A/N Another twenty odd pages for y'all. Been busy these last few days, sorry for the lack of updates. Should have another collection of chapters tomorrow.
The Not-Immortal Blacksmith Chapter 9 - Baker
A/N: This should have actually come out after "The Kid II", but...meh. I think from this point forward, the Maxwell chapters are going to be a bit more detailed, and cover less lengthy periods of time.
*-*-*
It's been a few weeks since I dropped the kid off with the army. He's not my problem any more, thank the ... never mind. I have traveled hard to escape the area and have arrived in Rorewell, a town of 3000 people, located west/southwest of Demonia. Some of the town's residents are beastmen and half bloods. While in a tavern one night, during a discussion about the current war, I mentioned that the Heretic had trained the newest hero on the western front.
*-*-*
Bjorn stopped by my current lodging! We stepped out for food and drinks. He told me about the gods being annoying, etc etc. As the night progressed, he asked what I was going to do with my life now. I gave it a good amount of thought, before saying that I had always wondered how bread was made. To which he responded, "Well clean yourself up and go down the street to the bakery and ask!"
We parted company some time later, what with him having god things to do, and I'm off to bed.
*-*-*
I cleaned myself up and went to the bakery this morning. I walked in, and said that I would like to learn how to bake. The young girl behind the counter turned around and yelled into the back, "Mom, don't worry about that help wanted sign, we got a fresh one!" After a quick chat with the proprietress, Martha, I start tomorrow.
*-*-*
I have been learning to bake for three weeks. It is almost as intricate as making watered steel, and in some cases, more intricate. Most of my time is spent doing the prep work, watching the baked goods being made, and selling them. Next month I will be allowed to make the basic peasant bread.
The matron, Martha, is a young looking 30 something, widowed, and has almost no time to deal with anybody's shit. She is rather devout to the gods, but generally I like her. Her daughter, Jenni, on the other hand, a rambunctious 12 year old, is obviously trying to get us together. I will have to nip the bud off of this.
*-*-*
I made Jenni cry today, when I explained that I lost my wife and didn't want to remarry. I hope she stops with the attempts at matchmaking.
*-*-*
After several more weeks of work and practice, I put my first set of loaves up for sale today. A few sold, but not many. This is harder than it looks.
*-*-*
Breakthrough! Mistress Martha says I am now able to make a "decent" loaf! Strong praise indeed.
It has been three months since I started here. I now know the basics of baking, but it will take several years to learn all of the recipes, and their variants. Bjorn stopped in today and bought a loaf. He said it was good, but not as good as Mistress Martha's. I'm glad for his honesty.
He has heard no news about the western front, so I assume the kid hasn't been sent out yet.
TTFN
The not-immortal Blacksmith - Interlude - The Kid IV
Western Demon Desert, 43 miles north of Claymouth;
42nd of Amsiel, the second of Summer;
2109
I woke up on the plateau, with something licking my face. The goat. Why am I not surprised? The Ice Demon is dead. The "obelisk of Winter" as the troops are calling it, is destroyed. I gave orders for all of the demon, and the bodies of the undead to be tossed on top of a short house so we could give them a proper funeral and send off. It just seemed like the right thing to do.
We took every scrap of everything we could carry, as well as our own dead, and headed back to our base.
*-*-*
45th of Amsiel,
The weather is breaking up well. We had a warm wind this morning for PT. The goat brought in a pair of cows today, lowing to be milked. At least I'm not the only one who knows how to milk one.
No news yet from the rear guard. I will be cycling through our available units to provide scouts. Once that schedule is made I will be putting together ad-hock units from the previous survivors. More people are stumbling into camp. Some military, others just civilians. The female adventurers are making their presence known by taking over empty positions like secretary. I miss my old secretary...She had nice...Anyway.
47th of Amsiel,
Three days out from the fight, and we finally have reinforcements coming in. The courier just arrived. Reinforcements and equipment will be here in two days. Our defeat of the demons and destruction of the "Obelisk of Winter" has freed up the roads, and thus our supplies.
48th of Amsiel,
I overheard my "Secretaries" this morning commenting on how "cute" I am. Whatever.
I have sent a letter by way of the courier, to Master Maxwell, asking for his opinion on a few things out here. And to ask if he and Tristan ever had a goat problem. I hope I will hear from him soon. Probably nor for a month or more, knowing him.
49th of Amsiel,
Reinforcement day! They showed up about an hour after PT and breakfast was over. They are an unruly mob. Looks like I will have to stand in the back and play instructor again.
Bad news rolls down hill. Again. I have received a citation for battle, and a promotion to Lieutenant. Officer country. Blah. At least I didn't get knighted. None of my original trainees have been promoted. I will be dispatching a strongly worded letter about that with the next messenger.
The other bad news is that in two weeks we will be advancing to a point 20 miles north, to take a ridge. From there we are to link up with several other units and assault the Demon General's palace. I think that this plan is a bit foolhardy, as the supply lines will be thin, and we will be easily cut off; unless they decide to send us a lot more food stuffs.
Training of the new arrivals will start in the morning.
50th of Amsiel,
Someone tried to shoot the goat last night. <sigh> I will have to re-state the ban on harassing the goat. In other news, Lieutenant, Lord Oswald had a self inflicted arrow wound treated last night. He was not very good in PT this morning.
The newbies don't like the PT, or the training that has started, but I'm sure they will come around.
53rd of Amsiel,
Three days into training and Oswald isn't getting it. Even the other nobles are doing the training and PT, but the asshole aristocrat just whines about it. It's almost like his father got sick of him being around and sent him off to die in the war.
