The not-immortal Blacksmith

While Maxwell is in school, many others are doing their on things, such as the Darkness deep down under the mountain...

The Underdeep.

12th of Amsiel, Second month of Summer.

2126 years since the new gods came.

She rolled over in her cavern, deep under the mountain where even the dwarves dared not tread. She hurt, the pain running from one feeler up through her body and ending at her neck. If not for that stupid Gobb, I would be dead... Gobb... You fool you! Why did you have to save me? She flexed herself, and again shuddered at the burning pain. She took a deep breath, held it for a heartbeat, then exhaled. She drifted back to sleep.

*-*-*

16th of Amsiel,

Terrance Einar Ólafsson; 11th descendant of The Einar Ólafsson; sat on his chair in the castle's library. In front of him was a pile of books, unbound manuscripts, and a few scrolls. All of which had been left behind by his many times removed grandfather. He sighed. The church of Knowledge had yet again sent a representative to attempt to collect this gathering of knowledge from Einar's home world. He sighed again for effect. The family has been dodging those emissaries for years. How have they not gotten a clue yet? Idiots. “Idiots! Why can't they get it through their skulls that we will never give up these old books? They are His legacy! They are what has made this family, And the land He loved, better!” Terrance almost yelled.

From the door, his distant cousin and best friend Gregory looked up from the 'story' he was reading, “Still worried about the priests? They do seem more persistent this year.”

“Yes, and I am getting angrier by the minute.” He looked around, “Where is that tele-stone godfather Maxwell gave us? Perhaps he has some advice...”

Greg pushed his chair back and away from the door, “Now, now cousin, I'm sure there is no need for that... Although, if you hinted to the church that you were getting ready to call for his aid...?”

Terrance smiled, all of his teeth showing. “Oh. Oh yes. This, this will be fun.”

*-*-*

Aeglazan, Duchy of Oldwell.

'Mr. Smith', an assassin followed Maxwell down an alley leading home from The Drowned Duck. This was the third time in a row that he had poisoned the man, and he kept coming back! He was going to make sure that this time he died. He watched Max stumble, then fall. This time there was enough poison! He fell, he should be finally dead! He thought. I used enough this time to kill a pair of bulls. He stared as Maxwell stood back up a few minutes later, and walked home.

A few hours later Mr. Smith spoke to his employer...

“No sir. That is what I saw.” Mr. Smith said into the small looking glass. “Three minutes after falling down, he stood back up, and walked home. Whistling.”

“No. I will take the hit to my reputation. I won't try again.” Mr. Smith replied, “No, I refuse. I learned yesterday that this has been tried before, by better than me. I was told to inform you that The Guild will not be taking any more contracts on his life.”

The assassin sighed as he put the device away. “Now I understand why he calls people Idiots.”

*-*-*

Anna punched the looking glass. It barely shook. “How dare he!” She screamed it the poor thing. “It was bad enough that he pressed him on the whole marriage idea. But this? The absolute IDIOT!” She walked over to her overstuffed, and very comfortable bed, curled up into a ball on it, and screamed into her pillow for a long time. If anyone had been able to hear her through the charms on the room, they would have heard her repeat a single word: Idiot.

*-*-*

The Underdeep,

Time had passed, but the pain had not. She awoke from her slumber again. Something had awakened her. She opened a single bloodshot eye, and looked around the chamber. There, in the doorway she saw a small figure, barely more than a child. It looked at her in shock, then bowed. The child was small, as most children were, it's skin pale to the point of translucent, even if slightly tinged with green, a sign of the ever distant heritage. It's hair was white, eyes violet, and large. A creature she thought was beautiful.

Quietly, ever so quietly, she spoke to the child, “Child. Come, sit, talk.” The child obeyed.

“I...I need help. I need prayers. Prayers for healing. Please?” She said.

The child's eyes widened, then it nodded. “Yes, mistress of the night. I will tell. We will come.”

“Thank you. Thank you.” She slurred the last word, and sleep overwhelmed her once more.

Time, fleeting and constant, passed. She awoke again, the pain was almost gone! She opened her eyes, and stared around her. People. People sat, on stood, or kneeled around her. Quiet voices barely broke the silence. She felt like she was in a tomb...Or a holy place. She slowly sat up on her bed. Her bed? Somehow she was in a bed! Blankets over her! And a PILLOW! She yawned, and stretched. They had done it. They had saved her. People. Her people. Her People. They were staring at her now, so she stood, and spoke.

“People. You are My People. I should have claimed you millenia ago, but in my arrogance and stupidity, I did not. I rectify that sin now. You. All of you, here with me this eternal night, and all who dwell here, in my caverns, holes, crevices, and chambers. I say to you all, I Claim You. All Of You. You are mine to protect. To keep safe. To help. I will NEVER abandon you again. Never again, my people.

In the world above, in the deep caves of the dwarves, the trees of the elves, on the plaines where the gnolls herded their sheep and cattle, even the mountain tops where the dragons laid their eggs, something changed. Perhaps the world gained a bit of light? Perhaps the sun was warmer? Perhaps a wizard's spell was slightly easier to cast? For those who watched for such things, while they couldn't place their digit on it, they knew Something had changed.

*-*-*

Meanwhile, in the Island nation of Oldwell, a Blacksmith was completing his second year of training at an academy. His best friends, Willa and Anna, were meeting him for drinks at The Drowning Duck, to celebrate the end of another year of school.

In a small town located in northern Garthia, an overly large tree that sat in the courtyard of a smithing school, was allowing itself to be cut down in preparation for what was looking to be a bad winter storm.

Last, but not least, a Goat felt something on the currents of time and space. He smiled. His little Sister...had come home.