The not-immortal Blacksmith

City of Dragon, Snows Provence, Kingdom of Garthia

26th of Anael, the first month of snow.

From the journal of Maxwell Smithson

The weather is a comfortable three points below freezing. Tristan would have called it a balmy thirty degrees, but I don’t understand what compass readings have to do with it. Supposedly, before the demon wastes appeared, the weather below the mountains was warm year-round, but I don’t believe it; I don’t believe whatever that goddess spouts, even if she is supposed to embody Wisdom.

The corpses have been mostly policed, except for the slum. Grendel and the children he found have been working hard to get help to clean up, but most of the survivors just don’t seem to care and want to burn the place as is. I’ll help him and the kids as soon as I’m able. Sometimes I hate towns folk.

28th of Anael,

The slums stink. Literally. There are feral dogs and wild animals rooting through the garbage. The bodies are…bad. I should have insisted on the place being cleaned out alongside the rest of the city. I expect there to be sickness in the near future.

Grendel showed me the well where he found the kids. Something about it stirs worry deep in my bowel…or maybe I’m getting sick? …I’ve never been sick…

-

Maxwell lowered himself into the dry well, and looked at the rock outcropping. It was a lump of flattened rock that protruded from the wall of the well. The rock that lay atop the outcrop felt wrong to his senses, and the pictograms twisted his guts in a knot.

He took his time bolstering his will, then make a rubbing of the pictograms, as well as drawing a picture of the rock. Once finished, he placed his papers in a pouch on his belt and climbed out of the well. Time to help clean the slums.

The work was hard. And stank like warmed death. The bodies he helped recover had already succumbed to rot and were bloated, most more horrid to look at than ones he had seen on battlefields. He retched at the stink more than once.

29th of Anael

More horrid cleaning of the slums today. Brianna punched a man who joked from the sidelines about the place “getting its just deserts”; he may or may not wake up. There was another strangulation last night. Maybe once I’m done with the cleaning, I’ll look into it?

32nd of Anael

The slums are now empty of the dead. I will be conducting a controlled burn in the morning, then supervising a team of looters (and a man who got punched the other day) in cleaning up the remains and carting them to the reclaimed swamp. This “vacation cruise” is turning into more work than play. For some reason, I feel better about that.

33rd of Anael

The fire is done. The remains of the slums went up like a matchstick. I have made my displeasure known to the lord about how the bodies left to rot can cause disease. I’m just glad that no disease has yet cropped up. Maybe one of the Idiots has been watching out for the town after all.

The killings keep happening, night after night. The watch seems to have some idea what’s going on, but haven’t felt inclined to share with the rest of us. In the morning, I will be heading to the local temple; it is a temple to the twelve; to have a word with “Wisdom” about the rock and pictures in the well.

34th of Anael

Wow. Just wow. I had no idea there were so many books…Just…wow!!!!!

-

Maxwell marched his way to the Temple of the Twelve. He passed the polished iron gates set in the six-foot walls, and mounted the twelve steps into the temple proper. He nodded to the statues of Healing and Bjorn, made a rude gesture (out of habit) at the statue of Tranquility, and stopped in front of the statue of the gnomish goddess of Wisdom. He nodded to the statue, and started to speak, “Alright. You know me, and I you. I need information, so, hand it over.”

The statue did nothing.

The temple’s head priest, dedicated to Tranquility, approached Max. “Good sir, that is no way to talk to any of the gods, especially Wisdom. She requires—”

Max turned around to stare at the man, “Don’t bother me, child.”

The priest shrank back, eyes gone round, and began to shake. “I…I’m sorry your holiness, I…i—"

“Just Go Away. I’m Busy.” Max said, then turned back to the statue, “As I was saying, before I got so rudely interrupted, I need information.”

The priest, having just aged to infirmity, staggered to the back of the temple and began to weep. I have just witnessed a miracle. The words of a god! He lay behind the alter, and slept.

The statue of Wisdom glowed a dim purple, then spoke sounding like a disgruntled school teacher, “You are a very rude one, aren’t you Max?”

“Only when dealing with—”

“Shut Up.” Wisdom took a look around the temple. “See? You’re not the only one who can use The Voice. Now I tell you what, you go fix that poor man’s new health conditions, and I will unlock the door behind this statue so you can visit the Head Temple.”

Max, barely able to resist the compulsion that Wisdom’s voice had caused, spluttered for a moment before nodding and croaking out “Okay.”

He walked to where the now elderly priest lay on the cold tile floor, held out his hands, and spoke, “Cure”. As he watched, the priests body started to breath more evenly, the age spots on his face departed, and…Max was almost certain there was a trick of the light, but it seemed that the priest had gained some height and muscle mass.

He turned from the now dozing priest and walked behind Wisdom’s statue to find nothing out of the ordinary. “Stupid gods…gods…wisdom…wisdom to look for the unexpected and the expected…” Max took a deep breath and looked again at the wall. He thought about where he would put a door, where the handle would be, and how big a gnome sized door would be.

A few minutes later he found what he was looking for, only about eight inches to the left of where he thought it should be. A latch, sized just right for a gnome’s small hands. He slid the latch up and it made no sound; then he pushed gently on the wall, and the whole thing opened wide.

What he saw inside almost blinded him.