54th of Amsiel,
I talked to some of the nobles. Oswald's father did indeed send him off to die. Called him a "useless piece of worthless trash" very loudly when he did it too. I think I will try and help Oswald. This will be difficult. I will call him into my office and talk to him about it tomorrow.
55th of Amsiel,
Oswald is a pig-headed fool. He will probably become the first noble to have ever been placed in the stocks. I give him a week to either wash out, or hang. The gall of the man.
*-*-*
Oswald is in the stocks. He fell asleep on watch last night. The only reason he isn't hanging is that I give people a second chance. But only one.
In other news, the goat brought in a minstrel this morning. A young lad from the "School of Rio". He plays fairly well, but his tunes sound a lot like thrash metal that has been mixed with classical. I'm homesick now. I miss the old club scene. I would almost kill for an 8ball.
*-*-*
We have a week before we move out. The land has mostly thawed. The 'new' recruits are still grumbling about the training etc. Oswald has finally seen the light, and is putting forth some effort.
I am starting to think about my future. Well I was, then the adventurers came into my office arguing about who should be the first. I stupidly opened my mouth and asked "First what?" They just stared daggers at me and left in a huff. Crazy women. It's almost like a harem series, where the protagonist can't tell that the girls like...well fuck...
*-*-*
Oswald came to my office this morning, and lodged a complaint. Apparently the goat was on his tent's roof this morning, and was making; I can't believe I'm writing this; "Rooster Noises". I asked what the hell I was supposed to do about it. His response? "You gave the order that the goat was to be left alone, so I didn't attack it. You figure it out." Then he turned on his heel and left.
He does have a point, but what am I supposed to do? Yell at the goat?
My 'secretaries' and I have had a long conversation. They claim that they will, as it were, "keep it in their pants" until I come of age in 3 years. I don't know exactly how I feel about it, but progress has been made.
*-*-*
We leave in three days. The goat has disappeared, I hope for good. He (someone caught him trying to mount a cow) was almost more trouble than he was worth.
*-*-*
A cleric for one of the small gods came this morning. He was looking for his goat, Ghondish. I told him about the strange goat, and the trouble it caused. He said that sounded like his goat. He was sad when I told him it was gone. He left. Strange people, the followers of the small gods.
*-*-*
The goat is in my fucking office. He left me a 'present' when I threw him out. I am beginning to hate goats.
The Not-Immortal Blacksmith Chapter 9.25 - Baker II
Rorewell, Deepfalsian Dominion;
8th of Kusha, the month of Harvest;
2109 years since the new gods came.
Jenni has been looking at me for a few minutes now after receiving a gold coin from a half blood who just bought out half of the bakery for the Demonia celebration of independence.
"Jenni, why are you staring at me like that?" I asked.
"Um, sorry Max, it's just that the picture on this coin is the spitting image of you." Jenni said, walking over to me. "It's called a 'Golden Heretic', the biggest coin in Demonia. It's worth 3 standard gold coins."
I took the coin and looked at it. "Okay, that is very strange, it does look just like...me." I winced. Shit. I may have to abandon the shop before I've finished learning everything. I search through my coin purse. "Would you mind if I buy it off the store? I kinda want to keep this."
"That's fine. 3 gold and a copper for the money changing fee." Jenni replied.
"You really know how to make extra money, don't you." I said, handing over the coins.
"Thanks Max!" Jenni said, placing my coins in the register.
I looked more closely at the Golden Heretic. The front of the large coin has a good picture of my face in profile, the back has the words "The Heretic, May He Never Return". I'm going to have to go to Demonia once I'm done here and get to the bottom of this. It's more than a little embarrassing.
*-*-*
8th of Kusha
Today was disturbing. The finding of the coin today was surprising. I am unsure how to handle this. I will look into it on my day off.
9th of Kusha
More customers from Demonia today. I had to pay Jenni the money changers markup for all of them. The little thief. At least she doesn't pocket the extra coin, just puts them in the register where they belong.
Tomorrow is the Demonia Independence celebration. I will be glad when it's over.
10th of Kusha
The Demonia peoples carried a statue of ME through the city! What the ever loving hell? I had nothing to do with it! I was just there to make sure the humans didn't get killed. I had to wear my cloak all day with the hood up. I'm beginning to dislike Demonia.
53rd of Kusha
A well dressed military courier from home stopped in to the shop today. He had a letter from the kid that is only about 2 weeks old. The courier will be awaiting my reply tomorrow morning at my lodgings. I have never had any 'Goat' problems, but I suspect god-fuckery. I'm glad the kid is surviving.
54th of Kusha
My letter is sent, as well as a strongly worded letter to the army's commander. I hope this sort of thing doesn't become routine. I compensated the courier quite well in order to get the kid his reply as quickly as possible. I also sent a calling stone along so I won't be bothered like this again.
1st of Anael, the first month of Snow,
Einar's next in line called me today in the middle of the morning rush, in order to introduce himself. I didn't chew him out for the interruption, and promised to visit sometime in the next decade or two.
TTFN
28.5 The Not-Immortal Blacksmith - Flashback - The Gun
A/N Welcome to the newest chapter Variety! "Flashbacks".
Flashback episodes will come out intermittently, and will attempt to fill in gaps previously found in the story. Yes, they are/were inspired by reading comments and reviews, as well as talking to a few friends. Hopefully this will help things along.
They will come out whenever they are written. Consider them to be cannon, just not placed correctly in the timeline.
In other news, I will be adding "dates" to the journal episodes so people can more easily keep track of what is happening when.
I would appreciate some input as to who/what incident people want to read about from the past chapters, so please, please comment, so I can keep these types of chapters coming!
V. L.
P.s. The Guy from Rio is the next one I plan on doing.
