The not-immortal Blacksmith

72 The Not-Immortal blacksmith – Candlestick Maker XXII

City state of Knutson, Western Wilds.

49th of Kusha, The month of Harvest.

2134 years since the new gods came.

Morning.

The stairway down from the back room of the “Naked Eagle Candlestick Shop” was open. Maxwell and Brandywine stared in awe. It was full of stars.

Well, not really stars, just pinpricks of light, scattered around such a huge space, that it reminded the mind of stars. As the descended the stairway, they found themselves among glassware. Tubes, beakers, pots, burners, everything an alchemist would want. And lights. Lights, that when approached, went from pinpricks of light to full daylight illumination. The pair gawked at the sight.

“Okay, so this is the basement. I don't think the previous owner expected anyone to enter.” Max voiced his opinion.

“I think you're right.” Brandy responded. “Maybe we should head back up, and forget it exists?”

“Probably not a bad idea.” Max said, heading back up the stairs. “You never know what may have been left behind.”

Somewhere on another plane of existence, and alarm had started to chime, and the goddess of Tranquility felt a shudder in her soul.

*-*

49th of Kusha,

We opened the basement today. I'm not an alchemist. I'm not going back down there.

3rd of Anael, First month of Snow

The first midwinter here is at the end of the month. It's strange to not see snow. Apparently we are actually in the 'tropics' of the world, or at least the most temperate zone. Average summer temperature is around 28 degrees, and winter gets as cold as 20 degrees. Nice temps, all things considered. I both enjoy, and dislike the lack of snow.

I will need to put up some festive pieces for a midwinter sale. Best to work on that now.

*-*-*

The Celestial realm

“Maximilian! Why did I let you convince me to sell my alchemistry shop?” Narissa yelled at her live in boyfriend.

“I didn't.” Was the quick reply. “You asked if you should, because you were giving it up. All I did was say sure.”

“Whatever.” She replied, anger showing on her face. “And why do you keep going to visit that goat every week? What does he have that I don't?”

Intelligence, compassion, elegance? Maximilian thought, but didn't say. “I'm just keeping tabs on him.”

“Well I forbid it! No more going off with that idiot.” Narissa responded. “If you do, we are done!”

“We're done then.” Maximilian replied, breathing a sigh of relief. “I will see myself out.” He snapped his fingers, and disappeared.

“Well, fuck him!”

And thus the third war in heaven began. Not that it was much of a war, mostly just insults at the pub. Occasionally followed by angry sex.

*-*-*

The Worg pack followed the strange human. It had been years, and the pack had grown to almost fifty members. Up and down icy hills, across desolate or lush planes. Mostly the path ran north and south, but always leaning west, never east. Every few days, they would watch the human step into the side of a boulder or hill, and come out a few days later. Different clothes, different weapons, but same boots, and same metal tablet. Always muttering to itself. Always killing things, and leaving them to rot. And so the worgs fed, and grew, and reproduced.

East? Maybe I should go east? NO! Never east. Always towards the target. What do I do when I get there? Kill target? No, bad Idea. Very bad. No kill. Oh, look! A big doggy is following me! Can I pet it? James rambled on, both in his mind, and out loud. He stopped walking, turned towards the largest of the worgs, stuck out his open hand, and approached it.

The worg looked at the funny human. This was not the first time it had done this. It would come over, let him sniff the hand, pat him on the head, then forget about him and move on. All things said and done, it was confusing. Maybe I should talk to the poor thing? Pack leader G'rrf asked himself. No, best to not attract too much attention.

James walked to the worg, let it sniff his hand, patted it on the head a few times, then went back to finding the next cache. That was a good dog. It looks familiar. Probably owned by some hunter. It looks like it hunts. I must continue. Find. Report back.

*-*-*

City state of Knutson, Western Wilds.

28th of Kielat, First month of Summer

2136 years since the new gods came.

I have a bad feeling in my liver. Something bad is coming from the far west. The last time I had this feeling... was more than five hundred years ago. Something wicked, this way comes.

Business has continued strong. The idiot 'jacks. They do keep me in business, but making windows isn't what I want to be doing. A lumber baron has commissioned a set of three chandeliers for his new riverside home. It will be fun to make, and expensive for him. He want's a mixture of green, amber, and red glass in each. Red will be the most expensive, as it requires gold to get the color. I have set up several shade of red, to find out which he likes the most.

31st of Kielat,

He wants the crimson. I knew he would. Materials and time will cost over four thousand grams of gold. It is a good day to be a Candlestick maker.

10th of Amsiel, Second month of Summer,

I'm done. Six thousand parts. Two thousand crystals per chandelier. Plus threading the whole thing and making the reinforced glass base and hanging hardware. I let it slip that I used to do smithing and tinkering. I'm nine thousand grams richer, but what a pain. And what pride! I'm actually proud of myself.

TTFN