The not-immortal Blacksmith

Aeglazan, Duchy of Oldwell.

51st of Arah, Second month of Snow;

2125 years since the new gods came.

Class was... a class. These are all second year students. There is some nomenclature I need to learn, but otherwise I seem to be up to date. Glad I read the “Text Books” I was issued, as opposed to partying like the other members of my hall.

An odd note, when I mentioned I was at Murphy's Hall, everyone took a step back from me, and a couple of people gave me apologies. Strange.

My class schedule. I was told it was a good idea to write it down somewhere, so here it is.

8-11:30am:

Class begins at the “Glassblowers Union”. Some call it the Onion. The building is in itself a work of art. Apparently the first master crafted it with glass and magic. It is a multi hued bubble of glass and steel, approximately 40 yards across, and same in height. There are three entrances, that form a perfect equilateral triangle. Two of the entrances lead to class rooms and auditoriums that can hold as many as 500 students. I am amazed.

Noon: Lunch break. There are several places nearby to eat, and all take coin and student ID cards. The cards contain magic of a sort that allows for a free meal per day.

1:30-4:30pm: “Labs”. In short, we students are sequestered in a glassblowers shop in groups of 10, where we practice what we learned in class.

All in all, I reserve judgment as to whether or not this is a better system for teaching a profession than simple apprenticeship.

55th of Arah,

First week is done. We have the next three days off for New Years. I plan on continuing my tour of the city. So much to see.

Aeglazan, Duchy of Oldwell.

2nd of Samue, the month of Planting,

2126 years since the new gods came.

School resumes tomorrow. An announcement was made that the city wide “Freshmen Mixer” is being held Mikha, the 6th of Samue. I am planning to attend as it won't interfere with my studies.

7th of Samue, morning,

The mixer was...fun? I changed my wardrobe choice for the day after hearing some of the richer classmates talking about what they were going to wear in order to snub the “Peasants”, people like me and my dorm mates. As Liam would say, “I dressed to the 9's” for the occasion. I enjoyed myself quite a bit. Now I have addresses from several individuals I don't remember meeting. I need food and to get to class. I may have drunk too much last night...

*-*-*

6th of Samue, early afternoon,

“Hey Max! What are you wearing to tonight's affair?” The note of condescension was hard to miss in the “boy's” voice. The boy's name was Tony.

“Something simple, and boring, nothing 'high class' like you and your mates.” Max responded, still working on twirling the glass just right. “Something that befits my station in life.”

Tony and his gaggle of cronies (most of the shop students) laughed. “So you're wearing peasant garb. How quaint.”

“Yes...peasant garb. From where I came from.” Max replied. I was just going to wear something nice. Guess I will have to dig out the old stuff. “Definitely something that fits my station in life.”

“Well, it will be...interesting to see you there.” Tony said before walking his cronies to the other side of the shop.

“Assholes. Minor nobles.” Willa said, stepping over to Max, putting he pipe and block down on the nearby workbench. “Why do they keep bullying you? And why do you let them?”

“They are young and stupid. I am fine just ignoring them.” Max said, looking up for the first time. “They are a 'dime a dozen' as an old friend once said.”

“What is a dime?”

“...” Max thought for a moment, “a very small coin. Not worth much. Foreign currency.”

“Oh.”

“Are you going tonight?” Max asked.

“Oh no. Never. It isn't my place. Also, I hate being around people like that.” Willa replied, shaking her head.

“Alright. Time to clean the shop and get going.” Max said.

The two spent several minutes cleaning, said their goodbyes, and departed.

*-*-*

Max walked to a salon. Not the best salon in the city, but the one he had overheard the women from his dorm said did wonders. He got a haircut, and his scraggly beard shaved to a proper goatee. Then he went home, and dug through his trunk. He searched for the better part of an hour, looking for the proper outfit for the occasion. He went and had a long soaking bath in the dorms basement bathhouse. Then he changed into the outfit. He smiled. When he left the hall, even his elf neighbor stopped running away, and stared.

*-*-*

A deep blue doublet of silk accented with small rubies at the throat and wrists, black breeches with silver slashes, and gray hose tucked into tall black leather riding boot. The outfit flattered his frame, and the gemstones set off his eyes nicely.

He walked at a sedate pace from the wagon stop to the central town garden where the event was to be held, not wanting to show up early, and arrived fashionably late. Heads turned, women gawked, men stood speechless. He walked up behind the already drinking Tony and his cronies, “Well, Tony, I have arrived wearing something befitting of my station in life. Why haven't you?” He asked loudly.

Tony turned at the voice from behind, a cutting remark on his lips, and stared. Before him wasn't the “country bumpkin” of a blacksmith he enjoyed belittling, but a lord. A lord of fine breading, and manner, wearing the latest fashion from the capital of Garthia. He swallowed, “Uh...”

Max gave him a thin smile, and punched him in the face. “You should really know better than annoy your betters, Tony.” He turned on his heal and left Tony to be cared for by the rest of his groupies, ambling off towards other people he had met while on his many walks around town.

“Master Mather, how are you this fine evening?” he said to the baker he purchased bread from as he passed his cart; then off towards a street urchin he would pay to take him around the less savory parts of town, “Ah, young mister Raymond, how is your mum doing?”; and on and on, chatting with masters and peasants, and night-soil men. Eventually he ended up near a table of refreshments near the clergy.

“Abbot Cozentine! How goes the temple today?” Max gave the abbot a slight bow.

“It fares well, Maxwell. Although it would fare better if you attended service.” Abbot Cozentine replied.

“Maybe if Bjorn got me drunk first, I would...But probably not even then.” Max replied with a smile. The rest of the clergy stared agog at the comment. “But seriously, No. You are well aware that I don't DO religion.”

A priest of Tranquility stood up from his padded chair, “You should not speak such things to your betters!” Abbot Cozentine winced.

“Brienhart, you don't want---” Abbot Cozentine started to say.

“I refuse to have this kind of blasphemy said in front of me! How can you stand this, this, Heretic!” Brienhart fumed. “This man should be stoned for such heresy!”

Abbot Cozentine raised his hand to cut off Brienhart. “I believe you lack understanding here. This man,” he pointed at Max, “IS the Heretic. You know, Maxwell the Heretic?” All of the listening clergy stepped back. The priest of war took many steps back.

Brienhart stopped, his face pale, eyes bulging, and the veins in his throat pulsed. “Oh...OH! Oh dear...” He turned and ran.

Max laughed. “Dear abbot, did you have to spoil the fun? I was about to get him all spun up!”

“I don't want a theological fight here. It would be unseemly for the clergy to partake in a common brawl.” Abbot Cozentine replied, eyes twinkling. “But almost worth it for him...”

The rest of the evening passed in a blur as Max drank, and danced, and talked with people he barely knew, and many he didn't. And at long last he went home, happy.