Maxwell's Dell, Capital city of 'Heretic's Kingdom'.

13th of Kusha, the month of harvest.

2289 years since the new gods came.

Yesterday was eventful. I'm back in this gods forsaken world again. I should have known it wouldn't last. I wonder if...No. She wouldn't hide it from me. Well, maybe she would. Meh. Probably better that she didn't tell me.

Anyway, I'm back. The Worgs dispersed after the war, as did the armies. The 'Isle of Glass' is dead, and makes people sick if they remain too long. Seemingly, the arch that held the original gate is still there and has 'some' magic hanging around it, but has never reopened. Guards are posted there to prevent any incursions.

The little village I remember has changed so much. It has grown very large, and the dell has expanded with it. Weird.

Sometimes worgs will leave sick or runt puppies in the town square to be adopted by the locals. They are snapped up almost instantly. Sometimes fights will break out over them. They crossbreed with the local dogs very well, keeping most of their intelligence. Honestly? It's kind of scary. On the other hand, they are the best family oriented guard dogs in the world. The smartest ones are allowed to herd the sheep and goats by themselves.

Speaking of dogs, the werewolves have an enclave here too. They trade with the townsfolk, assist in search and rescue requests, and serve in the army, such as it is. A community of Goblins and Orcs are also in residence. There are some elves, and even gnolls.

That annoying elf is back, too. He wants to talk to me about a marriage agreement. Some granddaughter of the elven crown wants to marry me. Even after 150 years! Meh.

I think I will spend a week here learning what I can, before I leave for some other quiet place to live.

Also, hangovers SUCK!

- - -

Max wandered around the city, marveling at it's size, and bemoaning the massive headache he was nursing. The city had grown from the few thousand people of the war to nearly a hundred thousand inhabitants. He stared openly at the 'new' buildings, appreciating the work that had gone into some. He gawked at the seven story behemoths of metal, stone, and glass, admiring the ingenuity in the combination of form and function. He staunchly ignored the stares some of the passerby's gave him, and the comments of surprise others made.

He was glad to see the lack of chapels and temples in the city proper, and headed to 'church hill' just over the western ridge of the dell. He spent the whole afternoon wondering the classical stone and wood structures. He meandered through the open gardens, made a few small donations to the more rundown chapels, and ate at a street vendor's cart.

“Mmm. Good food.” Max said, sitting on a stool next to the cart. “Good flavor too.”

“Thank you sir! My family has been making this recipe for several generations. Ever since the green man taught it my ancestor during the Heretics War.” The vendor replied. “It is called a 'Hamburger', but actually it's just ground cow meat with with some spices on a fresh bun.”

“Ah, mister Green. I miss that guy.” Max mumbled around a bite of the sandwich, “He was a good lad.”

The vendor cocked an eyebrow, “Really?”

“Oh yeah. Started out as a hired killer, but turned his second life around. A real hero, that one.” Max smiled a little, “Him and Ivan were almost two peas in a pod.” He swallowed the last bite and wandered off, leaving a very confused man in his wake.

That evening he sat with King Michael and Queen Dana, discussing the history of the last hundred or so years.

- - -

16th of Kusha,

Morning thoughts...

Apparently I have a cult. An honest to the gods, religious, CULT! I will try to talk them out of it. I hope they don't turn into some sort of fanatics, killing people in my name and all that. I will have to go and speak with them.

- - -

It was almost noon when Maxwell approached the 'Temple to the Heretic'. He cursed a bit under his breath, before entering the old building. “Alright. I'm here. Gather round.”

A group of young men and women, lead by a middle aged woman, looked up in shock, then jumped to their feet and bowed. Max grumbled to himself again. Then the woman spoke, “Great Lord Maxwell, Heretic of the gods, we welcome you!”

“That's nice.” Max retorted and frowned. “I have words for you.”

“Yes lord?” the woman said, waiving for the initiates to kneel.

“Don't kill people in my name. No blood sacrifices. No bullshit like that.” He took a breath. “Act like decent people. Build stuff. Follow my buddy Bjorn.” He looked at the rapt faces of the woman and children. “And lastly, DON'T GO RECRUITING!” He looked around the room, saw several people running in, most in hastily donned vestments. Before him, the woman and children wept.

“Bugger this.” He turned and stomped out of the building. Behind him he heard loud talking, and some yelling. He shook his head, and walked back down into the dell.

