The not-immortal Blacksmith

Redacted;

Assumed to be the 5th of Samue, the month of Planting;

2122 years since the new gods came.

In the throne room of the far western demon generals castle stood three men, surrounded by the dead. Blood spatter, in several different colors; ranging from bright crimson, much to bright to be human, to emerald green, to dark blue; “decorated” the room. One of the men was wrapping a bandage around the arm of the second of their number, while blood still oozed from the wound.

“I can't believe that little shit was actually able to cut me!”

“Right? Imps aren't usually that strong.”

The third man stood a bit apart from the other two, and tapped his ear, “Yes my lord, the last general is dead as you wished. The villages have been 'emptied' and burned to the ground. There are no more demons or half-bloods in existence outside of Demonia.” He nodded several times, as if he listened as someone else spoke, “Yes sir, we understand. We are not to interfere with the remaining half-bloods or demons inside of Demonia or the rest of the civilized lands.” A few more moments passed as he listened, head cocked to one side.

“Let me repeat it, to make sure that we have it correct: Obtain the Heretic Blacksmith, at any cost, and bring him to the nearest temple.” A few more moments passed, as he listened intently and nodded, “Very good sir, we will do as you require.” He taped his ear again and looked around. “James! Michael! Police the bodies, then lets go. We aren't done yet.”

There was a flurry of activity as the three men stripped the demon bodies of anything of value. Then Robert made a gesture in the air with his left hand, summoning a portal, and the three of them stepped through.

*-*-*

Lostcairn, Snows Province, Kingdom of Garthia;

9th of Samue, the month of Planting;

2122 years since the new gods came.

Rumors are spreading through the half-blood community that several unaligned half-blood villages in the demon lands have been destroyed. My heart lays heavy at their loss.

10th of Samue,

It is nice to have refuse collection. I've not had it since I was in the capital. The Ratlings are a surprisingly pleasant people. The bowing and scraping is a bit unsettling though.

16th of Samue,

More of the brass tubes have been circulating. I have figured out a non-magical way of refilling them, as unlike Tristan's, these didn't disappear 10 minutes after firing. They are a quite ingenious upgrade for a boomstick. It required a trip to the local tinker and blacksmith, as I haven't unpacked any of that for quite a while. I will need to check and see if any of that has rusted. I doubt it.

I also ordered some parts manufactured a while back, and they are done. I will pick them up on the 19th.

19th of Samue,

I have received the parts I ordered. A two foot tube, a crossbow stock, and a small hooked hammer like the one on my revolvers. I will assemble tomorrow.

*-*-*

“Excuse me, Master Smithson? There is a priest here to see you.” Reggie, the bar man said through the door.

“Tell him that I will be down in a moment.” Max replied. Placing his new boomstick on his desk. He stood and slowly walked down the stairs, into the waiting fury of a cleric from the temple of knowledge.

“Master Smithson, I presume you know why I am here?” the cleric asked.

“I assume it's my new tool?” Max responded, shaking his head. Stupid gods. They need to mind their own business.

“Yes. If you will hand it over, I will be on my way.” the cleric stated in a flat voice.

Max stared at the man, and cocked an eyebrow, “Over my dead body. If that little gnome wants it, she can come get it herself. I refuse to relinquish it to some jumped up flunky.”

Eyes wide, and mouth agape, much like a fish out of water, the cleric gasped, “I never... how could... I DEMAND IT!” At the rise in the clerics volume, sever people stood up from the corners, attention fully on the cleric. The hairs on the back of the clerics neck prickled, and he looked around, starting to feel watched. His eyes easily picked out the standing thugs, and he twitched.

“It's alright lads, this one was just leaving. Weren't you, cleric?” Max said, forestalling any 'accidents'.

“Yes, yes, I'll be off. But believe me when I say that this isn't over.” the cleric said, departing.

*-*-*

20th of Samue,

Assembly was completed today. A priest of Knowledge showed up in the bar a few minutes after I was done and asked to speak with me. Bah, religion.

34th of Samue,

Evening.

Reggie was working the bar counter when three men came in. They were wearing long black coats of the variety favored by the cattlemen. Unusual, were the loose fitting multi-pocket black pants, tight black shirts, and thick black vests they all wore.

The men looked over the bar, one holding some sort of clear glass tablet in front of his face, reading off names and numbers that Reggie could barely hear, let alone understand. The men approached the counter, and the one in the middle said, “We are here for the blacksmith. Where is he?”

Reggie looked over the common room of the bar, “Well master Wallace isn't here tonight. Would you like directions to his smithy?”

“Do we look like we need directions?”

“Well you are looking for the master smith...” Reggie replied.

“James, What does the tablet say?”

“That he's nearby, but it can't get a closer read, something is interfering with it.” James said. “We'll have to go person by person.”

“Alright, ladies and gentlemen,” said the one who had done all the speaking thus far, as he looked around the common room, “We are going to be coming around and scanning each of you. Please don't cause any problems. Once we find out target, we will be out of your hair.”

The trio walked over to the nearest table, and the one with the tablet; James, Reggie remembered; placed it in the air, where it hovered for a moment, before dim beams of light spread from it running slowly over each individual.

“Not one of these three.” James said, before moving to the next table.

“Don't you point that shit at me!” Mr. Willard; a usually congenial regular at the bar; said. “I don't trust that thing, or any of you!” He stood up.

The men took a step back, and summoned some kind of...weapons? The one called James had a pair of hand crossbows, sans the bow portion, made of polished silver; The one who had been doing the talking held a full-sized crossbow stock, but with a pair of pipes, one on top of the other; and the third held a kids crossbow stock, with small pipe fitted to the end of a larger pipe, that had a long metal box sticking out of the bottom of the larger pipe. The men pointed the “weapons” at Mr. Willard.

“You will comply, or we will shoot you.” The man with the largest 'not crossbow' said. Mr. Willard nodded, and sat back down.

To the left of the bar, from where Reggie was watching, the door to the Naked Eagle Bakery opened, and Reggie herd Maxwell say, in a loud voice, “What's going on over here?”

The man with the 'Not crossbow' turned, and a fluid motion mounted the weapon to his shoulder, and it went BOOM.

For Reggie, the world slowed down. He saw the end of the pipe belch fire and smoke. He watched chunks of metal slowly fly from the pipe and smash into, and through his boss. He saw blood from his bosses body slowly splatter the walls, as it staggered back and collapsed to the floor.

“I think you just shot our target.” Said James.

Reggie's blood ran cold, as the patrons started to panic.