my time with the fish wives, gutting and cutting, I would never have known the amount of detail that goes into such things. Now I am learning the business, from the business end forward.

*-*-*

Butchering isn't a "hard" business, but it is a hard business. One wrong cut with the knife and you turn a gold piece cut of meat into a coppers worth. Not to mention that you might loose a finger. Pinkie Joe can tell you all about that. I've been here a year now, and have mastered most of the cuts, but I don't have all the finesse cuts down yet.

We had a hunter bring in a Hex Bear yesterday (a large breed of bear that has 6 legs). I've heard rumors of the things, but never seen one before. I was allowed to assist in the skinning, but only allowed to watch the butchering. I now understand why. The Hex Bear has poison glands in all six paws, but the meat around the glands is a specialty, and dangerous to extract. Pinkie Joe made a small miss cut and got some of the poison in his hand. He almost died from it.

*-*-*

I've been here for seven years now. I love this village. I love this business. I don't love that the new smith in town recognizes me from the family school. I've had a word with him, but I don't think he will be able to keep his mouth shut once he starts drinking. At least he can do his job properly.

*-*-*

The winds and rain of spring have come and gone. And with them, I am as well. I have said a fond farewell to my friends and coworkers, and carry a letter of recommendation from Wendell, the master butcher. I travel to the north to test my skills.

*-*-*

I have traveled through several small villages on my way north. None have been in need of a new butcher. I have stopped and "talked shop" with many butchers on my way. Some were pleasant, others were hostile, but a few drinks on me, and we were best of friends.

It bothers me that I haven't seen that goddess for a while. I wonder when she's going to show up again.

*-*-*

I have found a place! A small coastal fishing village, very near the demon lands. Adventurers have been coming through a lot lately, carrying any number of magical beasts. I can learn a lot, and can help out the locals.

*-*-*

Damascus, the local butcher, has been wonderfully helpful. I have taken over most of the local butchering for him while he sees to the adventurers. He calls me his "barely competent apprentice", and I call him my "uneducated teacher". We all laugh.

*-*-*

A decade has passed, and Damascus is suffering from an early onset of the pox. I worry that he will no longer be able to keep his shop.

*-*-*

The pox has indeed taken away Damascus' sight, but not his spirit. He works much more slowly now, but even cutting by feel, he is almost faster than I am. I have been keeping up on my disguise, no need for people to figure out who I am.

*-*-*

Damascus has decided to retire. For the last 5 years I have been mostly running his shop as well as my own. He and his wife have offered my the shop, and I accepted. They have purchased a place in town, and I expect to see them regularly.

*-*-*

Almost 20 years in town now. The beauty has never left, but today it is gray. The town all turned out for Damascus' funeral. His wife passed last fall, and he barely made it through the winter. He passed in his sleep, surrounded by friends and family. I gave the eulogy. Perhaps some day, I will have a friend who will speak at my funeral. Someday.

*-*-*

Forty years have passed in my little corner of heaven. But heaven it is no more. The demons are starting to rally on the border. I expect, at any time, the goddess will show up and ask for my help. Can't a guy just retire?

Speak of the devil, and here she is. With some wet behind the ear kid in tow. Great. How do I say no to that?

Easily.

*-*-*

I'm helping the townsfolk evacuate before the swarm of demons can come over the hills, and the idiot and her kid haven't left. I don't have time for this shit.

"Look, you idiot, fine. I'll take the kid, and train him to throw away his life like you want, just get these people safely out of here."

"GRANTED" her voice sparkled as it boomed across the town. and with that, the whole town, and the idiot herself, vanished.

Damn idiot took my shop.

"Okay, kiddo, lets get you started."

TTFN

The not-immortal Blacksmith - Interlude - The Kid

Excerpts from the journal of "Liam the Kid"

My name is William, Liam for short, William Johann Roosevelt for long. I was born in Chicago Illinois, USA. I died from complications of... I overdosed on an 8-ball in 1987, at a Christmas work party. There, are you happy? Maxwell is a dick, making me write this f-ing journal. I'm pretty sure the dude hates me.

I was reborn into this magical world thanks to The Goddess. She wants me to be a hero. I plan to oblige her.

She has delivered me to the great "Maxwell the Immortal Heretic". At one time he apparently helped a great hero save the world. Now he is supposed to help me do the same. Unfortunately, he and the Goddess don't see eye to eye on things, so she had to find a way to make him help. That meant waiting for bad things to happen before introducing me to him.

My newborn body is now 11 years old. I was born into a large farming family, so much different to my original one. Plenty of love to go around, I learned all of the farm chores, "learned" to read and speak at an early age, and even tested positive for magic. It's like that demonic D&D shit the news is always talking about back home.

