The not-immortal Blacksmith

...Lore...

Once when the old gods still ruled the world, there had been a mage. A powerful mage, who through many vast and powerful spells, almost gained the power of true creation. But not quite. By breading and magic, he changed the pack, bigger, stronger, faster, smarter. He called them his “Wolves of War”.

When his project was finished, he set his army free upon the world. The first pack; as they are now called now by their descendants; served their master well. When he was finally killed, the first pack was hunted by the gods. And because they were hunted, they came under his dominion.

“You, the hunters, are now the hunted. You come under my auspice. I do not want you. I will give you a chance: join with me, and see my people guarded in the night, and away from their homes, and I will bless you. Otherwise, you will be destroyed.”

And thus the first pack was fractured across the world. Some chose to serve another master; some chose freedom and hid from the gods; and some chose to stand, and die.

*-*-*

City state of Knutson, Western Wilds.

23rd of Kusha, The month of Harvest.

2134 years since the new gods came.

Maxwell lay on the couch in the attic. A happy young couple had com into the shop earlier that day, all bubbly and happy, to buy a pair of matched 'Sticks to celebrate their first wedding anniversary. He smiled a bittersweet smile, and stared into the distance. Remembering.

*-*

It was a beautiful day, and Deborah was smiling the smile he had fallen in love with. They were shopping for something special to celebrate the little bulge that was showing in her tummy. They found a sweets shop, and bought a small something to savor.

They wandered to the jewelers, and bought a sparkly ring.

They had dinner out, at the best tavern in town.

They wandered home in the moonlight.

*-*

Max cried. And hovering by his side, unable to do anything, Brandywine wept for her friend.

*-*-*

Demon lands

Date unknown

2132 years since the new gods came.

The target was still in one spot. Heretic. What is a Heretic? How does one become a heretic? The mission must be completed. James marched on, occasionally sipping from a canteen or eating a bite from a C-ration.

Oh look, a Wyvern. His weapon went Bang. Hmm, it isn't dead. Weapon switch. As the Wyvern approacked, diving for the tasty human food, it saw the food point a different metal tube at it. No worries, it can't hurt.

At a range of 30' the M3A1 Grease Gun went Brrrtttttt, and the Wyvern crumpled, smashing into a low hill behind the human. I wish I had brought the Ma Deuce. Ma Deuce is the best deuce. Miss three is okay, but Ma Deuce is best. Maybe next bolt hole has Ma Deuce? Better Willie-Pete the corpse so it doesn't attract undue attention. The White Phosphorus grenade turned the Wyvern corpse to ash in a few minutes. I still like the pretty lights. I should do a 1 in 5 load for the Ma Deuce so I can see the pretty tracers!

James continued his march towards his target.

*-*

The pack of Worgs was small at just over two dozen, including the pups. The pack followed the single, strange smelling human, and ate the kills it left behind. When it rested, the worgs rested, and talked.

“I think the human is strange.”

“I don't think any of us would argue that.”

“Can we eat it?” One of the older pups asked.

“No!” was chorused by the rest of the pack, in answer.

*-*-*

City state of Knutson, Western Wilds.

27th of Kusha, The month of Harvest.

2134 years since the new gods came.

Maxwell crawled out from under the covers on his bed. He didn't remember undressing, or crawling in. His headache, on the other hand, did remind him that he had drunken to much the last...day? Or two?

Scum covered his teeth and tongue. The smell of vomit covered him, and some of the vomit did as well. He shuddered, and looked for another drink.

“Brandy!” He yelled, and shuddered from the noise. In a much softer, and less painful voice, he called again, “Brandy? Can you get me another drink?”

“No, you ungrateful wretch!” She yelled up the stairs to the attic. “I've been covering for your drunken ass for FOUR DAYS! If you think I'm doing anything for you, you have another think coming!”

“Ow...do you have to yell so loudly?” Max mumbled, attempting to stand, and falling to the floor.

“YES!”

“...damn fairy...” He muttered quietly.

“I heard that!” Brandy replied.

*-*

28th of Kusha,

I spent four days in a drunken coma. What has my existence come to? Why can't I die? Cursed gods... I have a lot of back orders to fill. Work begins in earnest tomorrow.

31st of Kusha,

I'm almost caught up. It still hurts to see young couples. Or old ones for that matter.

42nd of Kusha,

What the “hero's” call “fall” has started. I had forgotten how beautiful it could be. Just like the last place, the winter is mild here, the worst winters only drop to barely freezing. Not even enough to have a skate pond! So much different from living below the demon lands, where every winter is bad.

Gnolls will be coming soon to sell their flocks. The 'Jacks have just finished leaving for the northern forests, while the temperatures have dropped.

43rd of Kusha,

I have been studying the rune locks on the trapdoor again. I will open it this weekend.

*-*

49th of Kusha, Morning.

Maxwell and Brandywine stood, or flew, over the complicated diagram drawn around the trapdoor. It had already been a pair of hours of complicated spell work, diagrams, and circles, but it was finally done.

“Do you think this will work?” Brandy asked.

“It should. It's not like 'rocket science' or whatever the kid called it.” Max replied. He bent down and powered up the circles. “Time to hide behind the counter.”

Brandy dove behind said counter, and waited. And waited. And waited. Nothing went boom.

“Looks like it worked!” Max yelled from the other side of the counter. “Come over and look at this!”

TTFN