The not-immortal Blacksmith

Ghondish looked at the players around the table in the barn. “So, are you sure you want to do this?”

Sarah, goddess of small shadows, smiled, “Yes.”

“Alright. I'll put in the application for the convention.” Ghondish grumbled.

The table erupted in cheers.

-

“The Lich King is celebrating the 705th anniversary of the public education reforms he signed into law.” Pendleton said during a break. “I think it's a good thing to celebrate.”

“Why do you keep bringing that guy up?” Sarah asked. “He's not nearly as fun as the blacksmith.”

“Well, he is doing great things without the interference of the gods.” Pendleton replied. “Also, I'm getting tired of the whole 'Immortal Blacksmith must be tamed' thing. There are other things in the world that are important.”

Maximilian, 'Mil', god of war, looked through hooded eyes towards Pendleton, “This wouldn't have anything to do with how Dis got corrupted, would it?”

“Hey! That was before my, or even Our, time.” Pendleton's face went pale. “You can blame that on the elder gods.”

“They did do that, didn't they.” Mil let out a long sigh. “The first incursion. They blasted it with so much energy that the whole place was a magical disaster zone once it was over.”

Sarah gave an almost unnoticeable twitch, “Yup. Then they all left, well, almost all. They left a guardian of sorts behind.”

“Really?” Pendleton perked up. “Who? It isn't Tranquility is it?”

“You couldn't be farther from the truth there, Pen-Pen.” Sarah chuckled. “I can tell you that they are still around, still as powerful as ever, and still annoyed at being left behind as the last line of defence of the world.”

“Who is it?” Pendleton repeated his question, as Ghondish walked back in.

“The last survivor of the gods?” Ghondish said more than asked. “Someone you don't want to be on the wrong side of. Now, let's get back to the game!”

-

“Alright Mil, you and the girlfriend are out at Ricks having a drink when you see a familiar bike pull up out front.” Ghondish gave an evil grin. “Behind him several more pull up.”

Mil groaned, “Shit. I pull out my phone and call the rest of the party.”

“The bikers enter the bar, and head strait to the counter to order several shots of Smaltz each. They don't seem to have seen you yet.” Ghondish continued.

“I let the party know, what just rolled into the area, and ask for help.” Mil said.

Pendleton smiled. “I have just the thing for these ass-hats! I grab my special hose, and head out across the backyard, jump the fence, and jog across the street to the bar.”

“Wait...You mean that hose?” Sarah, eyes going wide, asked.

“Yup!” Pendleton replied, smiling.

“What do the rest of you do?” Ghondish asked.

Sarah shook her head, “I'm across town, getting my hair done. I can't do anything!”

Ghondish smiled, “Okay. Pen, you walk in the door. No one seems to pay you any mind.”

“I walk up to the bar proper, slam my hose into it, and ask for a seltzer.” Pen said.

“The bikers hear your order, and turn to wards you. They stop when they see your 'hose', and take a step back.”

“I leer at them, and ask if they need anything.”

Almost laughing, Ghondish said, “They look at you, then the hose, then back at you. They mumble something, one of them throws a roll of cash on the bar, and they leave rather quickly.”

“What. In the hell. Is your 'hose'?” Mil all but yells.

“You walk up to the bar, and see in front of Pen, a two foot length of garden hose. It has a motorcycle chain threaded through it, and the chain is held in place by several large spiked nails.” Ghondish replied. “It is a traditional bikers weapon. Generally only wielded by the older generation. And the one in front of Pen looks to be ancient, and covered in brownish spots.”

Mil gasped. “Where did you get that?”

“Well, by background is 'gang member' and the backstory, that you were never interested in before this, was that I was raised in a biker gang. The hose belonged to my grandfather, then my father, then me.” Pen smiled.

“That's why you have that old Gerry motorcycle in your garage?” Mil asked.

“Yup! That was grandpa's ride. Good old shaft drive. I had to sell mine to afford the down payment on the shitty duplex.”

Magic in the Blacksmith's World

First off, magic requires mana. Mana is in everything; rocks, trees, people, etc. While everyone has an amount of mana, it requires a large amount of either: Training, or talent (wild mage) to use.

Mana can be sensed with training, or a talent in that direction. Most who can don’t bother since everything has it. The exception being when a mage is looking at a possible apprentice. More mana = better results.

Spell casting requires words, concentration, gestures, and for more powerful spells, components. But the better you know the spell, the less of these things you need to do.

Spells build on one another. So if you wanted to throw a ball of fire, you would first learn the spell to start a fire, then manipulate fire, then finally to throw a ball of fire. Think of it along the lines of math, you have to learn to do addition before you can do multiplication.

Divine magic is granted by the gods, but relies mostly on your own ability to channel magic. And how much mana you can hold. Too much divine, and your body burns up. Literally.

The continent where Max lives, each country has their own mage college, and some have several. Internationally a 'council of mages' gathers every twelve years to discuss new spells, and determine what should and should not be taught. (Max's spell book collection that spans 700+ years could make him a target for people seeking 'hidden' or banned spells, and that's just the books in his trunk. His bunker of treasure has several book shelves of spell books that are several thousand years old...Tristan wouldn't sell books.)

Anyway, you can blame u/DrwaingTofu for me hashing out this post on magic. Later today will have our regularly scheduled Heretic episode!