Anyway, short story short, growing up was fine, the Goddess came and took me away to become a hero. My family was happy for me.

Now I'm here with this 25 year old fuck who thinks he's better than me.

*-*-*

Okay. Fine. The asshole is better than me. I challenged him to a fight. I studied Karate at the dojo in the old world. I should have been able to take him.

I was on the ground EVERY FUCKING TIME!!!

*-*-*

If I had gone into the Marines like my dad had wanted instead of college, I would have been trained nicer than this. My body hurts. My mind hurts. Dude just made a house out of an oak tree! And he was pissed that it didn't turnout right! Cussed out some elvish god. When the God actually showed up he cussed him out to his face!

The God called down his holy lightning and burned Maxwell to ash. I figured the rest of my training was done, and it was hero time for me. I'm better prepared after 6 weeks than a Seal is after a year.

Nope. Maxwell stood up from the pile of dust, said something along the lines of "That hurt, asshole!" and punched the God. Not even a punch to the face, no, he punched him in the nuts. Strait up nut shot! The Elvin god crumpled like a house of cards, mumbled something and dissipated. Color me impressed.

*-*-*

Wow, six months. Bandits. I don't like bandits. Max "arranged" for us to be ambushed on the road today. He wanted me to put my training to use, so he stayed in the wagon. I was able to kill three of the seven, before they started to overwhelm me. Then the bandits just burned, in seconds they were reduced to ash. Their screams will haunt me for months.

*-*-*

It has been almost a year of learning under Master Maxwell. I have mastered what he calls the "Basics of Fighting", and said that I will need to find my own style from here on out. Now we have started on the basics of "Magic". Apparently I'm supposed to have some sort of affinity to one kind or another. He's doing what we used to call the "Spaghetti" method, you know throwing everything at the wall and seeing what sticks. Most things are sticking.

*-*-*

I am thirteen today. It has been a wild ride with Master Maxwell, Goddess bless his name.

He doesn't like to talk about his past, or why he hates the goddess so much. Or the rest of the Gods. He has brought me to the army's recruiting center, as he figures it is the best place for me to get involved in the war effort. I have a very important looking letter for the recruiter to read, by way of introduction. I asked Max why he didn't come with me, his reply was interesting, and very him, "Kid, I've been there, done that, and got the shirt with the T. Besides this is your turn to shine. Go make me proud." Then he turned and left.

*-*-*

The recruiter opened the letter and immediately freaked out. His commander came over to see what the commotion was, and he freaked out. Eventually some Captain from intelligence was called in. He didn't freak out, although his face did turn very pale. I guess I'm in the army now.

The not-immortal Blacksmith - Interlude - Military Intelligence

Correspondence between various heads of the military and military intelligence, Redacted.

Colonel,

We have been delivered a Chosen One. But this one is a bit...tricky. He carries a letter of praise, recommendation, and threat. From HIM. How should we proceed?

Captain A

*-*-*

Captain A,

Thank you for the information. Yes, the letter is real. I recognize that signet. All of my rank do. It is required after what he has done for this country. His word is to be taken at face value. No if's, and's, or but's about it. He will do it. We heard rumors that he was traveling around again. I wish he would just settle down in one place. Preferably far far away from us.

Do NOT throw this new boys life away on some stupid suicide mission. Not if you value your life, or mine, or your families. Remember, Demonia is all his fault. We still don't know what all happened there, but his name is on ALL their dispatches and on their money.

Colonel XXXXXX

*-*-*

Colonel,

Thank you sir. I will head your warning. The boy has been placed in charge of a squad of recruits. He is training them up very well. If it weren't for the war, I would commission him right now and put him in charge of training. Our regulars can't even keep up.

Captain A

*-*-*

Colonel,

Some well meaning fool let it slip that a Chosen One was here, training men for combat. That in itself isn't a problem. In fact that is a boon to recruiting. No. The IDIOT let slip that the chosen one in question was trained by HIM.

We have had to close the recruiting stations and offices. We have more volunteers than we can deal with. We have full blooded DEMON volunteering. Not to mention Mixed Bloods, and the Beast Men.

Please advise.

Captain A

*-*-*

Captain A,

Assign them all to the newly promoted Master Sgt. Liam (please find the paperwork enclosed). Tell him he has eight (8) weeks to train his troops, before he will report to the front line.

As for the loose lipped one, if you find him, quietly string him up.

Colonel XXXXXX

*-*-*

In a pub, somewhere, Maxwell sneezed.

The not-immortal Blacksmith - Interlude - The Kid II

Excerpts from the journal of "Liam the Kid" Part II

I'm in the Army now. I skipped the rank of "Recruit" and went strait to "Private". It has been several days and I've been given 11 recruits to train while I await my posting!

