The not-immortal Blacksmith

26th of Amsiel, Brianna's Journal,

My husband's fear of responsibility, and absolute disgust with government came to the forefront yesterday. The young woman who delivered it made a good choice to run after he opened it, as he was in a very foul mood for the next few hours. It is endearing to watch, as most of it was for show; he actually takes his responsibilities Very seriously.

I did have the occasion to view the appointment scroll that evening as I took a ride back to the castle to take a look. The wording of the thing was, in a word, awful. Open to interpretation in all things. I helped poor Gerdak pick through it. I believe it was written up at the last minute, and wasn't thoroughly checked for errors, as there was a part that could easily be interpreted as the ruler of the province being able to declare independence at any time. There were other blunders and contradictions around taxes, elevating nobles, and collecting dogs. I really don't know what the man who wrote it was thinking, unless it was along the lines of shit shit shit, the Heretic is here.

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36th of Amsiel, Maxwell's Journal,

We have left Deepfalsia. Yes, I tucked tail and ran. No, I don't regret it. What did they think I was going to do? Come on people, it's called "Pattern Recognition".

We have made it to the border town of Turk, the capital of the Buzandi province of Deepfalsia. Turk is a trading town, and the Eastern gateway into Deepfalsia and the "western World" such as it is. The rich (and mostly unexplored by humans and elves and dwarves) plains of the east provide most of the pelts and furs for Deepfalsia, and what isn't snatched up is shipped from the port of Narazah to the rest of the continent.

About twice a year Turk becomes a circus of gigantic proportions as shepherds, cattlemen, trappers, and farmers converge to more than quadruple the population to something around almost twenty thousand people. Thankfully, we have missed it.

We are going to restock, take a break, and them move out. I am looking forward to this, as I have never been this far east before…Well, once, but that was…a long time ago.

37th of Amsiel,

We departed a little later than I had wanted, but we still made good time. Some cattlemen were passing by with one of their great herds; there were over a thousand of the beasts.

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It does strike me as strange that there is no government out here, just people living as they want. There are outlaws, small towns, farm holds, farmers, cattle… There are just huge swaths of land. A place that adventurers could build something, if they could figure it out…

38th of Amsiel,

It has begun to drizzle. My weather spell tells me this will probably continue for a week or more.

41st of Amsiel,

A stream flooded its banks and caused a slowdown on the road. Bridges are easy, when you can grow them.

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Maxwell stood along the fast-flowing waters of the stream, and concentrated on the massive growths of willow along the bank. He wove his fingers through the air, and the willows followed the pattern. Slowly the small brushy trees widened and lengthened, weaving together into an arched bridge that spanned the forty-foot gap between overflowed banks. He concentrated for a bit longer, then walked across the span, looking for weaknesses. Finding and patching only a few spots, he nodded his head before returning to the wagon. "I think that will hold for a few decades." He announced to the pair of wagons that were waiting behind his. The two drivers, mouths agape, nodded.

44th of Amsiel,

Rain across the plains. Big billowing clouds that put me in a melancholy mood. Even with the canvas roof magically sealed, the interior of the wagon is still damp, and I have to constantly cast warming spells to shrug off wet. We don't sleep outside, but the interior isn't cramped thanks to my trunk; and it is warm overnight. I feel bad for other travelers in this downpour.

If I remember what Brandywine told me correctly, the plains have strange weather patterns. I suppose we will see.

49th of Amsiel,

The roads are muddy, but not impassable. A few small villages have passed in the last few days; we didn't stop. There hasn't been any bandit activity so far; I guess even they have more sense than to be out in this.

Yesterday there was a huge lightning strike on one of the hills to our south. The sound was loud enough to shake the wagon. I put the whip to the oxen to get us out of that part of the storm as fast as we could go; I gave them extra feed after we slowed.

50th if Amsiel,

It appears I spoke too soon about the lack of bandits, or their intelligence. They attacked us around mid-day. As I didn't want to slow down, I made them explode after their first arrow struck the wagon. It's only worth mentioning because I had made my comment about smarts in my last entry.

56th of Amsiel,

We have stopped for the night in a small farming village. The rain broke around mid-day, and we opened up the wagon to get some fresh air. The gently rolling hills covered in crops and wild grasses are a beautiful sight to behold. Maybe if I had an inch of artistry like my mother, I could paint a picture of it, but I don't.

The village has one interesting feature: a metal rod some fifty feel long sunken into the ground in the center. According to the villagers, the rod attracts lightning so that it doesn't strike the houses. It's an ingenious idea! I will have to remember it for later.

4th of Kusha,

The harvest season has started. The early crops have started to be harvested. Ofer the next month the farmers will be busy, and all the herds will be driven to various markets in a couple of weeks.

Busy, busy times for tinkers and smiths as breaks in equipment need to be fixed immediately… Hmm…