The not-immortal Blacksmith

44th of Kusha, the month of Harvest.

2290 Years since the New gods came.

Maxwell’s Journal

We have arrived on the Isle of Golstran. It is a lovely, if cold, island. Just after we disembarked, I made my speech, got heckled, and went drinking. And I got stabbed in the bar. When I got back to the Inn, Bri was Very displeased.

Tomorrow I will be putting the gentleman responsible in charge of something. Anyone with that amount of courage and intestinal fortitude is worth their weight in gold.

45th of Kusha

“But lord Smithson! That man tried to murder you in cold blood!” Mayor Geraldon all but yelled. The older man, with a bald head and thickly muscled body, had his bald hands in the air and was shaking them at Max.

“And that, dear mayor, is why I want him to work for me.” Max said, a smile barely showing on his lips. “Showing the courage of your conviction is an excellent standard upon which to judge a person.”

“I had heard rumors, but I didn’t want to believe them. You are insane!” Mayor Geraldon said, letting his arms drop to his sides. “Completely insane.”

Max laughed. “I can assure you that I am only partly insane. Nearly eight centuries will do that to a man. Now if you would have the sheriff open the cell?”

The mayor grunted in capitulation. “John? Open the cell for the idiot lord.”

A fairly non-descript man wearing a watchman’s uniform stepped forward and unlocked the holding cell. “Okay, pal, the Heretic will see you now.”

“Thanks John.” A mellow voice from deep inside the dimly lit cell answered. “Can you unchain me from the wall too?”

“Nope.” John called back. “You might try to assault any of us.”

“Fair enough.” The voice responded. “Alright, abomination against the gods, come on in.”

Max raised an eyebrow, lit his hand with a bit of mage fire, and stepped into the cell. By the lights flickering flames he could see around a dozen men sitting on the floor in the far-left corner of the cell, while the right corner only contained one person, who was wearing a collar that was chained to the wall.

“Heretic.” The chained man stated flatly.

“Prisoner.” Max replied. “Would you mind telling me why you decided to stab me?”

“I do mind.” The prisoner stated.

Max smiled, “I think you did it for the glory of striking down one of the enemies of a god or goddess.”

“Nope.”

“You did it because my politics weren’t to your liking.”

“Nope.” The prisoner smiled.

“You did it because you ran out of cookies.”

“Naw. Still have some.”

“A woman?”

“Nope.”

“Money?”

“No.”

“…A job offer?”

“Yup.” The prisoner smiled. “You are well known to look favorably on those who defy you, or those brazen enough to impress you.”

“I am, aren’t I.” Max squinted at the man.

“Yes, yes you are.”

46th of Kusha

I have hired Aaron Fish as an accountant. He will be in charge of dealing with fraud accusations across my holdings. He was banished from the City State Dominion after he found evidence of the now ousted ruler taking personal and religious bribes against the nations charter. He calls himself a “Forensic Accountant”; I am unsure exactly what that means. I have a feeling he is one of the summoned, but as he hasn’t brought it up, I will not pry.

I have given him full authority, after a few “testing” spells to assure honesty, to audit any governmental institution that piques his interest. He also has authority to look into the books of any employer etc. etc. I also want him to look into any sort of “Labor” disputes and violations. He will be busy for the rest of his life. Hehehehe.

-

Grendel Repute sat in a chair in the suite the…household…currently occupied, and stared at an envelope. A very familiar looking envelope.

In size it was a good four by six inches and was a rich ivory white in color, but unlike the last of its kind he had picked up, this one was not covered in mud; this one was completely pristine and the gold embossed filigree decorations winding themselves around the thing were perfect in every way. The envelope smelled of lilacs in full bloom; not of the perfume made from such plants, but the plants themselves.

Also, unlike the last one, this one was addressed to: “Sir Grendel Repute, Lord Mayor of Gilip Demonia; Knight of the order of Kittens; High Preacher of the Way of the Heretic”. Grendel slowly opened the envelope and remover the folded piece of pure white paper inside. He read the letter. He read it again. He read it a third time, and felt ill.

The message inside contained but a few simple words…

“It is impolite to read other people’s mail.”

He slowly walked to the stove of the suite’s kitchen, and with shaky hands fed the letter; envelope and all; to the flames.

Lady Brianna stepped from her bedroom, clothed in a plain brown peasant outfit, sniffed the air, and asked, “Grendel, are you burning incense?”