*-*-*

Either these kids are utter crap, or The Goddess gave me more power than I thought she did. It has been a week, and the poor guys are almost dead. I guess I'll have to slow training down a bit.

*-*-*

A corporal challenged me to a match today. Said I wasn't good enough to train recruits. Now I remembered the lessons of Sir Maxwell, and asked him to clarify the challenge, I don't want to become some lord or something. He said, and I quote, "A little kid like you got no right to be teaching soldering to people. Fight me for the job." So I punched him in the nuts, just like I was taught. He went down. Then I pulled my short sword (A beautiful patterned steel blade that the master gifted me for my birthday), pointed the tip to his throat, and asked, "Do you yield?" He yielded.

*-*-*

It's been two weeks, still no assignment. A platoon from the regular army are now in with my training squad. They can barely keep up with my squad. What are they teaching these people? Master would be displeased.

I got a new recruit today. She is a "kittenish", a Cat Folk from Demonia.

*-*-*

Three weeks in, and no assignment yet. The regular army platoon has been recalled to the front. To bad, I was starting to like them. I keep forgetting that I'm only thirteen here, so I can't actually drink anything but ale yet. The platoon will be replaced tomorrow.

*-*-*

Week four draws to an end. Training has been going well. My recruits are coming along nicely. I have decided to only fully train them in short sword, shield and spear. I think the full breadth of weapons training that I had would overwhelm them. The platoon of regulars is being replaced again. I assume it will be a recurring thing.

I have heard rumors of the local recruiting stations being over run with volunteers. I wonder what that's all about.

*-*-*

Week five has ended, and due to good hard work and accomplishments, I have given my men the weekend off to enjoy the town. They have been advised to go in pairs, tip well, and be nice. I also gave them each some pocket coin to help them in getting their fun.

Tomorrow morning, I have a meeting to discuss my future, as I am becoming dissatisfied with all the waiting. I know Master Maxwell will be displeased with me, but I am chafing to put my skills and my men to the test.

*-*-*

Well fuck me sideways. I have been given bad news after bad news. I have been promoted to Master Sargent. I have also been given 100 recruits of various species and expertise to train up and build into a single cohesive unit. Time to think about all of those leadership seminars I either slept through or was high as a kite during.

*-*-*

My men have returned. Only a few cuts and bruises for their trouble. I was never called to account, so I assume it was nothing to worry about. I have informed them that shit rolls down hill, and gave them each a pat on the back and their new stripes. Corporals. All of them.

*-*-*

The first week of training has gone well. As I lack all of the skills of my Master, I have been forced to create the obstacle course the old fashioned way: Manual Labor. But it is complete.

I divided up all of the recruits into eight person squads after a few days of learning about them. About a third of the recruits are from Demonia and therefore Mixed Blood of one sort or another, another 12 are Beast Men, the rest are humans. The four that were left, I kept for myself, as they already have some reasonable measure of magical skills, and one of them is a pure blood Demon.

We will be doing the obstacle course in the morning as a full unit, and then running it as squads in the afternoon.

*-*-*

The obstacle course has been a huge success! All those ninja movies from the '70's didn't steer me wrong. The regular troops and even some elite units have been using it as well. "We" still hold the record for best time.

I will say that keeping discipline within the ranks hasn't been fun. The racial insults are still flying fast and furious. I may have to use a cudgel on a few of the men if they keep it up.

*-*-*

Week three of Boot has come to a close. I had to hang recruit Osterman yesterday. He showed some promise, but he was to fond of trinkets that weren't his, and of other peoples private parts. He won't be missed.

*-*-*

We are at the halfway point in training. I have had to slow down a lot with the number of people involved. Supply crew and "others" have been showing up all along. I have been forcing them to "participate or leave". The military ones protested, until I called the base commander over and presented my point of, "If they're near the battlefield, they may end up on it, if we are attacked in camp." Command agreed, well actually, he shook his head and said something like, "It's your unit. If they don't like it, they can petition to leave".

I am not exactly popular with the support staff, but the "others" like me well enough.

*-*-*

It is halfway through week five of training. I am now in need of magical supplies so that we can continue on our training regiment. The support staff have now fully signed on to my training. Apparently being able to K.O. an enlisted when he steals from the food tent went over pretty well.

I have some feelers out looking, but it may all be already gone for the war effort. Probably could have used Osterman for this, but, he really needed gone.

*-*-*

Score one for the Mixed Bloods! We will be able to do the aptitude assessments after all. I don't want to know where the supplies came from and I didn't ask, I just hope no one got killed.

*-*-*

Everyone passed their martial exam yesterday. The command staff was very surprised. I did overhear one Captain remark that I should just be left in charge of training the recruits, he was quietly dressed down by a First Lieutenant from Intelligence. Strange things are afoot, I think.

