My Dell, the real western wilds.

22nd of Kusha, The month of Harvest.

2138 years since the new gods came.

I leave in the morning. I'm taking one of the new horses, as he seems faster. I have decided to name him “Bob” instead of “Horse-meat 3”. Brandywine has horrible Excellent naming conventions. Ivan has excelled with the war scythe. Found out why. Big D is a dick.

*-*-*

Max packed the last of his gear into the saddle bags. “Tomorrow will be a long ride.”

Ivan looked up from cleaning his Nagant revolver, “Good luck to you.” He looked around, to make sure there wasn't a pixie about, “You know, I didn't tell you everything I saw before I came here, right?”

“Yup.”

“Do you want to know?” Ivan had a far away look in his eyes.

“Only if you want to tell me.”

“Brandy stopped me before I could tell her the whole thing.”

“SHE DID WHAT!?!?!” Ivan now had Max's undivided attention.

Beginning to sweat, Ivan recounted what he had told Brandy. “Then the glowing-”

“Yeah. I get it.” Max looked away from Ivan. “I've seen him too. On the battlefield. He came for them, never for me. Once, when a prince died, he carried a sword, the rest of the time it was the scythe.” He wiped a tear from his eye. “That explains that. If he got involved, then something is Very wrong.”

Max stood, and dragged a chair over to where Ivan was sitting, and sat down. “That one is a right bastard, he is. Second only to the universe itself. One of the old books I read before I liberated that figurine from Knowledge's museum talked about the 'War of the Gods'. Apparently, He pointed out that something that should not be here was ripping a hole in the universe. And since the old gods were the first, and apparently most powerful, of the gods, He 'politely' told them to make the invader go away.”

Max exhaled. “Now we have this new lot. A bunch of idiots, who don't know a shovel from a tent, trying to hold things together while the adults are fighting a never ending war in the farthest of heavens.”

Ivan looked at Max, “Did you happen to take that book as well?”

“Maybe?” Max stood and stretched. “Look in my box? Just don't let Brandy know that I'm leaving it unlocked. Otherwise I'll be finding it's contents strewn around the dell.”

*-*-*

The Ocean, Southern coast of the eastern continent.

26th of Kusha, The month of Harvest.

2138 years since the new gods came.

Michael Olafsson the IV of Coxnia, Mike to his friends and family, was standing on the deck of a ship. We are two days out from port, then I will meet godfather Maxwell. I don't really remember him. Father said he is a good man. A terrible man. An honorable man. A man the gods held 'in regard'. I'm not entirely sure what to make of that. He left off his thoughts as someone waived for his attention.

“Lord Michael! Are you ready for your lessons?” His bodyguard and instructor, Sir Reginald, asked.

“Yes, Sir Reginald.” Mike replied. He looked at the ocean, I wish I could just sail. I'm not even the spare. He shook his head to clear his thoughts. “Just a moment.”

*-*-*

On the “road”, The Western Wilds.

26th of Kusha, The month of Harvest.

2138 years since the new gods came.

The trail has been long. About fifty miles to go. Bob was a good choice for a mount. Sure of foot, fast, and level headed. Nothing much to see. I did discover the remnants of another burned out town, but no other atrocities. Cooling down a bit, but the weather is holding fine. Probably frost by the end of the month.

27th of Kusha,

A settlement! I got a bath, and some fresh food. I shared about the two destroyed towns. Word will be passed on. Maybe the towns will be repopulated? Probably not. Not until a lot of infrastructure gets planed out.

28th of Kusha,

Picked up Mike. He had booked passage on the Mercy of the Waves! I got to chat with the mate Tildee, and Captain Wilson. They have aged, but the sea does that to a man. We leave in the morning. Why did Mike have to bring so many knights? A dozen of them, and squires. Drank too much. I will have a hangover in the morning.

*-*-*

Polite social drinking was starting when Maxwell walked down the stairs from his room. Mike, Wilson and Tildee were at a table near the center of the inn, and the knights were filling the tables around them. The knights were not drinking. Shaking his head, Max walked to the open place left for him, and sat. “Mike! Nice to meet you again. It has been what, twenty years?”

“About that.” Mike looked at the man across from him. He looked almost as young as Mike himself, he looked into his eyes and shuddered. His eyes looked old, elf old, maybe older? He didn't know.

“You've probably heard this before, but you really look like Einar. Back when we were in the army together, I mean. Not after he got married, and old, and fat.” Max smiled.

Mike stared. “I've...never actually heard that before.” He took a swig of his beer to cover his surprise. “You're probably the only one who knew him that's still alive.”

Max lost a bit of his jovial look. “True.” He shook his head. “But that's the past. You have your whole life ahead of you. Tomorrow we'll leave for the Dell.”

The table nodded. “It will take most of a week to get there, what with your...” He waived a hand at the knights and squires. “Entourage.”

“Yes. They insisted.” Mike looked down at his meal, mutton and vegetables. “They are good people, but...they get underfoot.”

“Plenty of room back home. I set up a bunkhouse for them, and anyone else who happens to stop by.” Max gave an actual smile. “I have a feeling that things might get crowded in the near future.”

Sir Reginald, having been listening in from a nearby table, stood and stepped up next to Mike, “What kind of feeling, Master Smith? I am familiar with the family histories, wherein it is well documented that when you have feelings, it is best to listen.”

Max's face went slack for a moment, then recovered. “That was just Einar being modest. He had the best instincts of any man I've ever met.” Max stretched his arms behind his back, clasping his hands together. “Then again, there was that one guy, not me, who took him to the bank. Never gamble with a con man.”

“Your feeling?” Sir Reginald persisted.

“My feeling, if you must know,” Max took a drink, “Is that there will be more visitors this fall, and even winter. And in the spring something is going to happen.” He stared into Reginald's eyes, “That work for you?”

Sir Reginald took an involuntary step back, and shuddered. He had felt the aura of command a few times in his life, it was a rare thing, but this? This was overpowering. He took a deep breath, “Thank you Master Smith.” He turned and rejoined his table, hands shaking so much that when he went to take a drink, he spilled it.

Max raised his voice, so as to be heard across the inn, “Drinks are on me tonight! Drink up!”

-

In the morning, a somewhat hungover group left the inn, heading north towards the dell.