The not-immortal Blacksmith

Deepfalsia, a few days ago…

"Your Highness!" Counciler Gerryson, of the council of advisors, all but yelled upon entering the Grand Duke's private study. "I have a report-"

"And I have many!" Face pale and eyes bloodshot, Grand Duke Fredrick Guardsman looked up from several sheets of paperwork on his desk, "I haven't slept for three days. My wife will be back tomorrow from her fact-finding mission down south. What could be so important that you should come barging in here." He neatly stacked the pages on his desk, and began to rise from his chair.

"The Kittens were dispatched, and have arrived at their destination on the eastern border-"

"They are of no interest to us." Fredrick sat back down with a none to gentle plop. "They handle many things that would cost us a great amount of capital should we have to deal with it." He glared at Gerryson.

"Also, He is involved."

"There are a lot of He's, and several She's. So what?"

"Apologies highness, I should have said "He who's name should not be spoken aloud" is involved."

"GODS DAMN IT ALL! When am I supposed to sleep?!?"

-

19th of Amsiel,

It has been a slow day of travel. After shadowing us for the last couple of days, the Duke's men have left us. At this rate it will take about a week to make it to the center of the "Greenskin's deeded lands", which is the fancy way of saying "You have the right to be here, but don't push your luck". I wonder how long it will take for the idiot to be replaced by the king…or whatever he's called.

19th, update,

Some idiots attacked in the night. The crows are laughing.

-

The riders came late in the night, picketing their steeds a half mile away. They approached on foot from downwind, stalking slowly through the long grass, and maize field. At the point they began to light their fire arrows, the Kittens and Orc's attacked. It was a slaughter. One orc was wounded, and the riders…well, there is a lot more fertilizer buried in that field.

-

20th of Amsiel,

Another small group of knights with soldiers and conscripts barred our way today. This is getting old.

-

Maxwell stood at the front of the Kittens and hoard, and looked up at the knight in his shining armor and plumed hat. "I see you lot have returned. You have more malarky to spew my way?"

"Lord Maxwell Smithson, The Heretic, I am here to inform you that if you and your unlawful army do not disband in the next twenty-four hours, a state of war shall exist between us!" The shining knight announced in a clear, almost melodic voice.

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Maxwell stared at the knight, then over his shoulder, then at the knights' troops. "Do you honestly think you can take us with your current compliment of troops?" He snorted, "We outnumber you by a great deal."

"Blood will tell. One man with the blood of the aristocracy is worth ten of any of your ilk!" The shining knight exclaimed. "We will trample you under our hooves! We shall pike you upon our lances! We shall- "

Maxwell scowled at the man. The man exploded, chunks of flash boiled flesh spattering across his steed and the ground. Max looked past the corpse, and to the rest of the assembled troops, "If anyone else would like to insult my companions, come forward. Otherwise, DISPERSE!"

The opposing "army" broke and ran.

Max walked to the corpse, kicked it, then took another step and patted the now riderless horse. "It's okay buddy. The idiot is gone now."

-

23rd of Amsiel,

We have been unmolested for the last three days, and the pace has picked up a bit. Another day or two, and we should make it to our destination. We stopped in a small town today, traded for more supplies. The townsfolk were actually glad to see us.

Turns out one of the smaller groups of survivors had been the local band, and had been instrumental in keeping the town fed a couple years back when the winter had been bad and food had run low. They had had almost hero status until someone had started rumors about, as one local put it, "inappropriate behavior" between a Hobb and a local girl, claiming it had been forced.

Once the town's hotheads had been riled up and a lynch mob had formed, the person responsible skipped town. Unfortunately, a group of outside "concerned citizens" had egged on the mob and helped burn out some of the tents, and forced the clan to flee. The townies almost immediately felt bad about what they had done, and had gone looking for the clan, but lost them a way out.

I went poking around the bar, and found some traces of a magical ritual of some sort. I don't know what it was, but it "smelled" like bard magic. The problem there is that the Rio college of Bards has some very strict (something about an iron Ox and fire) rules on their higher tier magic stuff. I have never been, so I don't know the details.

25th of Amsiel,

What in the ever loving…something or other is the world coming to? I only have one word: Abdicate.

-

The capital city of the province, with its low and stout walls stood before them. Max, riding his new warhorse (George) led the procession. As they made their way towards the cities gate, a lone rider waited on the road to greet them. The rider carried no banner, and wore no tabard that Max recognized, and as the two met, Max felt a bit worried in his gut. Eventually they were eye to eye, and the woman in the armor spoke.

"Lord Maxwell Smithson! I hope you will forgive me leaving off your titles, but there are many, and I think it would waste time that we don't have." The lady knight said. "I am Lady Argon, of the house of Hashaw. I doubt you would have heard of us, as we are a small family and only recently ennobled." She dipped her head.

"Well met, lady knight." Max responded, dipping his head in return. "What can I do for you?"

"There has been a spot of trouble, and I was dispatched by his highness, Grand Duke Fredrick Gurdsman to nip it before any more of it was caused." Lady Argon said, then held out a scroll that held the seal of the Grand Duke. "This is for you. I am told it's an apology. I was informed that I was to bear witness to it being read."

Max took the scroll, snapped the hardened wax seal, and began to read. "Shit! Shit! Shit!" Max yelled after reading the third line. "He looked up from the overly flowery words, only to see Lady Argon fleeing down the road towards the city. "Damn it all to the abyss!!" He turned and thrust the scroll at the nearest Orc, "Here. All yours. Nope. I ain't taking it."

Gerdak, (unfortunately for him) took the scroll and Maxwell spurred his mount away, calling over his shoulder, "Good luck! It's been fun!"

Gerdak opened the scroll, read through it thoroughly several times, and cussed in Goblinese, "Cursed slimy son of a water-snake bedder!" A very deadly curse when pointed at another of his kind. Then in common, "Well, I guess the clan has a permanent home."