Tomorrow Magical testing begins. As does archery training.

*-*-*

Basic testing has taken most of three days, has been grueling, and successful. 87 of our 99 recruits have some magical ability, not strong mind you, but some. Everyone will be attending the lectures on the basic fundamentals of magic, even the support staff...I should probably test them as well...

The troops with the best magic stats will be getting specialized training in magic, while the rest will be learning the techniques I was taught on how to best "inconvenience" an enemy spellcaster.

*-*-*

The Mages Guild is not happy that I am teaching magic to the "Uninitiated". I have been formally charged with breaking guild law. This will be so much fun.

*-*-*

Command has had a chat with the guild, but they will not stand down. I will have to face their charges. Or find a way around them.

*-*-*

I have an idea. I don't like how much time it will take, but it might work. All I have to do is pass their stupid test, and get my teaching credentials. It's a stupid plan. I expect it to fail.

*-*-*

You are reading story The not-immortal Blacksmith at novel35.com

Plan failed. I even took the day off to try it. Apparently I am not the only chosen one to have tried that rout. Assholes. Next plan is to challenge them for the right to teach. I will need a second. I bet Grexireg the Demon would love to do it.

*-*-*

Grexireg had to decline for religious reasons. Fiona, the Kittenish recruit who joined us late, volunteered to be my second. The challenge has been delivered.

*-*-*

Challenge accepted.

*-*-*

The challenge was grueling. Hard. Painful. Nothing compared to what Master Maxwell put me through. Fiona was allowed to assist in some of the challenges, as she qualified as a "proper familiar". That title almost got the guild's dean of students killed, as I was only barely able to hold her back.

It was nice to have my troops on hand lending me their moral, and on some embarrassing occasions immoral, support.

As things stand, I am now "Honorary Professor, Magical Studies" of the Guild of Magic. Suck it, assholes. I can teach my classes in peace.

*-*-*

Dearest Goddess,

It has been twelve weeks since I enlisted. Our training is complete. Tomorrow we depart for the northern front, where we will confront the enemy head on. We will be the tip of the spear, and the rest of the army will be our haft. If you see Master Maxwell, please tell him that I WILL make him proud.

The not-immortal Blacksmith - Interlude - Trouble

"Hank, what do we have?"

"I count 112 military, twice and half again that number in camp followers."

The two teens looked through the undergrowth and down the hill at the surprisingly organized columns of troops and followers marching down the road.

"I don't get it. These guys are definitely new recruits. Everything is too clean. And yet they move like leveled fighters. Hell, even the followers move like they trained." Hank said.

"I don't know what to tell you. All I know is that the General wanted a report on this specific unit."

"I remember the briefing, Winslow." Hank said, still staring down at the troops.

"Please, for the love of whatever you call holy, please don't call me that." Winslow said.

"Then pick a name already. It was the first slot in the creation hub. How did you miss it?" Hank shot back, but without to much venom in his voice.

"I was overwhelmed with everything else. It was easy." Winslow cocked his head to one side, "How about Bob?"

"I'm not renaming myself to Neal, it would hit to close to home, but sure. Bob it is." Hank replied.

There was a soft "ping" in the air, then a pleasant female voice said, "Player 'Bob' has finished character creation. You may now spend your 147 character points."

"Thank god!" Bob said. His eyes lost focus for a few minutes. Meanwhile down below the unit marched on.

*-*-*

"Okay Bob, What do we do now? We have tracked them for three days. They have made absolutely NONE of the rookie mistakes of traveling through the farm fields, even when going through town lost them hours of time. They haven't even gotten drunk at the taverns, and they get up every morning at 0530 and do EXERCISE!" Hank had venom in his voice.

"I don't get it either. Maybe the commander used to be a real world Marine? But then everyone would be running around saying 'Hurahh' at everything. Army special forces? Definitely not squiddies or flyboys." Bob replied.

"Well, what does there leader's character sheet look like?" Hank asked.

"Give me a moment." Bob responded, sounding distant. A few moments passed, then, "Okay. Lets get a look..." He made a picture frame from his thumbs and index fingers. "His name is William "Liam" Johann Roosevelt, Hero level 14. All of his stats run from B to S, all of his weapon skills are level B, except Short Sword and Spear which are level A, almost level S. He has C's in all of the magic schools... Shit, all of his equipment is SSS rank. What the hell?"

"Hmm, I only know of a couple people who could have made that kind of gear, and they died off a couple of centuries ago. They might be relics from that smithing school, but how did he get them to hand them over?" Hank said.

"I don't know, but we had better report this to the General." Bob said, "If you would do the honors?"