- The Gun -
The revolver sat alone, almost forgotten under properly folded shirts, in the back of a dresser drawer. It was a relatively simple thing, made from cold hard steel and brass. It's cylinder's chambers packed with black powder and topped a .44 caliber ball made from an amalgam of silver, lead, and cold iron. The primer caps were on all six of the cylinder's nipples, and the hammer rested gently on one.
Stamped on the barrel were the words "Colt Army Model 1860", and on the bottom of the grip, in a stilted hand was scrawled "For Max, T". The words were all partially worn away from use, but still legible in the proper light. It's brother was tucked into the waistband of a blacksmith.
It's previous owner, a veteran of the American Civil War, was long gone from this world; having returned home after his job here was done; and he had left it and it's brother behind to give it's new owner a "leg up" on his competition.
It sat, and sat, and sat. If it was actually able to think, it would have thought things like "I'm lonely", or "I'm bored", or any of dozen things like that. But it couldn't think.
Well not really.
What it could do was "feel", and feel it did. It felt the loss of it's first owner whom it had been issued to almost immediately after it's production, an owner who had used it and cared for it like an extension of his body. An owner that it had never failed. Not once.
It could feel it's brother when it was nearby, could feel the smith in it's brothers proximity. It felt them both this day as they came into the room they all shared. It felt the drawer slide open. It felt the smith's hand seek out it's warn and polished grip. It almost felt joy when it was pulled out into the open air.
And it felt relief when it heard the smith's voice, "I think you've been in there too long. Time for a cleaning, and then into my holster you go. There have been some bad sorts around lately, better safe than sorry."
29 The Not-Immortal Blacksmith Chapter 9.5 - Baker III
Rorewell, Deepfalsian Dominion;
7th of Anael, the first month of Snow,
2109 years since the new gods came.
I went to the library in town today. I was looking for some kind of old baking cookbook to find a new (old) recipe to surprise Martha with. I was met by an older middle aged Gnome woman, and when I inquired about ancient baking recipes she said she had just the thing in the stacks.
When she came back with it, I could see just how old it was. The ancient leather binding was obviously not it's first, as it barely covered the pages, no title was visible. Public cutbacks, go figure. As she signed me into the log book, as well as the title I was borrowing, she told me the recipe was best found in the index, under the name "communion loaf". She also said to not worry about the rest of the book as it was all just "Old religion mumbo-jumbo". I thanked her and left.
*-*-*
The recipe was simple to find. It is even fairly simple to make. The ingredients, on the other hand are very rare, unless you used to be an adventurer, who knew those wyvern wings would come in handy in the kitchen as well as the forge?
The recipe does mention that additional information about it is in chapter 3, on page 289. I will read it tomorrow after work.
*-*-*
8th of Anael
This fucking book. I'm taking it back to the library tomorrow, recipe be damned.
*-*-*
9th of Anael
I'm stuck with the book. When I tried returning it, the nice elf at the returns desk said that it was never in the catalog, and that the didn't have any "stacks" in the rear of the library, just the shelves of old books that are restricted for research, and not many of those. When I politely asked her to look again, she did, and came back a few minutes later with the library's Matron.
"No, Mr. Maxwell, we have never had a book like that in our collection, nor have we ever had a Gnome working here." She said. Frustrated, I left. Then I noticed the statue of Esmeralda, the Gnome goddess of knowledge at the entrance. The librarian had looked just like..."Well Fuck", I said out loud, and the damn statue winked at me.
I'm now stuck with a 2900 page book about the elder/old gods. At least the recipes don't look to bad. I will have to try and decipher some of the religious BS, so that I don't attract them in addition to the new ones that already plague me.
*-*-*
11th of Anael
Today I try the new recipe. I have tried to remove all of the religious mumbo-jumbo that the book claims are needed to make the dough rise properly. I removed all the silly gestures, the meaningless "words of power", the "circles of sanctity", and everything else. More notes later, after the test is done.
*-*-*
Fuck this book. The kitchen is a mess. I had to pull out ALL of the old cleaning charms that I haven't used since Tristan was around. I wonder how he is (was?) doing? I guess I'm going to have to research the recipe more.
*-*-*
12th of Anael
Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. This is all stupid.
*-*-*
20th of Anael
It has taken a week of studying this damnable book, but I think I have it down now. Some of the mumbo-jumbo was, and some of it wasn't. I haven't had to remember this much magic lore since I trained the kid...That wasn't actually that long ago was it?
*-*-*
23rd of Anael
I have manufactured an outdoor kitchen for my experiment. If things work properly, then I won't have anything to worry about. If things blow up again, then it will have been well worth the effort. Either way, Martha is appreciative. More later.
*-*-*
Well, it worked. Mostly. The bread is good, but not divine. Upon eating the first slice, I felt buoyed inside, and slightly better. But the effect faded after a few minutes. It would appear that this is some kind of "divine" healing bread. I will add the original, and my version there of, to my slowly growing bread book.
Now what to do with the other 6 dozen loafs?
TTFN
30 The not-immortal Blacksmith - Interlude - Military Intelligence II
8th of Aneal, First month of Snow,
2109 years since the new gods came.
"Sir, we may have a problem."
"What is it Lieutenant?"
"I was going through the personal mail before dispersal to the troops, as required - - -"
"Get to the point."
"- - - Sorry sir. The Heretic sent us a letter. Sir."
"Well crap. Read it to me."
To whomever it may concern,
Get on with it. Send the kid the proper support to win your little war. I don't want to have to come and sort it out for you.
Maxwell
PS. What is with that Goat?
"What goat is he talking about, Lieutenant?"
"Some vaguely annoying creature that has been helping Liam. I don't get it either."
"Very well. I suppose I need to go have a talk with the Council of Generals. We don't need a repeat of the 'Tristan Incident' that the Heretic is alluding to."
