The not-immortal Blacksmith

[Vast Listen, head curator of the “Heretic Collection” here! Today, while our “Heroes” and Maxwell are doing their thing, and currently it’s just boring travel, I thought we would take a look at the goings-on of the rest of the world.]

Smithson’s Family Forge

El Gato, god king of all he surveyed, sat on his favorite spot and watched the newest kittens play under the old Pando tree that had grown in the courtyard. He had “watered” the tree yesterday, and it now had a new branch growing that he could hardly wait to lounge on in a few weeks when it had grown strong enough. He smiled slightly, then yawned and repositioned himself for his midmorning nap.

The spirit of the tree climbed up next to him and lay back, giving him scritches behind the ears, “This really is the best place to catch the sun when I’m not home.”

“Of course it is.” El Gato replied, “It is my spot after all.”

The pair watched the newest batch of students as they came and went. Especially one student who hadn’t gotten the announcement that you didn’t “mess with the cats”. The student had had to learn the hard way what “FAFO” means, and would have scars on his left cheek for the rest of his life.

El Gato and the tree curled up on the sundrenched statue of The Heretic, the ever-living patron saint of the school, and dozed.

-

The Elven Kingdom

The young king stood on the throne yelling at his servants. “No! That’s not how that happened!” He sighed. “The Heretic gave his big speech, then the shield came up; not the other way around!” Armatures! I will have to send to the School of Rio for the full play. “Alright, set the scene and try again!”

-

The Undermountain Dwarven Kingdoms

Bjorn sat on the Throne of Stone in the great cathedral as his bishops, priests, and the rest sat in orderly rows before him. “No, Bishop Glod, songs about digging holes in the mine are NOT acceptable hymns to me; they are hymns to my grandfather!” The bishop shrank back.

“I don’t mind the hymns being sung in my temples, but they are for him, not me, and I don’t want to take what is his domain.” Bjorn tried to explain. “I am the god of crafting, not of mining and stone and such. Please don’t confuse the two of us.”

The assembled clergy began speaking in hushed tones that became louder and louder. Eventually the noise reached such a crescendo that Bjorn had to use his “god” voice to silence the thousands in attendance. “I know, I know. The Heretic. Look, Maxwell is by Friend; nothing more, nothing less! He is not my disciple; not my next of kin; not my prophet; and decidedly NOT my lover!”

The crowd became silent again, “And on that note, allow me to introduce my Actual lover, the small goddess…”

-

Fates

The three sides of fate sat at their tapestry. The Crone sat cross-legged on the ground of the cave, building a small tower of stones. The Mother sat on a comfortable chair, nursing a forgotten child. The Maiden was running another thread across the tapestry of life when she opened her mouth to end the silence.

“Don’t you dare.” The Crone snapped, pulling her eyes from the tower she was constructing. “We don’t want to stir that pot again, not for another thousand years.”

“But—” The Maiden started.

“Were you not listening when that man stopped by for a chat last century?” The Mother asked as she placed the baby over her shoulder and gave it a pat on the back, causing it to burp. “He had a very stern warning for us not to interfere with the Heretic.”

“He even threatened US with a stern letter.” The Crone added. “That is the last thing we need.”

The Maiden harumphed. “I still want to know who allowed the potion to work on him.”

“That makes three of us.” The Crone replied. “If I ever find out who was responsible for that, I will stick a finger in their ribs, and twist their soul.”

Meanwhile, in the celestial realm, Kocha, god of chaos, felt a spike of ice drive itself through his soul. He looked around, then went back to reading the Beta Material for the Humans and High-rises game.

-

The Celestial Realm, again…

Esmeralda, the goddess of Wisdom, sat at her desk, writing a stern letter to Brother Proof for going missing in the stacks; again; when she felt an uncomfortable twinge. “Oh my, it seems that one of my clerics has been killed. I wonder where?” She looked at a ball sitting on a tall stand next to her desk, and it rolled around until a “chain” of three islands was facing her. “Oh, the southern most of the…Heretic Isles…”