"Sure." Replied Hank. He made a circular gesture with his left hand, chanted a couple of words, and a portal appeared. "What about the troops?"

"Strangely enough, they were all B rank." Bob replied, before stepping through the portal.

"That is strange." Hank said, following Bob through the portal.

*-*-*

General Grapestien of the Demon Hoard was not an unkind demon. He wasn't a kind demon either. The chosen ones had returned with a huge amount of data on the new troop movements, and on the unit led by the supposed Successor to the Heretic. Thus far the report was fairly mundane. It was interesting to hear about what the Successor had accomplished, especially since his agent there had gone AWOL in a most magnificent fashion. The image of Grexireg calling him a "Slut banging Kitten Lover", before giving him a rude hand and tail gesture was truly a work of art. To bad I will have to kill that traitor.

"What, my lord?" Hank asked.

"Nothing, nothing. Keep going." Grapestein replied.

"That concludes our report, Sir." Hank said, handing over a thick sheaf of papers to the nearby clerk.

"Very well. You may go and make yourselves at home. Don't make to much noise, the Succubi have been complaining that you aren't interested in them."

Bob and Hank bowed before departing the throne room.

"What do you think, Marax, should I keep them around, or send them to the front to die?" Grapestein asked the clerk.

"I would never presume to know your mind lord, but I would send one of them to the front to die, and have the other one held in reserve. It will be fun to watch, and may make the remaining one become one of us." Marax the clerk responded.

"Excellent Idea. Make it so. And go get us each a baby seal from live storage. I feel like breaking my diet today. A cheat day, as it were."

"Very good, my lord."

The not-immortal Blacksmith - Interlude - A Trees Life

It yawned and stretched, reaching it's long limbs into the chilly fall air, and drank deeply from it. Now what had woken it from it's slumber? It looked down from it's lofty height, down past its thick girth, and saw the reason. Ah, men of the city were back to cut it down. Again. Did their road needed widening again? Whatever the reason, they were back with their axes and saws. When would they learn?

It decided to manifest behind them.

"Excuse me?" A soft voice came from behind the foreman. "But why are you trying to cut down the tree?"

He turned around to see a small girl, perhaps eight years of age, wearing a summer dress looking up at him. "Well, lass, we need firewood for the winter, and according to the tales, the tree has always freely given it before."

"Oh, I thought you were going to widen the road again." The little girl replied, a gap toothed smile showing on her face. "Don't the Tales also tell of their being a huge snowfall and a prayer before cutting the tree?"

"Well," the man shook his head, "The oldest of them do, but no one remembers the words of the prayer any more. And the tales do seem to contradict each other about the weather as well. Also there are tales about the tree volunteering it's wood for houses after great storms that destroyed homes."

"All of these Tales do seem to have one thing in common, you know. A calamity of huge and dangerous proportions." The little girl said.

"That is right smart of you to point out. I didn't think of that. What do you, little girl, think I should do?" The foreman asked, perhaps getting a little annoyed at the smart child in front of him.

"Well, in your place, as important as it is, I would place my hands on the trunk and ask for the wood, telling the tree why you need it. Perhaps explaining your reasons for believing that the winter will be extremely bad this year, after the summer and fall were so nice." The girl said.

"Hmm. Perhaps you are wise beyond your years. But perhaps the tree isn't as powerful as the tales say it is. It is just a tree after all." Said the foreman.

"You would risk That Tale coming true again?" The girl shuddered, "You are braver than I would have thought."

"The tale of the tree eating a work crew? Bah. Never happened. They were scared off by wolves or monsters." The foreman replied. "Now off with you little girl, and get some warmer clothes on." The foreman turned away, missing the little girl shaking her head and vanishing in the morning light.

I guess I'll have to remind them of the lessons of the past, it thought. Then it slowly stooped, and swung its limbs, catching up workers and turning them into fertilizer for itself and its nearby, but as yet unawakened, children.

The not-immortal Blacksmith - Interlude - The Kid III

Marching through the rain and sleet these last two weeks hasn't been fun. The mud gets everywhere, you are always cold and wet, everything starts to chafe. In order to keep most of it off the troops, during PT every morning I've had the squad mages cast warming spells on their unsuspecting comrades and holding them for as long as they can. This has been helping the troops, and has helped the mages increase their mana control.

Having to write this from memory isn't fun, as I'm sure that I will forget things. We passed through several towns and villages. Once the civilians realized we weren't going to tromp through the fields they treated us well, but still, some were better than others.

There were no bandits on the road for us to remove. Game was fairly plentiful. The civilians were more than willing to trade since we weren't threatening to just take things. They may not have gotten what things were worth, but they made a profit.