"...Um...Do I want to know what happened?"
"The short story is that the Council of Generals of the time disbanded after half of them died in 'mysterious incidents'. I will have to give the Council the full version."
"Tristan the Hero? The Heretic's teacher and mentor? That Tristan? He was a Hero! Perfect in every way!"
"Far from it. He was a drinker to the extreme, smoked some noxious herb called 'tobakie' that made him cough something fierce, whored like you wouldn't believe, and was all sorts of disrespectful."
"But, the history books say none of that..."
"Of course not. Would you like our greatest hero to have flaws? He was just a man, like you and me. Just... coarse and violent to the extreme. One general, who's name is lost to history, demanded he be shown Tristan's 'hand cannon'. Tristan obliged, by shoving the thing into his face and firing it. The general was dead before he hit the floor. Not surprising since he was missing the top of his head."
"No wonder the Heretic is so bad, with him as a role-model."
"No, the Heretic has a heart. Tristan really didn't. He was a man killer, in every form of the word. The Heretic was his only friend, according to the actual records, anyway."
"Okay. One day I will be allowed to read some of those reports, yes?"
"If you live long enough. Send Liam his letter. I have people to talk to."
*-*-*
December 13th, 1893, Denver Colorado, USA
"ACHOO!!!" Tristan sneezed, his black stetson falling off with the force of it. "Sorry honey, don't know what got into me. Lets get back to our shenanigans before your husband gets home."
31 The not-immortal Blacksmith - Interlude - The Kid V
49th of Kusha, the month of Harvest,
2109 years since the new gods came.
Three days, has been pushed back a week. We squat in place. When this is over, villagers will probably flock here as we have assembled a "nice" little settlement.
*-*-*
50th of Kusha
Things are progressing nicely, the general staff will be moving in soon. I will finally be relieved from this duty, and returned to fighting. It can't come too soon.
I wonder what they will think of the goat?
*-*-*
1st of Anael, First month of Snow.
Departure has been pushed back another week or more, but the needed supplies we will need for our journey haven't reached us. I wonder who is screwing up now? New soldiers are showing up by the Platoon now, and are being introduced to what is called "Max's Way" or, more often, "Heretic's Style". I blame the Demonia ex-pats for the second name.
*-*-*
2nd of Anael
Aside from payroll being short, things are going well. I am worried that the "Normal" winter will freeze us in at this point. The waiting is starting to kill the moral of the troops. Luckily the "Bard" is still around, and helping. Our normal contingent of camp followers has increased greatly, being joined by some more openly obvious "Ladies of the Night". I'm not so certain that I approve.
*-*-*
5th of Aneal
The "Night Ladies" have approached me, asking for a building from which to run their brothel. After consulting with my superiors, they have been allowed to select a site and begin construction.
*-*-*
9th of Anael
Those women can build! It has been three days, and they have a fully built and staffed Bar/Inn/Brothel. Goddess help us all.
The general staff has been witnessed visiting the place already. Whatever.
*-*-*
11th of Anael
I have received word from the grape vine that several members of the Council of Generals have resigned. I have also finally received a reply from Master Maxwell. I am glad he is well and learning a new trade. I also now have a messaging stone thingy, should I need to ask him anything. It's like a phone, but magic!
*-*-*
14th of Anael
We have been properly resupplied! We leave in three days. We will be making supply drops every three miles. It will be slow going with the snow starting to fall in earnest. Finally we get to give some payback.
*-*-*
15th of Anael
More poo has rolled downhill. My cadre of Corporals have been promoted to Sergeants. I hope they like it.
I now command 400 men, consisting of humans, half-bloods, beastmen, and others. The number of 'support staff" is more than double that. When we leave, most of the followers will be left behind.
*-*-*
17th of Anael
We leave in the morning. Praise the goddess, THE GOAT IS GONE!!!!!
*-*-*
18th of Anael
The wind is cold as we march into the Demon's Desert, a place of chill and frost. A place that was cursed many, many, millennia ago, when the old gods still roamed the land and offered succor to their followers and children. Something about a war with beings "Beyond the Veil" caused all this, I don't know, I'm not a scholar or priest.
Every 3 miles we stop, place a marker, and leave supplies.
*-*-*
It has been one day. The cold chills to the bone. If not for the practice from our last march, my troop would be just as frozen as the rest of the army. The cold disease (hypothermia, again) is coming on strong, and frostbite is running rampant. I have offered the Captain our assistance with warming, my mages can manage it.
*-*-*
The Captain accepted my offer. We will heat the army now.
*-*-*
19th of Anael
The Mages are being tested. We don't have enough of them to run shifts. At the end of each day they almost fall down from exhaustion, but no one is getting sick. They are getting the best of the food, better than the officers even, and the warmest tents.
*-*-*
21st of Anael
Three days. Three days, and we are almost there. We have stopped early to rest. Tomorrow we battle the General of the west.
*-*-*
*-*-*
20th of Anael
"Marax? I think we should invite Hank for dinner. His 'Partner' is out on an overnight scouting assignment." General Grapestein smiled a toothy smile.
"Very good my lord." Marax shared his lords grin, all seven eyes open and shining, "Shall I inform the kitchen? Or will we be dining in the old way?"
*-*-*
Hank was dressed in his finest clothing. Bright read hose and emerald green tunic, brightly polished belt of steel links around his waist. His foppish hat even had peacock feathers tucked into the band.
He stepped into the throne room and gawked at the decorations; bright cheery ribbons hung from the ceiling, bunting was hung from the walls, the table from the grand banquet hall was set in the middle of the room covered in meat dishes of so many different types that he couldn't name them.
