The not-immortal Blacksmith

The hills of Pondge.

21st of Kusha, the month of Harvest.

2290 Years since the New gods came.

Noon

Max nodded, and spoke, “NEXT!”

A small crackle of lightning fell from the clear sky, gently tapping an officer on the spot where Max had sprinkled water, then it jumped to another man and another, until they were all connected by arcs of electricity.

“Three! Two! ONE!” Max yelled over the buzzing coming from the electricity. “GO!”

The lightning arced and spat. The bodies twitched, and shook, the spines arching almost in half. The lightning bolt from the sky began to pulse like a heartbeat.

“Ka-Boom!!” the lightning bold exploded, throwing Maxwell, Brianna, and next to the farmhouse Grendel, to the ground.

Moments seemed to stretch into minutes as Max slowly climbed to his feet. As his hearing came back, he heard the sounds of coughing and wheezing coming from where the dead had lain. He wiped dirt from his eyes, and wept when he saw the constables and the priestess slowly climb their way to their feet.

-

The party had started many hours ago with a bonfire and food, and Grendel had had his fill. The food was good, the beer; which no one had chased him away from; was better, but he had had enough. And this was of course when he found the letter. Well, an envelope anyway.

He held the envelope up in the firelight to give it a good once over. In size it was a good four by six inches, was a rich ivory white in color, and when he had picked it up from the ground, all the dirt and mud fell from it, leaving it pristine so he could see the gold embossed filigree decorations winding themselves around the thing. Truly it was a thing of beauty and elegance.

It was addressed to: Grand-Master Smith, Maxwell Smithson; Heretic; Lord of Three Islands; Friend of Bjorn; Patron Saint of Demonia and The Dell; Founder of The Repute; Small God of the retired who just want “People to stay off MY lawn”; Etc. Etc.

Grendel blinked at the “Founder of The Repute” portion of the titles, then without a second thought, started to break the plain wax seal on the envelopes back. It was at this point that his brain caught up with him… This is an envelope. It was probably delivered by the International Service Post (ISP). The ISP was known to string thieves up by their intestines while they were still alive. The last group of bandits that had attacked an ISP transport coach had taken weeks to die, as they had been fed and watered while they hung from their innards… Good thing I’m not a thief or bandit. I am, at worst, his manservant.

He broke the seal on the envelope, removed the letter, and read it. Then he read it a second time. And a third. He looked across the bonfire, at a happy Maxwell and Brianna, a group of recently dead constables, a very drunk pixie, and a farm couple that had been caught up in something they still couldn’t quite believe. He looked back down at the letter. Finally shrugging, he surreptitiously wandered past the fire, and tossed the letter and envelope to it’s warm embrace.

Whistling a happy tune, he grabbed some more meat, and wandered back to the stream to pan for more of that lovely yellow gold.

-

Maxwell’s Journal

22nd of Kusha, the month of Harvest.

We will be staying for the next week or two in order to finish the job with the corpses. Resurrection magic should not be practiced on an empty stomach. I think I let Brandywine talk me into doing shots of something last night. I feel like ten pounds of poo stuffed into a five-pound sack.

Most of the village showed up at some point last night, and I can see some of them sleeping off what they drank just outside the window. I’m glad this is over with. I must admit to myself that the idiot goddess actually did the right thing this time. That’s almost a first. I just hope she stays away for the foreseeable future.

I also hope bones, caw, and caw stay away too.

-

The Celestial Realm

Brother Proof sat in his small cramped office, drinking another oversized mug of coffee. He had yet to receive a Certification of Delivery on his new polished stone tablet from the ISP, but was sure that it would show up eventually. Even if he had to wait a while. He had nothing but time on his hands after all. Thinking of time, he decided to wander off to a “small” town to visit a bear, and maybe have a picnic.

*-*

[Vast Listen here! Now some of you may have been wondering how things have been going with our wonderful Heroes. Well, so have I!

So now dear readers, we jump back in time a short while to check in on our Heroes. Heroes who are in the midst of an attack of dead men who really didn’t want people camping on their lawn.]

…The Heroes…

A Graveyard, formerly Fort Bradley.

The Western Continent.

Having retired for the evening after clearing up some graves, Molly, Hesh, and Sam sat around a small cooking fire, and ate. The meal of the evening was a soup of tubers, root vegetables, and rabbit. The sun was low in the cloudless sky, and a warm breeze blew from the west.

“What I don’t get, is how all of the soldiers here died.” Sam said around a bite of chewy meat. “The ones we have uncovered so far have no sign of wounds at all. Even the intact bits of clothing don’t have any cuts.”

Molly nodded. “It really doesn’t make a lot of since. Unless there was some sort of inst-death magic used across the whole fort.”

Hesh shrugged. “I’m more interested in finding out what sort of idiot took an ancient battleground and turned it into a cemetery.” They looked at their companions, “I doubt that the undead became a problem before that.”

Sam cocked an eyebrow, “You sure about that? I would think a mass extinction event would leave a lot of upset people behind.”

“I don’t know. Most soldiers seem to understand that they are going to die in battle and have accepted that.” Hesh replied. “Those that don’t accept it either die early or become some sort of hero.”

“Where did you learn that kernel of truth?” Sam asked, sarcasm dripping from his mouth.

“It’s my own personal theory, based on talking to my dad…and the rest of his unit after they got back from deployment.” Hesh wiped a tear from an eye. “Before…that happened.”

Molly smacked Sam in the back of the head, forcing his head into his unfinished soup. “Moron.” She hissed in his ear.

The rest of the meal came and went with no other conversation being had. As they stood to clean things up, a low rumble sounded from across the fort turned graveyard.

Sam looked up in the midst of washing his bowl and spoon, “Was that the sound of stone grating on stone? Or is it just me?”

Moments later, in the fading light, they could all see a wave of undead charging towards across the open land.