Early on, one of our wagon horses went lame; nothing incurable by stall rest, but completely useless to us; so we traded a farmer for a pair of old oxen that we were planning to butcher once we had replacement horses at the front. I will note the "were planning". Three days in, after the replacement, the oxen were out preforming the horses in endurance (no surprise to anyone from a farm) but also in SPEED! I have questions that I am sure will never be answered. We won't be butchering the oxen.

Once or twice this week I have felt like I was being watched. I am however, unsure by what or perhaps whom.

Our current camp is about a day, in good weather, from the rear lines. It will take two days to reach at our current speed of travel due to the inclement conditions. The roads are also getting worse. Signs of past struggles are everywhere.

*-*-*

One more day to the rear lines. Thank the goddess. I'm very glad Master Maxwell gave me pointers in traveling with an army. Mostly sleet today. Tonight is clear and windy. I expect things to freeze tonight.

*-*-*

Sneak attack! A segment of the demon army snuck past the lines to harass the countryside and came upon us an hour or two past midnight. Thankfully the way we set our camp, with the followers inside the pickets, kept support casualties to a minimum. Still we lost a third of 4th squad, and half of 2nd squad. Support casualties were 6, mostly due to drinking to much to be able to dodge. I may have to ration out the booze to two drafts a day. It will hurt, but it will keep this from happening again.

As predicted, the morning is cold. To cold for normal at this point in the fall season. Something is afoot. We will be leaving Second, Fourth and Eighth squads to escort the support unit, while the rest of us will make double time to reach the rear of the lines.

*-*-*

I was right to be worried. It is disgusting, what happened here. We have killed two score of undead, and mopped up a dozen or so minor demons. Headquarters is destroyed. General Graham is missing. What remains of the headquarters unit is scattered and suffering from shock. I will not describe the carnage of the hospital tent. I wish to forget that scene. We set it ablaze, a funeral pyre for the gods to see.

Master warned me that war was bad. I should have paid him more heed.

*-*-*

Support has arrived. They made good time considering the weather is ten points below freezing. We should only be having our third killing frost right now. The wind is barely starting to let up. We have taken over the remains of the headquarters buildings, and are making repairs. In the morning I will be sending out First and Tenth squads to do close recon patrols.

*-*-*

I have finally had a warm night. Early this morning, following their stomachs, several soldiers have wandered into camp. They are suffering from "the chilling disease" (what I call hypothermia) and severe frostbite.

First and Tenth are out on recon duty as well as "Search and Rescue". Everyone else is scavenging for firewood and coal/charcoal. I have concerns.

*-*-*

First and Tenth have returned with half dead soldiers and support. I am intentionally NOT asking if anyone deserted. Master told me stories of Knights turning tail, while squires held their ground with broken spears. War is terrible, and I will not judge.

*-*-*

It has been two days of close in scouting. Our numbers have spiked to almost 400. We will run out of supplies in two weeks if we do not get relief. We have retrieved some random supplies from old abandoned camps. The extreme cold has continued. It is "Our Tauntauns will freeze before we reach the first marker" cold. Fire magic is making things livable.

Tomorrow I will send out half our combat worthy units to search out the enemy.

In news of the odd, a "very fluffy" mountain goat has taken up residence with the animals in the corral.

*-*-*

The troops have been sent out.

A pair of lady adventurers have come into camp, and have offered their help. I am grateful.

More news on the goat: one of the cooks was injured trying to catch the goat for tonight's dinner. The cook is resting quietly with a broken leg and a few bruises. The goat in unharmed.

*-*-*

News has just reached me via courier, turns out we are the front line. We need a better means of communications. I would sell my left kidney for a pair of radios or a telephone.

The scouts have returned. The enemy camp is about 3 miles northeast of us. The ground is frozen and full of sharp fields of ice. I will spend most of the remainder of today trying to come up with a plan of attack.

I have sent the courier back with a status report and a request for supplies.

*-*-*

What is wrong with that fucking Goat?!? This morning it was found herding a pair of cows and a small flock of chickens into the corral. I can't believe I'm doing this, but I have issued orders that the Goat is not to be molested.

I have called a meeting of the corporals, and other command staff that hasn't headed to the rear for treatment. I am surprised that the couple of nobles and lieutenants that have stayed haven't tried to take command from me. As far as they know, I'm only 13 after all.

The Goat is on the roof of the command center. What the hell?

*-*-*

The meeting is over. Everyone knows their place in the battle order. No one objected to the plan, not even the adventurers who snuck in. Tomorrow we are the spear, and the tip.

The not-immortal Blacksmith - Interlude - Birds Eye View

Authors Note: Gentle readers (or not so gentle, i.e. my brother), at this time I must switch the point of view from journal entries to a first person view. I apologize in advance.