On the center of the table was an ornately decorated silver tray, almost the length of a man, lined with some sort of lettuce like leaves. As he stared in amazement, he heard Marax say, "Ah, the centerpiece has arrived!" Something crashed into the back of his head, and he fell still.
*-*-*
21st of Anael
"General! The enemy has camped for the evening. They will likely assault us in the morning." Bob said, striding into General Grapestein's throne room, being met by silence. He looked around. The room was empty, no Grapestein, no Marax, no hangers on. Just the oversized table from the banquet hall, covered in the remains of a feast, and many, many puddles of the brownish wine the demons loved. He stepped forward, and into a puddle of wine. Wine that had congealed. Congealed around a finger. A finger that was wearing Hanks wedding band.
Bob shook his head in disgust. "What the hell are they thinking?" he said, before logging out.
32 The not-immortal Blacksmith - Interlude - The Kid VI
22nd of Anael, First month of Snow.
2109 years since the new gods came.
~4:30 AM
I was awoken around an hour ago by a soft popping noise, and the sound of someone falling a foot or so to the floor. A cast of 'Flash' stunned my assailant until I had my sword out and at his throat. He looked to be around 19 years or so, wearing mages robes, and a tear stained face. To the best of my memory, our conversation went like this:
Me: What are you doing in my tent?
Him: I want to kill the bastard demon who killed my husband.
Me: Wait, What?
Him: Did I stutter or mumble? Or aren't you the 'Hero'?
Me: Yes...No... Wait! Your husband was killed by a demon? Then join the army.
Him, taking a deep, grief riddled breath: No. You don't seem to understand. Last night, I came back to the demon generals throne room, and found the remains of my husband. No big deal, it's 'just a game'. I jacked out, to talk to him, AND HE WAS DEAD!
Me, looking this man strait in the eyes: A game? You think this is a game? I was reborn here after I died in Chicago in 1987! And YOU THINK THIS IS SOME STUPID GAME?!?!?!
Him: Wait, Huh? What?
Me: Did I mumble or stutter?
Him: But, I'm from 2089...This isn't a Deepdive MMORPG?
ME: Whatever that is, no. This is a real world, with real people, doing REAL THINGS! Now I understand why Master Maxwell hates 'Heros' so much. You're all IDIOTS!
Him, looking like he is about to vomit as tears start falling: NO. No, no, no, no, no... FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! I am going to kill that fucking programmer when I get back home! Tell me we are the only pre-alpha testers for a new game? Cool. Not tell us that it is actually a doorway to an alternate world, not a cool DDVR? No. Sueing you for wrongful death isn't enough. Not after what you had me do here.....
Me: ... Um...What now?
Him: Call me Bob. The programmer said that my husband and I should join in on the demons side, work with them to see how the combat controls work. Even gave us 'new spells' to work on perfecting. <deep sobbing breath> But now I know...Now I know that I wasn't just killing pixels in 400K clarity, I was killing PEOPLE! That bastard is dead. I'm going to rip his intestines out through his asshole and hang him with them!
Me, slightly taken aback, hand clutching my sword hilt more tightly: Okay. Um. How about I take you to the commanders tent, and you can tell him all about things. Once that is done with, you can join me on the front lines?
Bob, after taking a few more calming breaths: Okay. I...I...I think I can do that. Then we kill this ass-clown demon. General Grapestein.
*-*-*
General Grapestein awoke from a bloated slumber with a sneezing fit.
*-*-*
I showed Bob the way to the command tent, and led him inside. I left him there to explain himself. I'm so glad I don't have to deal with this kind of shit any more.
*-*-*
Just got the word from command, Bob will be joining my mages today. And boy is he pissed.
*-*-*
22nd of Anael, 1/2 hour before sunrise
We wait behind the crest of a hill, preparing to storm the castle. The demon hoard is unprepared, as Bob was unable to deliver the news of our imminent attack. I would say that this will be easy, but Master Maxwell taught me better.
The word is being passed, charge at the second horn call. I hope I live to see the end of the day.
*-*-*
23rd of Anael, Evening
In a large pavilion, in a large camp, located just outside of the range of demon fire from General Grapestein's castle, a conversation is taking place.
"No sir. I didn't see him after our charge was rebuffed." Corporal Anderson said, tears running from his eyes. He didn't even try to wipe them away. "The last thing I saw before the Ice Giants charged us was him, the cat, the demon, and that new guy, Bob? Chasing some multi eyed demon down a side passage."
"Very good, Corporal. You followed your orders properly, and retreated when you were able. I wish we had more men like you. Did you retrieve his Journal?"
"Yes, mi-lord. Here it is." Anderson held out a thick, and rough looking book, with unknown runes on the cover. "He once told me the runes were words of power, and not to touch them."
"We will deal with it, Corporal." The unnamed M.I. officer sighed, "And for what it is worth, Corporal? I am sorry for the loss of your commander and friend. At least we all gave him the best chance we could."
"Yes sir. Thank you sir." Anderson responded. "I want in on the Forlorn Hope. Sir. I want to lead it."
"We aren't there quite yet Corp- - -"
An explosion from the castle shook the camp, followed by several lesser explosions.
"What in the 8 Hells?" The M.I. officer yelled, looking for his sword that had fallen off of the interview table. "Corporal, return to your post!"
*-*-*
-A moment before the boom-
"One of grandpa's anime gave---" Bob started.
"You watch that Japanese cartoon bullshit?" Liam asked.
"Shut up and listen. I have a spell that should open this door. Just give me a minute." Bob said.
"Okay. Fine. Where did you get it from?" Liam asked, shaking his head.
"The Anime 'Slayers'." Bob replied, before chanting something in Japanese, and pointing his hand at the sealed great door to the throne room.
