The not-immortal Blacksmith

Rorevilia, capital of Pondge.

15th of Kusha, the month of Harvest.

2290 Years since the New gods came.

Brandywine, daughter of the Fae, flew over the island of Pondge. Her rainbow hued dragonfly wings beating through the gail force winds and rain. She ducked and rolled, zigged and zagged, and finally dove through the large door of a barn. Landing on the railing of a horse stall, she shook herself free of the rain, then looked around her.

Huddled in the barn were a small number of horses, a pair of pigs, and a handful of sheep. She sniffed the air. Under the smell of fresh country air, she could smell blood. Old blood. Human blood. I guess I don’t have time to get warm. She stretched, shook herself one more time, then launched herself to the ceiling.

She spent a while flitting around the ceiling, smelling the air, before hovering over the left rear corner of the barn. Darting down to the stale hay, and digging through it for a short while, she found what she assumed she would, a hatchway. It was old, and partly rotted, when she found the old iron ring she growled. “Stupid Iron.”

She spent a short while looking for the farmers hay rake, then used the handle to pry open the hatch. It was dark in the now revealed hole, dark enough that Brandy did something she hated to do. She lit her internal light.

She slowly descended into the blood smelling abyss below her.

-

Maxwell’s Journal

15th of Kusha

Brandy returned this evening with a story of murder and butchery in the highlands. After all this time, it still amazes me how fast she can fly. The farm in question is almost a day away by horse, but it took her less than an hour to fly from there to here.

I have contacted the local authorities, and we will be heading out in the early morning. All of us. Grendel has been informed that he will be joining us, and he agreed.

By the sounds of it, I am probably going to be angry at what we will find.

-

The morning dawned bright and cold. Six officers of the law, Grendel, Max, Bri, and Brandywine stood in front of the inn. After a short discussion as to whether a “Lady” should see such things as they were going to investigate today, the officers shut up when Bri looked at them and said, “Look you lot. I’ve fought demons. I’ve killed bandits. I’ve gutted criminals. Several tortured corpses shouldn’t stress me too much.” It wasn’t the words themselves that shut down the protests, it was how they were said. A fashion of speech that reminded them of grizzled veterans fresh from the battlefield.

It was late afternoon when they arrived at the farmstead and announced themselves. A young couple with an obvious child on the way greeted them at the door.

“Good afternoon officers?” The young man all but stuttered out. “What can we do for you?”

“We have a credible report of corpses under your barn.” Officer Sgt Blake Smith replied, giving the couple a good eyeballing. “You will be staying in your home, under guard, until our investigation is finished.”

“What!?!” The young pregnant woman asked in a shrieking voice. “You’re city cops! You have no right to do this! Constable Grinkins should be the one here!”

Blake smiled at the woman, “Lord Maxwell the Heretic has come personally to oversee this investigation.” He pointed his thumb over his shoulder at Maxwell. “If you have a problem, you can talk to him about it.”

Max watched as the couple’s eyes widened to the point where he was worried that their eyes would pop out of their heads. The man, eyes still popping, introduced himself, “I…I’m John Johnsson. This is my wife, Betty.”

“Don’t worry folks, we don’t suspect the two of you of anything.” Max said, hiding his grin at their reaction. “We are just here to find the bodies. Once we are done, we’ll take them to town for a cremation and burial.”

The young couple seemed to relax a bit at that. Then John spoke up, “I want to come with you. If, as you say, they are under the barn, I think I know where they are buried.”

Smith looked into John’s eyes, “And how, pray tell, would you know that?”

“The back…back corner. Sir.” John stumbled over his words. “It’s always growing rancid mushrooms. Every time I go to dig it up, and add fresh soil, they are back the next day.”

Max raised an eyebrow, “Interesting.”

A few moments the group was entering the barn, following Brandy and John. Brandy almost immediately started asking questions, “How long have you lived here?”

The farmer looked at her, “Um, about five years? We bought the place after old Mr. McKinney died. His wife had died before I was born, and they had no kids.”

“So, man’s wife dies and he doesn’t remarry?” Brandy asked. “Then the man kills a bunch of people in the barn’s secret basement?” She glanced over her shoulder to the rest of the group.

“Gods above, I hope not!” John said, horror in his voice. “Mr. McKinney was a wonderful person! He gave generously at the church. He paid for the orphanage, almost single handedly.”

One of the junior cops spoke up, “I grew up on a farm like this. There was never enough to donate to the local charities. How did Mr. McKinney afford all that?”

“…” John looked over his farm. “Well, Betty knows the stories better than I do since she grew up in town, but rumor has it that when McKinney moved to town, he had a giant sea chest that was full of treasures.” He took a breath, “Supposedly, before he came here, he was the last survivor of a ship that went down in an awful storm some seventy years ago.”

As they conversed about the dead “farmer” they entered the barn, and came to the back corner.

“This is the spot.” John pointed to a patch of disturbed earth, that sure enough was growing what looked to be rotted mushrooms.

The cops pulled several shovels from a bag the youngest of them had been carrying and began to dig. As the time past, and the hole got bigger, nothing was found. Brandy eventually got Max’s attention and gestured to him to follow her out.

“It was here. I swear to my Grandmother, it was here!” She whispered to Max.

“I know better than to call you a liar.” Max responded. “The cops? Not so much.”

From inside, they heard the sound of shovels hitting wood and metal. They went back in to find the cops pulling a massive chest from the hole.

“Well, looks like we found the old sea chest.” Smith said. “Anybody have a key?”

Everyone shook their heads.

“Then let’s do this the old-fashioned way.” Smith raised a shovel to bash the padlock.

“NO!” Brandy shouted, and Smith stopped just before he hit the lock.

“What?” Smith glared at Brandy. “You have a better idea?”

“Look at the lock.” Brandy said. “It’s glowing.”

The cops looked between Brandy and the lock. The youngest said, “No. It isn’t.”

“You can’t see it?” Brandy asked, one eyebrow cocked. “Max? Do you see it? Or am I going crazy?”

From the back of the group, someone muttered “Crazy.”

Max stared at the lock, quietly spoke a spell, and forced his vision to change. As his vision changed, so did the lock. It went from a mundane iron shackle lock to a hunk of iron spun through with glowing red stripes. To his eyes, it also took on the appearance of a Wyrm. “Aw shit. Dragons.”