*-*-*

The dove soared in the crisp, dry air, as the sun crested the horizon, and the wind was barely a breeze. In it's opinion, the humans down below were being humans, crawling on the earth, moving in three distinct groups towards a central location.

The location itself was a low rocky plateau. A plateau containing old wood and stone building and a strange obelisk glowing with a cold blue and white light. It was also occupied by frost demons and their undead slaves.

The dove didn't care about that, only caring about finding food. Food that was currently in short supply due to the cold and ice. It landed on a lone and leafless tree, and watched the humans approach the demon camp. It cocked it's head sideways and quietly cooed when it saw a fluffy goat following the humans. Maybe the goat had food in it's fur?

Flying down to the goat, it didn't see any food in the fur, but the droppings behind it were full of undigested seeds! It laid into the feast, eating all it could before returning to the tree to observe the humans.

The center group of humans, being lead by a somewhat shiny human (good thing friend raven wasn't here to caw about that) was charging up the shallow slope, making extra noise, and calling out to the ice fiends. The other two groups were slowly making their way up the sides, as quietly as possible. I wonder if human is good to eat? The dove asked itself, friend raven likes it.

Predictably, the demons sent their undead out to stall the humans, while they formed up to start their ranged attack. The undead started dropping; arms and legs being easily shattered by the humans in the extreme cold. As the humans advance up the slope slowed, the demons began throwing balls of frost. Most of the frost balls impacted shields, and shattered harmlessly. Others would catch the occasional protruding weapon arm or undefended leg, causing shrieks of pain, and sometimes a fall. The ones who fell were targeted by more frost balls and killed.

When the initial charge slowed to a halt, the demons charged in. Being half again the height of a man, they towered over the soldiers. They tore through the front lines, talon tipped fingers slicing through armor and flesh, knocking soldiers down, and trampling the fallen.

The dove noted that only one of the humans, the one with the somewhat shiny armor, remained unmoved in the melee. He (all humans are 'he' to birds) laid about him with quick strokes and stabs, catching strikes on his shield and countering with thrusts. Once he was surrounded though, it seemed like it was over for him.

There was a blast of fire. Not towards the demons, but towards the sky! Some kind of signal, the dove decided, as just after the blast, the humans that had been climbing the steeper sides poured out. Half of them charged the demons from behind, the others let loose a withering barrage of arrows and spells. Caught in the pincers of the maneuver, the demons cohesiveness crumbled, and the fight turned once again to the humans favor.

A roar billowed forth from the demon camp, the thus far victorious humans stopped, some with heads swiveling back and forth, trying to find the source of the noise, and others dropping to their knees, screaming and holding their heads. Out of the largest building in the camp strode a demon, twice the size of a man, ice blue and snow white of complexion, with ornately decorated horns and painted nails. Nails that were currently sunk into the flesh of someones partially eaten leg. An Ice Demon. "WHO DEFILES MY MEAL TIME?"

Shiny pulled his sword from a dead frost demon and yelled, "I do. You stupid, face bagging, Gwar concert reject! You best step off, pansy boy, before yo mama gets called."

The demon cocked it's head to the side, then bellowed out a roar and charged. A long spear of ice forming in one hand as the leg dropped from the other. Halfway to the human it threw it's spear too fast for the dove's eyes to follow.

Raising his shield almost in time, what would have been a fatal blow skitters off the edge of the shield and impales the human through the right shoulder. The human drops to the cold hard ground and lays still.

The towering demon stopped at the feet of the man, grinning, "You thought you could best me?" An arrow bounced off of it's back. "Your feeble troops can do nothing!"

As it grins in victory, a shadow falls over it from the right. "You have wounded my lord, and friend. I will not let that stand." A cold voice states.

The Ice Demon, slowly turned, and looked up. "L-Lord Grexireg, W-what are you doing here?"

"Killing you." The exceedingly tall and and strong looking demon, apparently named 'Grexireg' said, before backhanding the ice demon. A backhand that sent it flying backward several dozen feet.

A voice from the ground spoke, "I can get it from here, Grex. Just break this icicle thing off for me, okay?"

"Yes, my lord."

Shiny man stood up, shook out his arms, then spoke, "Okay, demon scum. That was the best hit I've taken since my master nut punched me during training. Let me return the favor." He dropped his shield and charged.

The dove's eyes caught a strange after image of a man moving. Then a flash of light. The dove dropped out of it's tree as a demons head passed through the place it had been just a moment before. That's enough of that, it thought, and flew away.

The not-immortal Blacksmith - Interlude - Trouble II

Hank and Bob stared as the battle unfolded. After the demise of the Ice Demon, they looked at each other for a few moments before Bob broke the silence.

"Well, that happened."

"Yup." Hank said. "You sure your stat appraisal was accurate?"

