The not-immortal Blacksmith

Vast Listen, Historical curator of the goddess of Knowledge and History's Museum, Heretic Collection here again! As Brother Proof is still absent from his post, I have had to dig up the interviews with certain guests who were in attendance as opposed to Maxwell's journal, as those several pages never survived. We believe there was “meddling”...

Gurakzar, Dwarven Kingdom of Hasandri.

4th of Anael, First month of Snow.

2290 years since the New Gods came.

5:30 pm.

The sun was bright in the western sky as the first of the guests arrived at the cities central hall where the engagement ceremony and party was to take place. Brandywine was buzzing around the rafters, helping with the last minute decorations. Maxwell was touring the kitchen one last time, and Briana was speaking quietly with her mother about the finer points of the ceremony. “Remember dear, you will have to preform almost the same ceremony in thirty years if you and Max decide to actually go through with the marriage contract.”

“Yes mother. I know. All that needs to be changed is my last name, or his. And a couple of verbs.” Bri responded. She glanced down at her dress for the night, soft green silk with blue highlights. Seed pearls sewn in swirling patterns. Sleeveless and backless, tight from the neck to the waist, but loose and flowing from there on down. She caught sight of Maxwell, in his midnight blue courtly shirt, with tight pants, that were belted at the waist with a wide length of black and red leather, and wearing polished black boots made from wyvern hide. With the small rubies accenting this collar and cuffs, he almost glimmered in the light of the glass chandeliers. Chandeliers that he was now investigating. “I do see what you saw in him, mother. He is sweet and gentle. Yet he is also strong and powerful.” She glanced at Max again from across the room, “And he cleans up well.” Anna giggled.

6:00 pm

Brandywine watched the couple from her perch in the rafters, and giggled. “Mortal races are silly.” She looked at the kitten next to her. “Yes. That's correct. When you want a partner, you just wait for the right moment, and strike. She's either in the mood or not. Very simple. Very strait forward.” The kitten purred in response.

She looked on from her perch as the pair dodged around each other on the floor, meeting guests, and sharing guilty glances, and blushing looks. “It's almost too funny!” A voice purred in Brandy's ear. She looked up to see El Gato cleaning a paw to her left. “I can't believe the lesser races do such silly things.” The two cats and pixie laughed.

6:23 pm

The dinner was to start at seven and most of the guests had arrived, Anna was making her rounds. Polite words, handshakes and the occasional hugs with people she already knew. Some of Bri's friends from home had managed to sneak out to a gate and make the occasion, and she greeted them warmly. One of the girls was overwhelmed by the sight of Maxwell, and had flubbed her introduction. Most embarrassing.

She stepped to the next guest, smiling while holding out her hand and froze. The guest in question was an attractive young man. Thin, with little muscle, thin mustache and well trimmed goatee, short horns atop his head. The man was wearing a pearl white tunic and hose, with crimson piping along the seams. Sapphire and ruby gemstones with accompanying embroidery thread tracing beautiful patterns across the fabric. The outfit was set off with a matching set of polished black boots and a belt with a rapier hanging from it.

But...something of the man was off. His smile to wide. His walk, to perfect. His grace and elegance were beyond reproach... But something was off... His eyes. His eyes were what was wrong. They were missing, replaced with two cavernous holes of oblivion. She shuddered.

“Ah, Miss Anna, mother of the eventual bride.” The man took her hand, kissing her knuckles gently, “A pleasure to finally meet you!” He dropped her hand. “I'm Prince Lancil. I am so pleased to be here.” He gave a slight bow. “But it seems that you may have seen too much. Not unexpected. Be at peace. I have no plans here, other than to attend the gathering, and to pay my respects to the happily betrothed couple.” He smiled an ever so pretty smile, and Anna shuddered to her core.

“Very good, prince Lancil.” Anna nodded and walked away, hugging herself on her way to Maxwell and the bar. Not in that order.

6:30 pm

Maxwell walked a determined beeline for the “Prince Lancil”. Several guests attempted to intercept him on the way, took one look at his face, and thought better of it. The prince in question looked up from telling the king of the Elves the story of “Tristan, the Hero from Denvr”, when Maxwell approached. “I'm sorry your majesty, perhaps I can continue the tail at a later moment? The man of the evening approaches.” He stepped away from the King before assent was made.

“What. Are. You. Doing. Here?” Maxwell demanded.

“I am merely here to wish you the best in your engagement.” Lancil replied, giving a broad bow. “I will abide by the 'Rules of Hospitality', as they were intended, not as certain peoples Interpret them.” He glanced up to the rafters where a certain pixie was still sitting.

“...damn... Very well. You may sit in the back. Behind the Piano.” Maxwell sighed. “And don't make trouble.”

“Hospitality means that I may not.” Lancil replied, a smile playing across his face. Until he locked eyes with Maxwell. The shudder that wracked his body was much different than the one he had received from The Lord of all demons. But, non the less just as disturbing. “Ahem... I believe I will be taking my place at that table now.”

6:58 pm

“Brandywine... That name has been bothering me for a time.” Prince Lancil mumbled to himself. “Brandywine...Brandy-wine...Brandy Wine... Oh. Oh My.” He looked at the high table, directly at the small red haired pixie in the ballgown, and snickered. “This should be fun.”

The large long haired cat in the eye-patch that was twining around his legs took a swipe at him, and he giggled again as he knelt down to pet the 'wee beast'.

7:01 pm

All of the guests were seated at their well appointed tables. Elegant clothes on display. The three heroes sat at their own table to the left of the main, but still on the head table's dais. Servers in the colors of the Dwarven King (who was also in attendance) glided between tables and guests, delivering salads or soup, and wine as needed.

The main doors blew open with a wind usually reserved for the the depths of deep winter on the top of the mountains. Everyone stared, thereby missing Brandywine hiding her face in her hands.

Skin as pale as snow, lips as red as blood, and dressed in gowns the colors of ice, three tall women stepped in to the hall. One was young, with hair of fire red. The second was of middle age, with hair the blue of flame. The last was old, hair the white of age. They slowly walked the red carpet from the door to the high table, leaving bleached fabric wherever their feet touched it. As they passed, people felt the bite of cold on their skin, and the food on the tables froze.

When the three finally approached the front table, Brandywine arose on shaky legs, and spoke. “Mother, Grandmother, and Great-Grandmother. I welcome you to this feast. I ask you to abide by the the terms of hospitality for the duration of your stay.”

The youngest looking of the three stared at the small pixie, “Daughter, did you not think we would see your signature on that farcical document? That we would not ascertain your location from it and bring you home?”

Brandywine trembled. “I didn't think it would gain your notice, dearest mother---”

“ENOUGH Child.” The youngest said, speaking over the pixie. “We have come to take you home. Where you belong. Not here at some farcical pre-wedding wedding.”

“That's Enough.” Maxwell said, rising from his seat, and drawing a revolver from behind his back. “You will submit to the rules of hospitality, or be gone from this place. Forever.” He cocked the hammer.

The middle aged Fae stepped towards Max, “Dearest Maxwell, do you not find me beautiful?” She said in a voice that dripped of cream and honey. “Would you not rather come and spend time with me, as opposed to that silly thing on your left?”

Maxwell stood there transfixed, mouth moving, but no sound coming out. Brandywine, distracted from her mother, threw herself in front of Maxwell. “Grandma Spirits! Please! Stop!”

“And why should I do that, you disappointment of a granddaughter?” Spirits moved her gaze to Brandy. “For an ungrateful sprite such as yourself? Meandering and flighty? Just as bad as a fairy.”

Maxwell pulled the trigger.