The not-immortal Blacksmith

From the journal of Maxwell Smithson

24th of Anael, the first month of snow.

The city guards are mostly okay IDIOTS.

-

Evening had come to the remains of the city of Dragon, and Grendel had found himself near the water on the southern end of the bay. Shuffling his feet in the sand as he walked, his mind jumped through what he had experienced today.

Everyone in the slums is dead. Well almost everyone; I did find three children in a shallow well. The well was weird, it had no water in the bottom. None. You would think as low as the top was, the storm would have filled it. Then there was the stone outcropping at the bottom that had that cracked rock on it. And the funny carvings around the rock too, that was weird.

The waves must have been really strong to knock off the huge stone that sealed the well. The kids said that the stone had been there forever. The oldest one said that according to her grandmother, there used to be a thick rope tied around it with ribbons tied to the rope, but some hooligan “adventurers” had cut the rope off for “reasons”.

Well, there’s nothing for me to do out here, guess I’ll go back to mo-- Max and Bri.

Grendel slowly turned around and walked the long trek back to where the injured were still being treated and the survivors of the lower city were being fed.

-

Maxwell sat in the city lord’s sitting room. It was what he had once heard called “posh”, but he thought of it as gaudy. Nautical baubles and nicknacks had been placed around the room to show off the lord’s wealth. Glass floats in a decorative net bag made from seaweed hung on one wall, fanciful miniature boats adorned the shelves, a perfectly serviceable anchor leaned against another wall. There were of course the standard decorations as well, such as the sword, trident, and shield hanging over the fireplace. And books on shelves. Twelve books in all, a veritable treasure trove of knowledge, if they had had any words in them.

He sighed as he waited for the lord to come and meet him. Idiots.

-

In a room just down the hall from where Maxwell waited, a very concerned lord paced. “Well? Does this look presentable for the Lord Heretic?” He snapped at his manservant. “Is everything in its place?”

The servant released a deep breath, “My lord, this is the best we can do on such short notice. If there had been any inkling that He would show up, your wife would have sent along your best clothes as opposed to your third best.”

“I know Jeeves, I know.” The lord replied. “I’m just nervous. This is The Heretic we are talking about. The man who has become a god! The man who trained countless heroes! The man who, at a word, could topple countries from the shadows! I cannot help but be worried!” He took a deep breath in an attempt to calm his heart. “If I screw this up, what will become of me? What will become of my family? Everything I have worked for will come to not!”

-

The door opened and Maxwell stood, preparing to bow. He was instead surprised when a younger man in exquisite attire stepped in and bowed so deeply that his fine feathered hat fell onto the floor and rolled to Max’s feet. Max bent down and retrieved the hat, then, when the man stood, he returned it.

Looking into the face of the presumed lord of Dragon, Max’s heart sank a little in his chest. The lord was smiling, but more like the smile of a child who was afraid his alcoholic father was going to beat him for no reason, than the smile of a man who was receiving a guest.

The lord stared at Maxwell, desperately trying not to let his fear show through the smile he had plastered across his face. “M.. My lord Smithson, a pleasure to meet you.” He was proud that his voice only cracked once at the end of his sentence, and hoped that Maxwell hadn’t noticed the stutter at its beginning. “What can I do for you this evening?”

Max stifled a groan; It’s going to be one of those evenings.

-

Midnight came and went over the city of Dragon, and if anyone had been in the slums, near the well where the children had been found, they would have possibly seen the strange sight of an oblong shape ooze over the lip of the well and slip down what remained of the street.

--

24th of Anael

From the journal of Maxwell Smithson – continued.

I hate meeting nobles of any variety, but the nervous ones are even worse. Either they fawn all over you, or they whine about everything that is wrong around them and beg for “help”. Help being, of course, money. The nervous ones are worse because they do both.

Lord Franklin was the latter of the two, but he kept the level of complaining to just mild comments about the storm and the damage it caused; as opposed to how “this or that” was wrong and “don’t you think it would be better off for a bit of investment?”

He…he didn’t even ask for a handout…maybe he isn’t as bad as most of the nobility?

25th of Aneal

From the journal of Maxwell Smithson

Cleanup of the town has started. I’m glad to see the community come together. Sadly, there is now a murderer on the loose. Someone who is strangling people in their own beds.

Isn’t it so much fun visiting new places?

-

Maxwell stopped for a moment and watched as the townsfolk of Dragon began the chore of clearing debris. Those not busy with their own homes were either helping their neighbors or clearing the streets. Already there was a path cleared all the way from the upper town down through the lower town and to the harbor. He smiled at the cooperation of the locals, then went back to his own job: lifting debris from the street and placing it on an ox drawn wagon. Once it was full, the wagon would drop the debris into a swamp that was just north of town in a continuing effort to reclaim the land. As he lifted and placed, he overheard a pair of watchmen talking about something interesting.

“…she said when she got back to the room, her old man was dead.” The first officer said.

“That’s the third one so far.” The second officer replied, a deep frown in evidence. “Just what we don’t need, someone strangling people after that storm.”

The first officer shook his head, “Tell me about it. The lord is up in arms about it too. Apparently, there is some important person in town that he doesn’t want getting a bad impression of us locals.”

“Politics, murder, and a storm.” The second officer looked into the sky, “Heretic take all the idiots and feed them to his forge.”