The not-immortal Blacksmith

City of Dragon, Snows Provence, Kingdom of Garthia

36th of Anael, the first month of snow.

The Ball

Maxwell and company circulated through the ball, meeting almost every noble in attendance, then separated to talk more intimately with different groups. Grendel, for his part, stayed quiet as he followed Brianna and took mental notes. Polite hello, small talk, deeper questions with a give and take of information, polite goodbye. Don’t actively argue, just a polite comment of differing opinion. Actively listen to what each mark is saying, then repeat with a questioning tone in order to get more clarification and deeper meanings. Mo…Bri is brilliant on so many levels. I’m glad Max told me to follow her and pay attention to How she says things as opposed to what she’s saying.

His musings were interrupted by an older man staring at him expectantly. “Um, I’m sorry sir, I was lost in thought about…the architecture?”

“Architecture. Yes. It is surely grand.” The older man quirked an eyebrow. “I had asked you to get me a flute of wine, but I see you are much too busy admiring the “Architecture” of Lady Brianna.”

Grendel’s face turned red, and his mouth went dry. “Huh? Wait, WHAT!?!” He stared at the man. “You think I was ogling Lady Bri like she was some sort of STREET TART?!?” His face turned a black cherry red as anger started to course through his veins. He reached to his belt and slowly withdrew a pair of soft leather riding gloves, and threw one in the man’s face, before saying quite loudly, “I believe I will be needing a sword.”

-

Across the ballroom, max heard the word “Sword”, and looked up from the small plate of cookies he was devouring. He slowly scanned the room until his eyes fell upon a slowly expanding circle that was centered on Grendel and an older man. “Shit.”

-

“Sir, you have insulted me and profaned my Lady.” Grendel growled out. “I will not leave this insult unanswered. Arm yourself, cur, or be cut down.” He took two steps to the side and yanked an antique sword from the wall. As he pointed the curved blade at his opponent and sighted down its length, the weapon started to glow.

The man stared at Grendel, then at the sword, then back to Grendel, and fainted.

Grendel glanced around at the circle that had formed, “Does this man have a second?” He growled out. The circle of people, as one, stepped back.

-

37th of Anael

Grendel made quite the stir last night. It’s not every day you see one of the ruling classes felled by an angry youth without a single blow being struck. He has entrenched himself as someone who is not to be trifled with, but the political fallout will cause problems down the road, I am certain.

For our part, Bri and I have made a few connections with the upper class, that should help smooth over the reconstruction of the docks. I would include the slums, but aside from the children, there aren’t any more poor people, and the children have been taken in by more well to do families.

I wonder how long it will take for people to realize that they needed the workforce the slums represented as they won’t want to do the “low class” jobs. I can already see the garbage starting to pile up in the alleys.

My research, with the assistance of people who are much better than I, has not produced much. The script is of the Elder Gods, and as such translation is slow going. We have translated a binding spell completely, and that is it. Those in the field are constantly bringing back more information to study.

Last night four more people died of “strangulation”. There were no witnesses. The watch has no leads.

…I have a theory, but it would need tests, and I don’t know how to test it without the risk of someone dying…

38th of Anael

The cruise ship has departed. They have places to go and cargo to transport. We gathered the last of our things, said goodbye to our traveling companions, and had a last supper at the captain’s table.

Two more have died, this time in the more affluent neighborhoods. Still no leads.

I need to test my theory.

40th of Anael

A book of ancient binding spells. Son of a motherless goat…

-

Maxwell walked into The Library early, well before the staff was even thinking about coffee, and looked at the pile of books. His eye caught on a small volume that had been placed on the direct center of the table. It was new.

He stared for a moment, before picking the volume up and flipping through the crisp pages, and his nose smelled the scent of fresh ink and new paper. Then he looked at the words.

As his eyes bulged, he screamed at the top of his lungs. A few minutes of deep breathing later, he began writing at a furious pace, while muttering to himself, “shit, shit, shit.”