The not-immortal Blacksmith

Smithson School of Crafting, Garthia.

3rd of Amsiel, Second month of Summer.

2138 years since the new gods came.

The brothers, heroes from another world, Yossef and Hamza followed Tom Cat into a sprawling complex's courtyard. They noticed that the gate was flanked by a pair of statues, A Dwarf dressed as a blacksmith, and a human man, dressed in the same fashion.

“Hey Tom, who are the statues?” Hamza asked.

“The Dwarf is the so called god of crafting. Tried to kill me once. I 'bless' it regularly.” Tom replied, not bothering to turn and look as he sauntered across the paving stones of the courtyard. “The other one is some guy called the 'Heretic'. Nice guy, even if he does like fairies.”

-

somewhere in the Dell, Brandywine sneezed.

-

“Anyway, were...” Tom's eyes gleamed as a middle aged woman, wearing a light blue dress and an apron, came out from what the boys assumed was the kitchen with a large saucer. “Never mind! Cream Time!” He bolted towards a strange looking tree in the courtyard's center.

The woman, placed the large saucer on the ground, at the base of the tree, and a pounce of furry mewling balls of fluff charged it. Tom waited for each to take it's place, the settled in and started to drink.

Hamza turned to look at the cats, then over to Yossef, “Looks like we lost our guide?”

“Probably right.” Yossef looked at the woman, who had just picked a kitten out of the dish, and was drying it off. “Maybe she can help?”

The boys slowly walked over to her. Hamza spoke first. “Excuse us, elder, could you help us? Tom Cat lead us here...”

“But, we are at a loss as to what we should do now.”

“Perhaps, you may know...”

“Where we may find shelter?”

“Or a place to Eat? And get equipment...”

“For our quest?” Yossef finished the alternating speech that most adults found both enduring and annoying at the same time.

“Well boys, what kind of quest?” She looked up from the kitten, who was now snuggled into an apron pocket, happily snoring. She then cocked her head to one side, as if listening to someone, then looked at the boys again. “Oh. Heroes from another world! I will take you to the Matriarch. She will know what to do.”

*-*-*

The Celestial Realm

The “Monthly” meeting of gods.

“...and in other items today,” Narissa, goddess of Tranquility, said, “Does anyone know why there is a herd of horses in Ghondish's pen?”

Maximilian, Mil for short, the god of War, looked up from a drawing he was making (of a young man in work overalls, who was obviously drinking a can of schmitz'z beer), “Well, they do look like the herd the Fake Max let loose the other day.”

“Well, that settles that.” Narissa replied. “Any other business?”

“Nothing!” Trixie, goddess of deception, and secretary of the council (she had the best handwriting), announced.

Narissa stood up, “Meeting Adjourned!”

As they all left the meeting hall, Trixie drew a line through the 'license requirements for a business in the celestial realm' that Mil had asked to be discussed. She smiled, “Screw him. I like the newspaper man.”

*-*-*

Smithson School of Crafting, Garthia.

5th of Amsiel, Second month of Summer.

2138 years since the new gods came.

The initial reception had been a bit cool, as Tom Cat had dained to speak up at the meeting of the family elders. “Look you idiots, the kids ARE from another world. They are the gods chosen ones. If you won't believe me, then ask HIM.” A flash of light later, Bjorn was standing at the end of the table.

“Stupid cat. Why did you call me?”

“Because the heretics family are being dense.” Tom licked a paw, and started cleaning his face. “I figure since you hold them in such high regard, you might set them straight.”

Bjorn looked at the elders. “Do you doubt the children?”

An old matron looked up from her needle point, smiled at Bjorn, and replied “No. We don't doubt the children. We are already making preparations to supply weapons, armor and training for them. It's THE CAT we don't trust.”

Bjorn smiled. “Good idea.” Then vanished in a puff of smoke.

Tom looked at the empty spot, “Asshole.”

8th of Amsiel,

Today was the day! Yossef and Hamza jumped out of bed, threw on their new clothes, and raced down to the kitchen. Tom Cat looked up from a dish of bacon on the table and said, “First.” Then bolted, bacon in mouth.

“Damn cat. At least he took the bacon with him this time.” Hamza said.

“Right? That stuff smells good, but forbidden.” Yossef replied, “Grandpa told me once that he had tried it, and it gave him gut pain for days!” Both boys shuddered.

“Another day of eggs, toast, and boiled grain with honey!” The boys cheered.

Breakfast ended, and the children headed to the forge. Not the student forge, or the masters forge, no, The Forge. The one that The Heretic had used, and left behind for his inheritors to use for their master crafts. The feeling of excitement as the forge was opened, and the cleaning and blessing began, was palpable. It was really more ceremony than actual work, as the place was spotless. The tools shone, almost with their own light. The anvil had a sheen on it that mirrors would be jealous of. The firepot itself was glowing steadily, almost like it anticipated the deeds of the day.

Tom Cat stuck his head in, looked around, then thought I already claimed this room. On to the next place to bless.

The work began an hour later. It would continue for weeks, and the distinct chime of this hammer on this Anvil would bring smiths from all over the city to watch.

*-*-*

Millrock, Dutchy of Coxnia, the kingdom of Garthia.

50th of Amsiel, Second month of Summer.

2138 years since the new gods came.

Duke Magnus Ólafsson III, direct descendant of Duke Einar Ólafsson from the Land of Ice, Godchild of Maxwell the Heretic, and current ruler of the Dutchy of Coxnia in the kingdom of Garthia, fell out of bed. Screaming.

The dream had left his bedclothes, and the bed itself, wet with sweat. A distant dell, a fear of something from the west. His hands shook. He withdrew the oldest treasure of his house, and called the protector, The Heretic.

“Godfather? It's me, Magnus three.” he said into the old stone, polished by use. “I have been having some... It's silly. Never mind.”

“Nightmares are Never silly boy. What happened?” The reassuring voice of his godfather answered from the other side.

“It was... a feeling of dread. Of death. Feet. Many many feet. From the west.” Magnus said. “This is the third time in as many days it has happened.”

“What else did you see? Or feel?”

“A Dell, in the middle of sun browned grass. Safety, but danger.” Magnus replied.

“Hmmm. Sounds like my new home.” A moment of quiet, then, “Why don't you come for a visit? Clear your mind for a while?”

“I can't get away. But... Maybe if I send my third? I...feel... like that would do it.”

“Mike? Sure. That would be fine. I can put him up for a few months. Or if he wants to be a farmer, I can teach him the trade. That would probable take a year or two.”

“I will send him to you posthaste. Thank you, godfather.”

“No problem.”

Directions and landmarks were exchanged. It would take several months of travel, but Mike was now expected.

- - -

Maxwell shook his head as he ended the call. “I don't know why sending his kid would end his nightmares, but meh. It will be nice to see Mike again.” He thought for a moment. “Now which Mike is it?”