A beam of reddish energy shot from his hand, hitting the door and exploding on contact. An explosion that caused the castle to shake, and a mushroom cloud to form above it.
Covered in dust and debris, the party of heroes charged into the throne room. The ceiling was riven, open to the sky, and what was left of the decor was in tatters. Falling rubble had miraculously crushed most of the demons in the room, but not all. General Grapestein was in the middle of standing up from his throne, while his assistant Marax stood to one side, mouth agape.
"Ah, the hero's party has---" General Grapestein began, only to be cut off mid sentence.
"Shut it you lard ass, loudmouth!" Liam yelled, as he summoned and threw a lightning spear into the generals guts. "Bob, this one is yours, I'll get the other one. Everyone else, guard the doors!"
Bob, a wicked smile on his face, strode towards the demon, "I bet it was your idea to eat Hank. To kill him and gobble him up. Wasn't it?" Bob drew a long, barbed whip, one that General Grapestein had given him in fact, and sent magical energy coursing through it. "I bet you made him suffer."
"No pain and suffering." General Grapestein said, "It ruins the flavor of the meat. Just a club to the head, and bleeding out the veins. No pain at all." He looked into the rage on Bob's face, and smiled a cruel smile.
"NO PAIN? NO SUFFERING?" Bob yelled, "You expect me to believe you?" The whip lashed out, catching Grapestein across the left leg, tearing the flesh and searing the bone.
*-*-*
Liam drew his sword and charged Marax. "Goddess, you look like a Gwar understudy," He said under his breath, and swung his sword.
Marax ducked under the blade, and freed the barbed whip from his belt. "You are much to young for this fight, boy."
"I'm older than I look, asshole." Liam replied, stabbing at the demon.
"Be that as it may, mortal, I'm much older and more experienced than you will ever be." Marax said, jumping back and cracking his whip in Liam's face.
"Indiana did that better." Liam said, armored left hand snaking out and grasping the end of the whip, ignoring the pain from it's magical barbs, "You'll never be as good as he is." He pulled as hard as he could, hoping to disarm the demon. But such was the power of his pull, that Marax himself was jerked forward along with the whip.
"What the---" Marax yelled as he was yanked forward. He never finished his question as Liam shoved his sword through the demons mouth, and out the back of it's skull.
*-*-*
Enough is enough, General Grapestein thought, finally pulling his wickedly barbed sword from his belt. "Your usefulness is at an end, human. I will take your life now."
Bob stepped back, readying another strike, "You think so? Good luck trying, asshat!"
"Your whip hurts, yes, but I heal much faster. And to me, pain is a minor inconvenience that I quite enjoy." The general said, smiling even wider than before. A half step, and a thrust and his sword point pierced Bob's left knee. Grapestein twisted the blade to free it. Bob screamed in pain, and fell to the floor.
"You see, Bob, pain clears and focuses the mind." Grapestein sniffs the air, and shakes his head, "Well once you learn to see through it, that is." He took another half step forward, and stabbed Bob in the right thigh.
Lying on the floor, bleeding and in pain, Bob cried out in his mind, Anything! I will do anything! Please, someone, anyone! I will do anything! JUST HELP ME!
From somewhere in the deep void, a 'Voice' responded, VERY WELL.
*-*-*
As Liam pulled his sword from Marax's already dissolving corpse, he yelled, "Hey Bob, you done over there buddy?"
*-*-*
A flow of power seeped into Bob's body, he felt it burn out from his core, to the tips of his fingers and toes. His legs screamed in pain as the wounds healed. The pain seemed to take an eternity to subside, but it was, in reality, only a fraction of a second. He slowly regained his feet, body glowing from the power it now contained.
General Grapestein stepped back in horror from the glowing, power infused human standing before him. "What, what in the unholy hells?"
Bob smiled at the demon, "Apparently, I know how to ask for help. Someday the gods of this world may forgive you for what you've done, but I never will." Strange words, words of power, words not heard on this world since it's creation, appeared in Bob's mind, and he chanted them aloud, "Tha draoidheachd na cruinne-cè seo a ’mallachadh deamhan. Bàsachadh!"
*-*-*
Liam slowly turned towards the sound of chanting, and stood staring, mouth agape at Bob's glowing form, hand outstretched, and palm forward. A large beam of mutli-chromatic energy pulsed forth from Bob's hand, striking General Grapestein full in the chest. The demons scream of agony shook the castle to it's foundation, and Grapestein slowly, painfully melted; much akin to a candle placed in a hot oven.
"That was...Amazing!" Liam said, eyes wide and mouth agape. "Where did you...?"
"In my time of need," Bob wheezed, "I called for help." He wheezed again, "And something...the magic...I think?...Answered me?" He coughed. "I'm...Not feeling well...I need to jack out... Goodbye Liam." He coughed again. Bob made a gesture next to his head with his right hand, and slowly faded from sight.
Liam stared at the empty space where Bob had stood. "Um...Holy shit..." He shook his head a couple times, then yelled "Folks! We are leaving!"
His comrades in arms formed up around him and they ran from the castle.
*-*-*
Kocha looked through the large and well bound book. "So there's no magic in this world? A Wizard is right out then. How about a Ranger?"
"Hmmm... I think the best bet would be the 'Great White Hunter' class." Big G said. "With the "Faithful Hound" perk, you can even have an animal companion!"
"Sounds good to me. So, ranged weapons use Agility, correct? Then I need to put this 18 in that so I can hit." Kocha said.
"That would be for the best, I think." Big G replied.
"Whoa, did you see that?" Kocha suddenly asked, sitting up straight.
"See what?" Big G asked, looking up from the full color rule book.
"Viewing stone, go back 30 seconds" Kocha commanded. "Watch this!"
