The not-immortal Blacksmith

The hills of Pondge.

21st of Kusha, the month of Harvest.

2290 Years since the New gods came.

Early Morning

Brianna awoke to the cold early morning air being blown over her face by pixie wings. She slowly opened one eye to see Brandywine squinting down at her. As she sat up in bed, Brandy flew to her ear and quietly whispered something into it. Bri jumped from the bed with the grace and reflexes of a cat, and padded to the kitchen on quiet toes.

The kitchen was dark and quiet, with the notable exception of Mrs. Johnsson sitting at the table, glowing a dim green. Mrs. Johnsson was mumbling to herself, and Bri padded over on silent feet to listen.

“No. No! You will not take my husband! You can’t!” Betty was saying. Then in the same mumbled, but different sounding voice, “But I shall. You cannot stop me, you silly little girl.”

“I shall stab myself through the heart!” Betty’s hand settled on a long, thin carving knife laid next to her on the table.

The other voice laughed. “And I will stop you before it sinks into your flesh. You are my puppet, and I only left you alive as an experiment. An experiment that will come to an end when I sacrifice your husband in this place I created, and consume both of your souls.”

Betty gasped, then slumped forward onto the table, snoring.

Bri slunk back to her bed, before speaking to Brandy. “Thank you for telling me about that.”

Brandy smiled, “I’ve been watching her act like that in the early morning almost since we got here.”

Bri raised an eyebrow, “Why? I mean how did you find yourself in that situation?”

“I was up early one morning to see to the lily, and flew past her sitting at the table like that.” Brandy grinned. “I flew right in front of her and she didn’t even notice, so I banked back around behind her head, and listened.”

Bri nodded along, “What were they, and I assume it is a “they” at this point, saying?”

“They were talking about the discovery of the “Well”.” Brandy shook herself, “And how “He” deserved to be destroyed for his deeds.”

“Why didn’t you bring this up earlier?” Bri asked. “It would have saved us so much time!”

“But princess! You were having so much fun, that I thought it could stay with me for a while longer.” Brandy giggled.

“I am about to become very cross with you.” Bri glared at the pixie.

“Peh, mortals.” Brandy muttered. “I would have kept the secret longer, but the other one was talking about how he was going to poison the watchmen today at breakfast along with you and Max.”

Bri’s eyes widened, but before she could speak, Brandy continued. “I obviously took offence at MY mortals dying before I’m done with them, so I decided to show you what I happened to find. That way, no one will doubt me. This time.”

Bri shook her head at the pixies word usage, then began to speak in earnest with Brandy.

-

Grendel looked at his bag, one of his older socks, and smiled. At some point yesterday he had swapped his plate for a pie pan. The fact that the pan had had most of a pie still in it had just been a bonus. Following a hunch, he had followed his quarry upstream a few feet an hour, and was now sitting in the cold water on an inside bend, looking down and smiling the smile of a boy having the best time of his life. Then he heard the yelling from the farmhouse. “Aw crap. Guess I best be going, before they start searching for me.” He muttered before gathering his things and heading to the farm.

Fifteen minutes of walking brought him to the farmyard where he saw half a dozen constables laid out on the lawn sleeping…no, bleeding. Several of the visible limbs were not in the right positions, and at least one constable was missing his arm from the elbow down. He dropped his things and raced in to help.

As he ran, he heard the sound of fighting from inside the farmhouse, and saw Bri and Brandy fly out the wide glass window of the front parlor. Bri landed heavily, but was struggling to get up, but he lost sight of Brandy.

With the smallest of his knives, he cut the shirt from the man with the missing arm, and used it to tie off the stump. He then hurried over to Bri and helped her stand up. “What’s going on?”

“The thing that has been preying on the village is in Betty. We’re trying to get it out!” Bri ran back into the house.

Grendel stood there in shock. Betty had been nice. She was sweet. She had given him cookies with a wink and a laugh! And she was possessed by the thing that had done all of that? He ran into the house, pulling the heavily laden sock from his pocket.

The room was a mess, blood was randomly splattered across the walls, with bits of viscera adding accents to the tableau of destruction. Maxwell was on the floor next to the front wall, a foot long piece of broomstick jutting from his throat. As Grendel watched, the broomstick oozed its way from the wound and fell to the floor, a second later Max sat up as the neck wound stitched itself back together. Then he stood up, and ran for the kitchen.

“…so that’s why the assassin’s guild won’t take a contract on him.” Grendel muttered, then stalked after Max.

The kitchen was a disaster. A pie pan, that now contained more blood than meat, was lodged in the throat of an unlucky constable. A pair of heavy cleavers were buried in the head of one of the surgeons. Lady Chelsa lay on the floor, blood oozing from the gap in her…Grendel vomited, it wasn’t a gap, Lady Chelsa’s bottom half was across the room. The back kitchen door was missing, smoke still rising from the scorched doorframe. Grendel walked to the door, shaking, but certain. Even if I can’t help, I will at least witness what happens here today.

Betty, or what had been Betty, stood in the backyard. A strange green glow shot through with red streaks covered her skin. Skin that was cracked and bleeding, and where the blood fell, the ground smoked. She was waiving tentacles of magic towards Max and Bri while two other tentacles were wrapped around the throats of constables Went and Griegs. The pair that had bought him a beer just the other night.

Grendel stepped closer to Betty, and as he watched Max for any sort of sign, he could almost see the fight going on in the man’s mind. As he kept creeping up behind Betty, he saw Max’s eyes start to glow red. Crap! He threw caution to the wind, raised the heavy sock above his head, and charged Betty from behind.

Maxwell’s eyes flashed like a too close thunderbolt, and in a well-practiced move, Grendel brought the heavy sock down on Betty’s skull.

-

Maxwell watched Grendel’s stealthy approach. It was just one of a dozen things he was paying attention to as he fought with himself over “to kill or not to kill” the abomination before him. On the one hand, the girl was innocent. On the other, she contained an abomination. An abomination, that if not ended, would eventually become a danger to the entire world. His anger at the gall of the thing was causing his eyes to glow.

He could see the stupid crow, as well as his “brothers” circled around the fight. He could see the lifeforce draining from both Went and Griegs, and see it flow down the tentacles into the abomination. As his anger reached its peak, he saw Grendel dash forward and forced the anger in his eyes to flash as bright as lightning. The thing in front of him shook for just a moment, blinded, then the heavy…sock?!? fell upon Betty’s still human skull with a dull thwack.

-

Grendel watched the impact as his sock meet Betty’s skull. Felt the thwack. And watched as the gold nuggets, flakes, and small gems he had found in the stream scatter as the old sock exploded. Betty fell, and as she did so, the tentacles and unholy glow dissipated.

Grendel cussed and bent down, trying to retrieve his lost fortune.