"Yes." Bob shook his head. "I just don't get it. You think his gear gave him that much of an extra boost? I couldn't get a good read at that distance."

"More than likely." Hank shrugged. "What do we do now?"

"We keep watching." Bob answered. Head swiveling back to the plateau.

As they watched, a group of mages and the leader of the army began breaking down the obelisk in the center of the demons camp. As it started to crumble the air started to warm, and the ice fields began to melt.

"There goes our early Christmas." Said Bob.

"Yup." Hank replied. "Uh, that reminds me, are we heading to your folks this year, or mine?"

"I think we had Easter at yours this year. So...Mine?" Bob responded.

"Okay. Please remind your sister to stop hitting on me? You and I got married to stop that kind of shit." Said Hank.

"I told you not to let her be your maid of honor, but Noooo." Said Bob.

"Look you, how was I supposed to know she would get a bit stalkerish on me afterwords?" Hank said.

"Because I told you that would happen?" Bob shot back, smiling.

A boom echoed across the plain.

"Whatever." Hank shook his head, returning the smile. "Oh, looks like they have completed the destruction of the obelisk."

"Alright, now we wait for them to clear out, and then go investigate the scene." Bob said.

*-*-*

An hour and a bit later, Bob and Hank walked to the top of the plateau. A short look around confirmed what they already knew, the place was a wreck, and anything of use was gone. Anything that was of no use, and the demons dead had been piled on top of one of the wooden buildings and put to the torch.

"They are nothing, if not efficient. This is the best game we've ever played!" Bob said.

"Yes. Yes it is. But, you know, I'm starting to have questions about this place. Every time we log out, it seems to take longer and longer to wake up." Said Hank.

"Yeah, I noticed that too." Bob said. "Remind me when we get back to start a support ticket on that. Also, demon king boy always gets angry if we don't show up on time. It's beginning to annoy me."

"Such is the way with these new immersive games." Hank looked around. "Alright. Nothing left to see here. Let's get back, the cold is going to give my avatar the sniffles."

The two men walked down the slope to level ground. One waved his hand, summoning a portal, and they stepped through.

*-*-*

The demon general's grand hall was hot, several fireplaces around the edge doing the job nicely. New tapestries adorned the walls, likely stolen from small holdings and towns along the border. Two servants were busy applying body art and decorations to the General.

"Gentlemen." General Grapestien said, raising an ornately decorated clawed hand, "What do you have to report?"

Hank and Bob looked at each other and shrugged. "It was as you predicted, General. The Ice Demon was soundly beaten, and beheaded. Your former Lieutenant has indeed pledged loyalty to the Hero. The Hero's army took lighter than expected casualties, about one in ten of his committed troops. A decimation if you will. All useful items were taken as well as most of the lumber. Anything left behind was put to the torch." Hank reported.

"An interesting thing, General, they piled all of the demon corpses that didn't dissolve onto a makeshift pyre and gave them a funeral. Might you enlighten us as to why they would do that?" Bob asked.

"Oh. Those bastards." General Grapestien said. "If the hero gave them last rights, then he has sent the demons back into the karmic circle. I will need to report this act of blasphemy to my lord when I see him tonight at the ball."

"General? Sir?" Bob asked.

"A blessed purification is the only way to truly get rid of a demon. Burning the corpses with normal fire gets rid of the bodies, and prevents any taint from the bodies sinking into the soil." General Grapestien lectured. "But with the invocation of Purity, the bodies are truly destroyed and the shred of spirit from which it was made is cast into the circle of reincarnation, where the spirit fragment may grow into an actual soul. It is the most heinous of desecration for one of us."

Bob and Hank both nodded, the light of understanding in their eyes.

"Thank you for the enlightenment, Lord General." Bob said, sincerity in his voice. "Will you require anything else from us today, or may we retire and log out?"

"I believe that is all." General Grapestien waived his hand in dismissal, "Off you go."

Bob and Hank bowed deeply, and departed from the hall.

One of the servants looked at the General, "Are you sure we cannot eat them, my lord?"

"Not yet, but soon though, my precious ones, soon."

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

A/N If not already obvious, I am NOT a professional author. I write for fun, and it blows my mind that people have paid me for some of this.

As of this post, total original chapters covered is...25. There is another almost 100 to compile, or once the word/page count is up to around 1500-2000, release as single chapters.

I enjoy writing short chapters that entertain in easily swallowed bite sized pieces. Meh.

You can find story with these keywords: The not-immortal Blacksmith, Read The not-immortal Blacksmith, The not-immortal Blacksmith novel, The not-immortal Blacksmith book, The not-immortal Blacksmith story, The not-immortal Blacksmith full, The not-immortal Blacksmith Latest Chapter