The pair of gods watched the 'fight' between Bob and Grapestein.
"What was that?" Kocha asked.
"The Wellspring of Magic." Big G said, shrugging, "It does that sometimes, when it gets angry at someone. In this case I bet it was because the demons siphoned off some of it's power to send one of their own to the other world to instigate their plan for summoning their own Hero with VR equipment. Seems the Wellspring didn't like loosing some of itself in the process."
"It can do that?" Kocha asked in a horrified voice.
"Oh yes. It can be petty like that. There was one time Gob decided to try and pee in it, thought it would be funny. He was out of action for half of a millennia." Big G replied, then frowned, "I miss him."
"Okay. So tell me about this 'Darkest Africa' place my character was supposedly exploring." Kocha said, moving the conversation back to something less depressing.
33 The Not-Immortal Blacksmith Chapter 10 - Demonia
Gilip, Capital city of Demonia;
29th of Anael, First month of Snow;
2109 years since the new gods came.
~1AM
"Uncle Garbelx? Why are you leaving?"
"Oh, I'm going on a trip to visit your great Auntie Vesknana."
"But why now? It's after midnight."
"Because the roads aren't as busy, so I can travel faster!"
"Okay! Night night Uncle Garbelx!"
As Garblex stepped into the cold night air, he was unsurprised to see the rest of his ilk making for the city gates. Someone screwed up. Now HE is coming back!
*-*-*
7AM
"Anything else to report, Sergeant Powell?" Commander Schwartz asked.
"Yes sir, although it's a bit confusing. All of the full bloods left the city early this morning." Sgt. Powell responded.
"What?!?"
*-*-*
22nd of Anael, First month of Snow.
2109 years since the new gods came.
I've decided to take some time off from the bread business to go and have a look at this whole Demonia problem. Liam is well, and didn't have to use the vial of holy water I talked him through making from goats pee a while back. I guess this stupid book is worth something after all.
24th of Anael
I said my goodbyes to Martha and Jenni, promising I wouldn't be gone more than a couple of weeks. Travel at this time of year is slow due to the cold and snow. It's 60 miles by road to Yayasilip; the last town before the Demonia border; and should take me 3 days. From there it is about 100 miles to Gilip; Demonia's capital; and the answers I seek. One way, my journey should take 8 days, one week.
26th of Anael
It is late in the evening, but I have arrived in Yayasilip. Tigra's Inn is a nice place, small, cozy, and specializes in merchant travelers so I fit right in. It is good to be on the road.
28th of Anael
I should make the border today, and be well into Demonia by tomorrow. A fair amount of traffic on the road, but no bandits to be seen. It is very different from the last time I was through here.
29th of Anael
I have crossed over the border into Demonia. I should have seen any number of full blooded demons by now, as the local populace is supposed to be teeming with them. I should be feeling them by now, much as I can feel the "Hero's" from the other world.
How long have I been able to do that...?
Sometime when I have more time to look for answers I will have to explore this development.
30th of Anael
I have stopped in several of the small villages and settlements along the road and asked about the demons. Apparently, for some reason, they have all left for some place to the north. I wonder if they are having some sort of conclave?
In exchange for fixing a couple of pots and pans, I am sleeping in a hay loft tonight. Much more comfortable than the ground.
31st of Anael
Rain and slush have slowed travel today. The roads are a mix of ice, slush, and mud. Everyone on the road has had to slow down. I assisted a farmer who was taking a load of turnips to the next village when his axle failed due to a deep rut. I believe I will write a stern letter to the Teamsters Guild, suggesting they recommend to the crown an improvement to the roads around here. Even if they don't cobble the road, large gravels would be an improvement.
32nd of Anael
Late evening marks my arrival in Gilip. The local branch of "The Green Dragon Inn" is my chosen abode for the night.
32nd of Anael, update
I have moved to an inn in the slums. I have paid a half-blood and his friends a reasonable sum for "protection" for my wagon and team. Mostly I don't want them to get hurt trying to steal the thing. Or my horses.
The local Green Dragon branch had a Large PAINTING of me attending that stupid accord signing! I refuse to ever step foot in that place again. Idiots.
*-*-*
"Sir?" Sargent Powell called, gently shaking his commanding officer. "SIR?!?" He shook him again, not so gently this time. A dagger poked him gently in the chest.
"This had better be good, Powell." Commander Schwartz said, sitting up.
"You wanted to know immediately if anything else weird happened, Sir..." Sargent Powell said, a trickle of sweat rolling down his cheek.
As he started to rise from the bed, Commander Schwartz scowled at his subdominant, and ordered, "Out with it Sargent!"
Stepping back, Sargent Powell swallowed a couple times before saying, "He's here, Sir-"
"Who's here, Powell?"
"The Heretic!" Powell almost yelled, "I saw him with my own eyes. He has returned!"
Commander Schwartz stared at Sargent Powell, and felt himself go weak in the knees. "Oh. Oh shit. Oh gods above and below! I need to see the king... CRAP!"
*-*-*
33rd of Anael
Morning
Today's plan is simple enough. I am going to head to the local magistrates office and start asking questions. If that doesn't get me anywhere, I will head to the "Councilors" building and ask some pointed questions there. If that fails, I will have to resort to diplomacy, and go see the king. I am not looking forward to this.
34 The not-immortal Blacksmith - Interlude - The End of Bob
“Bob” woke up alone. The cot that had been dragged out of storage to replace the bed he and “Hank” had shared was cold and barren by comparison. He sat up and smelled the air. Ozone. He removed the DDVR headset and looked at it. The plastic, originally pristine a few weeks ago, was blackened by char, and cracked. The network jack on his left wrist was also scorched, and would probably never function again. He realized, staring at the jack, that with the damage it had obviously taken he shouldn't be able to feel his arm, let alone move it. As he stared, the wiring that attached the jack to his nerves, and even running to his brain, slowly started to ooze from his body. He watched in horror as the whole assembly dropped onto the cot, and lay still.
