The not-immortal Blacksmith

Maxwell found himself standing at the back of a large wood paneled room looking across three generations of people surrounding an ancient bed. The first thing he noticed was the clothing, well made, solid colors, some brightly died, others dark. The second was the old man in the bed, a man who while much older, was familiar.

He watched as a man dressed in flowing clerical style clothing, but not his worlds clothes, bent over the bed and said words in a language he didn’t know, then fed the bed ridden man a small wafer followed by a small amount of what was probably wine from an ornate chalice.

The bed ridden man looked up at Maxwell, and spoke in a voice he immediately recognized, “Maxwell, old friend, I knew you would make it at the end. Good bye old friend.” There was a flash of golden light, and Maxwell sat up in his cot, shaking.

-

The morning of Arah 47th, 2290 years since the new gods came. In front of the ruins of a grand old demon castle.

-

Maxwell stared at the ruin. He closed his eyes, shook his head to clear it, and opened them again. “I’m sorry to have wasted your time last night, Brandy. I know this place. I know it all too well.”

Brandywine gave Max a hard look, “What do you mean? You haven’t been off to kill demon lords for centuries! Why would you know this piece of garbage?”

Maxwell closed his eyes once more before speaking. “The tall alabaster tower on the left sent a flight of arrows so large that even Marissa the Master of Dance and Swords couldn’t evade them all. Blinded by the assault, she fell to a swarm of Lichter demons.

“The front gate of blue obsidian was cracked by Gerant the brave and his great club; only to have his unannounced broken ankle give way under him. An oversized Gretch Hound leapt upon him before help could make it through the withering fire of magic.

“The pits that ring the castle were filled with acid the likes of which even the goddesses’ power couldn’t stop; they swallowed so many of the charging army. Only when they were filled by the bodies of the dead could they finally be crossed.

“Ten thousand men were lost in the first day of the battle.”

Maxwell let the tears in his eyes run. “We didn’t wait for the next day. Tristan and I did what we and the others should have done the first night, we snuck in over the wall under the cover of twilight. Orders were left to wait it out, to hold back and defend the lines. The generals didn’t listen. As we slipped farther and farther into the castle, we heard the charge being sounded. Yells of “Once more into the breach!” and “For the Heroes Lost!” The died. All of them died. From the cooks and ladies of the night, all the way up to General Hanaclus Rex…”

Maxwell shook as more tears came. “That was the first time I doubted the goddess. From that point on we were on our own. Our friends and companions dead. Eaten by the enemy. We fought our way to the throne room. Tristan dispatched the demon. And I almost died.”

Maxwell took several shuddering breaths to try and calm himself. “And I found the secret exit from the throne room. An exit that I hid when I left here for the last time, so many years ago.”

-

It didn’t take long for the party to sneak a mile through the woods to a small pile of worn and weathered rocks on the side of the mountain. It only took a word from Max to move the pile of apparently fake stones. Then they walked. And walked. And walked in deafening silence as Max slowly lead the way through twisting tunnels, and shining caverns, around pools of deep dark water, and bubbling pots of mud. Through clouds of brimstone. Along high narrow paths traversing above marvels of nature not meant to be seen by mortal eyes.

At last Maxwell spoke, “We will rest here for the night.”

Brianna, always at his side, asked the question on everyone’s mind, “Why did you call this a short cut?”

“Because the castle was built on an ancient dwarven fortress town. It took Tristan and I four days of constant travel to make our way to the throne room. This path only takes one.”

The party looked at each other in shock.

-

They crept through the hidden doorway and into the chamber behind the throne. The reek of rotten flesh and spoiled food assaulted their noses immediately. Nomvula was the first of the party to wretch, with Brianna and Chester to shortly follow behind. Magni covered his face with a scarf, and Brandywine just shrugged. For his part, Maxwell just wrinkled his nose and stepped towards the door to the throne room itself; when he stepped into a puddle of something disgusting, he cussed under his breath.

After listening at the door for a few minutes, Max waived the party over, and started to talk, “Alright, just follow the plan, and we should be fine. I hear someone sleeping in there, but no other noises. If luck is on our side, it’s the idiot demon; if not we kill it and move on with our search.

“Remember to mind the twin pillars of flame and lightning; keep close to them so they won’t strike you. The last time I was here I disabled the force bolt defenses above the throne, but we don’t know if they have been reactivated. The central pit trap was spiked, and the control handle removed; it hasn’t received any maintenance in centuries, so it may crumble under you if you step on it.” The party nodded.

“Brandy?” Max said.

“Got it boss.” Brandy replied, and slipped through a momentary crack Max made opening and closing the door partly.

They waited.

And waited.

And waited.

A slight knocking was finally heard from the door. Max pulled the revolver from his left hip, and slid the door open. Brandy hung in the air before him, then laughed.

“You moron!” Brandy announced in a very loud voice. “This place is so covered in dust that it isn’t funny! No one has been back here for centuries!”

Magni looked at the rotted meat and other food stuffs, “But what about that?” He pointed back at the garbage.

Brandy grinned and pointed to a scuffed line of runes at ceiling height, “See the preservation runes?”

Max slapped himself in the face. “The emergency snack larder. That’s what this place used to be. “Son of a motherless goat.”

They stepped out of the feted room, and stared at the once ornate throne room. There were remains of dwarven statues around the edge, that if not for being in pieces, would have been worth a fortune due to the craftmanship. Silver chains that once were attached to chandeliers hung from unseen hooks in the vaulted ceiling far above. Bas-relief carvings of the creation of the dwarves started at the doors and carried themselves around the room.

The last piece of interest was the gigantic stone throne. A throne that had been cut in half and was peppered with many small holes and pock marks. A throne that once held hundreds of generations of dwarves, before being corrupted by a demon.

Max shook his head, then spoke, “Okay. The demons said the chunk of flesh we are after was in the ‘Throne Room’. I guess the bastard couldn’t be bothered to even head to the real one, and stayed at the decoy in the castle.”

“And you thought the lazy oaf would actually travel four days to this place?” Chester asked.

“Hey! I’m not infallible, I’m not a god.” Max shot back. “How was I supposed to know where the idiot was?”

“You could have sent me into the castle proper, instead of just scouting the outside.” Brandy snarked.

After one last look at the throne room, and perhaps a couple of tears, Max lead the party back through the secret passage and into the cold outdoor air.