The not-immortal Blacksmith

The western Demon Wastes.

35th of Arah, The Second Month of Snow.

2290 Years since the New Gods came.

We caught up to a demon patrol today. I just wanted to ask a few questions, but the scouting leader decided to make a last stand instead.

Chester learned one of the “Forbidden” spells. The man is a FOOL! If he had done it wrong, we all, and part of the surrounding countryside, would have been destroyed. I can’t even cast it. Moron.

At least he used it for a good reason.

Only fourteen miles today.

-

Maxwell swung his sword, bisection the frost demon from left shoulder to right thigh. He instinctively moved his feet, and countered a swift lunge from a hook armed demon with grey skin, stepped in and backhanded the thing with his buckler. The demon staggered back and Max finished it off with a thrust through its gaping tooth filled mouth.

Magni darted from demon to demon, a slice through a vulnerable wing membrane here, a slash through a tendon there, a short stab in the armor chink into the flesh with the poisoned blade there. He giggled quietly as his dance of pain and eventual death continued.

Nomvula openly laughed from behind her long thin shield, spear dancing out, piercing throats. Then a stab under the arm that was ignored turning into an upward slash removing the arm. She tumbled across the fight laughing and taunting the demons. Some of them had the smarts to back away when she approached.

Standing back from the rest, and to the left side of Brianna, Chester the British cast spells. “Fire Bolt!” “Fire Bolt!” “Fire Bolt!” burning holes through demon after demon, as sweat dripped from his pale brow. Surveying the field as Bri peppered the field with expert shots through eye slits. Turning his head to take in the entire field, Chester saw a flicker that resolved itself into one of the largest demons on the field. It was decked out in blood red plate armor, and moved with such swiftness that it was able to bat Brandywine away with a backhand as it stepped up behind Nomvula, raising its meat cleaver style sword.

Chester gasped as the sword came down, then pointed his staff at the thing and screamed, “Compress!” Then watched as a soap bubble exploded around the demon and began to shrink. To Chester’s eyes it moved slowly while to everyone else it happened in a blink of an eye. The bubble shrunk, the demon inside struggled for a few moments then screamed in pain, then the bubble shrank more and more, crushing the hulk down to the size of a marble, then popped. The outrush of energy and noise knocked everyone on the field off their feet, and out of the air. Globs of demon goo splattered across several hundred feet, and Brandy was plastered against…most of the way through a tree.

The remaining demons that could fled, while the rest of Chesters companions slowly came to their feet and stared at him.

Chester slowly sank to his knees and wretched.

-

39th of Arah,

The monotony or riding through snow is having a poor effect on almost all of us. Magni is the only one who seems to be okay with things. He has talked about some of the things from his home that only come out in the darkness of the winter.

-

“The Nokken named Iss would sit fishing on the ice and call out to other fishers, but when they approached the young man, they would fall through the thin ice and drown.” Magni continued his story. “So, it is oft said to avoid lone men fishing on the ice.”

Nomvula stared at him, “Why would you even want to be out on the ice fishing?” She shuddered, finally giving in a bit to the cold, “You could just take your great boats south and live in the sun!”

“Trust me, my dear,” Chester said through chattering teeth, “You don’t want a bunch of bored Norsemen, or women for that matter, showing up on your shore line. It always ends up badly.”

Max and Bri exchanged looks, then Magni laughed. “True, my friend. Very true. A Boatload of Vikings was usually a bad thing for most peoples of the world.”

“Didn’t the Vikings reach down to Northern Africa at one point?” Chester asked.

“My grandfather read stories to us children from our ancestors about the dark-skinned warriors of the south, and of the thralls they took from there, so it is possible I suppose.” Magni replied. “I believe there were some dark-skinned people in a couple of the fishing villages near my home…but I was usually too drunk to notice what color someone’s skin was when I was fighting them…”

“What is a ‘Thrall’?” Nomvula asked.

“It is the old Norse word for slave.” Chester replied.

“So, your people kept slaves too?” Nomvula stated more than asked.

“I believe that most peoples had slaves at one point in time or another.” Magni sighed. “Even the ‘good book’ mentions how you are to care for your slaves.”

-

44th of Arah,

We have about three days left in our journey. The weather is starting to warm up during the day. The month of planting for the rest of the world will start soon, but here, the temperature on the hottest of days will never get above Fifteen points above freezing*. Not great for growing any sort of crops. That and the growing season is short, barely a month long. I remember Tristan and I following an old cave once, the temperature didn’t increase above freezing until we were over three hundred feet below the surface. I compare that to the frost line back home where it never goes past seven feet, even in the worst winter I can remember. That’s a lot of winters.

45th of Arah,

A fast-rushing stream today. Highly unusual for the wastes. This one smelled of rotten egg and was very warm. We stayed up wind of it for as long as possible so as to not get poisoned. We did eventually find a bridge, and English was able to reinforce it, so the crossing was safe. Still, I saw things swimming in that water. I shudder to think what it would take to survive there in.

We have started to dodge demon patrols, so our travels are slowing to a crawl. I swear I saw a cat lounging in a scraggly tree, but when I looked again, it was gone. Better not have been that stupid cat.

46th of Arah,

Small patrols are an annoyance. Especially when they surrender immediately. Got some more updated information and a more precise location.

-

Magni stared up at the demon from the back of his Hera, “What do you mean, you surrender?”

Ixill the Frost Demon looked at the small, but not as small as the others small, human. “I said ‘we surrender’. Do you not speak the common tongue of this world, hero from another place?”

“I do.” Magni replied while looking at the demon and those who were cowering behind it, “But I want to know why. There are a dozen of you, and just one of me. And you caught me with my pants down. Literally!”

“Because we see what you do not.” A spiked demon said, slowly peeking a glance from behind the Frost Demon. “We can feel your power. And we can see Him upon you.” The rest of the demos shook at the last sentence. “You are with him, and we wish to not be sent back to the abyss, or worse yet, destroyed.”

“Fine.” Magni shrugged, “Follow me.”

-

“So, let me get this straight, you were peeing from the back of your hera when the big one there demanded that you accept his, and there, surrender?” Chester laughed at his friend. “And you started so badly that you peed yourself?”

“Shut. Up. English.” Magni grumbled back.

Chester looked around into the dying light of the day, “Brandy? Did you hear that Magni peed him---” Magni punched the Englishman in the back of the head.

-

47th of Arah,

Our target is in sight. Brandy is scouting the ruin as of now, and we will make a plan once she gets back. The gods owe me for this, and I will get my pound of flesh out of each of them.

* 15 C or 59 F.