He stood, naked, and waked to the bathroom. He calmly started the shower and cleaned himself from head to toe. The funeral was, he glanced at his watch implant on the back of his left wrist, only to find that it as well was gone. He shook his head. Staring into the mirror, he could see...something behind his eyes. Something...malevolent and angry. It glowed dimly there, lying in wait. He blinked to clear his vision and it was gone.
"Bob," he said aloud, "When is the funeral?"
"Master Frank, the funeral is in three hours. Shall I call a cab?" Bob, the apartments AI responded.
"Yes, please do. Also, do a search for that programmer, Allen Kilson, use hubby's credentials, I want to know every move he makes." Frank said.
"Yes Master Frank." Bob replied. Then in a quiet voice, "I miss him too, Frank."
“I know Bob, I know."
*-*-*
The wake, funeral and interment had taken almost six hours, and Frank was tired, very tired. He stumbled a little when he exited the cab at the downtown apartment complex where he and his husband had lived. As the cab took off to catch it's next fare, Frank looked up at the building, all 70 stories of it, and sighed. The whole ordeal was done. His husband of 3 years was in the ground, their friends and family had cried. Goodbyes had been said. It was over. Time for the hunt to begin. In the morning.
He rode the lift to the 48th floor, walked the overly bright, crystal lined hallway to the apartment, opened the door and fell inside. He lay on the cold floor for a long while, weeping. Eventually he stood, walked to the couch, fell into it, and slept.
*-*-*
The bright morning sunlight fell across Frank's face, waking him almost instantly. He squinted into the light, and stood up. He wandered to the bath, shedding clothes along the way. A long, scalding hot shower later, he slowly wandered to the kitchen to start a pot of coffee, before returning to the bedroom to dress for the day. 10 minutes, and a black business casual outfit later he made his way back to the kitchen for coffee.
Coffee now in hand, he sat at the antique wooden dining room table. "Bob, bring up what you found." He says aloud.
"Here you are, Master Frank." Bob replied.
A holograph appeared in the air in front of Frank, he waived a hand in the air, and a keyboard appeared as well. “Okay, so he has withdrawn all his money from the account and is fleeing towards Chicago. Task a tracking drone on him, I want this thing myself."
"Of course, sir." Bob said, then, "I do worry that the military will remove Joseph's credentials soon. If that should happen, what are my instructions?"
"I know you can cut your way through the security. Keep him covered." Frank replied.
"Very good, sir." Bob said. "Should I call a cab, or would you like a car from storage?"
Frank sat in thought for a few moments, "Bob, please get my bike from storage."
"Oh, good choice sir. I will have it available in a few minutes. I will send a full link to the bike's AI." Bob replied.
"Good. By the way Bob, I don't have an interface jack anymore. Please have the AI update my profile based on that." Frank informed Bob.
"I worried that may be the case. Shall I make an appointment to have a new one installed?" Bob asked.
Frank paused for a moment before responding, "No. I think that won't be needed. I have a feeling that I won't be coming back from this ride."
"Very good, sir. It has been a pleasure to serve you." Replied Bob.
Without another word, Frank departs his apartment for what he assumed would be the last time.
*-*-*
The bike; an old model 2048 Ducati Superleggera V6, that had been updated with an AI assisted control module, and lovingly painted bright cherry red; brought forth a flood of happy memories to Frank. Riding with his husband, camping, the little town of Boquillas Mexico on the Rio Grand... He wiped tears from his eyes, put on the full face helmet, and headed out onto the open road.
The large red motorcycle rumbling between his legs, the wind whipping past his body, Frank felt good for what felt like the first time in years. The chase was on, and Chi town waited.
*-*-*
Allen Kilson sat on his bed in a small hotel room, just outside of the Chi-town metroplex. It had been a dark past few days. The magic from his counterpoint in the other world had stopped, and he had almost burned through his supply keeping up his human form. He dropped his human disguise, and spread his 7 foot frame over the bed. He had spotted the drone following him yesterday, had tried to shake it by taking the train, but it picked him up at the next station when he had departed. This was different from his normal experience, where he was the hunter. This world was too strange, too different from his own. I just need to get to the gate, and I can get home. Screw this place!
He heard a noise at the door, just before it was kicked in. He jumped to his feet, clawed fingers splayed out, ready to rake across the unfortunate intruder. The intruder slowly stepped into the room, arms spread like it was going to hug him. Then it started to glow.
*-*-*
Frank stopped and parked the bike outside of a small hotel just outside of Chicago. He gingerly placed his helmet on the seat and headed inside, following his senses as much as the AI talking into his earbud. He rode the elevator to the second level, turned left down the dingy corridor, and stopped halfway to the end. Raising a foot, he kicked the door next to the knob. The door frame splintered as the door slammed open.
Frank spread his arms wide, letting the malevolent power inside him free, and he started to glow.
*-*-*
A local Diner, some time later.
The diner was loud, it being just after bar close and the old school flat screen TV in the corner was blaring an episode of “3's Company” when it was interrupted by a news report.
***We interrupt this program with a special report***
“Police were called earlier tonight when a man kicked his way into a motel room, and set it on fire, killing the rooms occupant. Police have no leads in this case, and are looking for information..”
Frank, sitting alone in a booth about halfway between the door and the far corner, tuned out the news broadcast, drank his cup of coffee, and tried to plan out the rest of his life.
End.
Thanks For the Chapter