- - -

16th of Kusha,

Evening thoughts,

Today went well? I have followers. What in the ever loving hells? In some quarters I'm a prophet, in others I'm a saint, in still others, a god! I want none of this.

I blame Demonia. I need to remember to NEVER meddle in politics, no matter what.

Maybe I'll leave tomorrow? Perhaps tonight...? Meh. I'm tired. I'll decide later.

17th of Kusha,

I can't leave yet as Brandywine has business to attend to. It will be nice to be on the move again. I hear that a demon lord was killed by a pair of little kids not too long after I died. The sick bastard was breeding an army! Glad he's dead.

My history lessons have continued. After I died, there was a period of peace and expansion. The city states became a whole nation. The western wilds aren't any more. Gnolls and goblins are not being hunted anymore, something about them having joined the war effort has done much to improve their standing in the world.

The Dwarves have opened up the mountain cities to trade and tourism. And Buttercup the Dragon sent me a message. He claims he would have been here, but he is sitting a clutch of eggs. It will only be a decade or so until they hatch.

The new big 'enemy' on the continent is the swamp trolls, and the rock trolls are active again. The 'pale ones from under the mountain' are feared for their strange belief that 'little Sarah' is the actual goddess of shadows. Weirdos.

Brandy and I are going to tour the norther half of the continent on our way to the eastern beach region. From there we will probably take a ship to the 'western continent'. Weird how you can go east to get west. Maybe the world is round? Meh. Couldn't be.

18th of Kusha,

Early this morning Ivan and Green visited me. Well, I say visit, but really they just came in through the door, and saluted. I saluted back, and they faded into nothingness. The sparkles they gave off were fantastic. Brandywine cried at the sight. Did not cry.

I have a 'State Function' in a few days. I don't feel like sewing, so I will have to find a tailor to make me an outfit. Probably from one of my unused patterns.

- - -

Maxwell, bleary eyed, opened the door onto a pair of old friends. He saw them, but could also see through them. He nodded. The two men saluted, and he returned the gesture. Then the pair of men melted into a shower of golden sparks. Behind him, he heard Brandywine sniffling.

- - -

19th of Kusha,

Found a tailor. Small shop, near the lower class section of town. Nice couple. Beautiful needlework. Showed them the pattern I wanted, an old one from my trunk, and offered what I thought was a reasonable sum for their quality of work. They asked for the pattern instead. I still left them money. I hope the young man will be okay.

- - -

Maxwell spent several hours visiting tailors and seamstresses around the city, looking for the proper quality of work, and proper respect for the materials. Eventually, near the poorer section of the city he found a small mom and pop storefront, and stepped inside to take a look at the merchandise.

“Excuse me, does all of your merchandise have such exquisite stitching and double seams?” Max asked the young man with the measuring tape who had been mending a shirt behind the counter.

The man looked up from his task, “Yes, good sir. We of 'Daniel and Crew Tailors' do our very best work on everything we make or fix.” He smiled. “It is a point of pride.”

Maxwell nodded, and walked to the counter. “Good enough. I would like three loose fitting work shirts, I leave the colors to you, two pairs of pants, and this pattern made.” He extended the pattern to the man.

“Of course!” The man turned his head towards the back, where the workshop was, and yelled, “Three large work shirts in brown, gray and dark blue! Two work pants in brown!” He turned back to Max, “I'm Brian, by the by, I should have introduced myself earlier.” He held out his hand and Max shook it. “Now lets look at this pattern of yours.”

Max held out the pattern, “It's an older design, but I have wanted to see it made for years...I just never got around to...” Brian fell off his stool, and yelped from the floor.

“Marry! Marry! You NEED to come and look at this!” Brian yelled from the floor. “It's an original 'Smithson' design!!!”

Max bent over the counter and looked down at Brian, “Is that name still worth something?”

“Are you kidding me?!?” Brian picked himself up off the floor as a plump woman came racing out of the back. “Marry, look at this!” He waived the sheaf of paper at the woman. “I swear it's an original!”

Marry took a small glass from one of the pockets on her apron, and examined the papers, especially the signature on the bottom of each sheet. “It would appear to be genuine. The cant of the 'I' in the signature is correct, and the lines of the shirt are a proper match.” She looked at Max, who was starting to feel a little uncomfortable, “Where did you find this beauty?”

“Well...I found it in an old chest I was given some years ago.” He gave an almost smile at the half truth, “I have been wanting it made for a while now.”

“Well, forgery or not, this pattern is worth more that what you've ordered. We will trade you triple your order, and put a credit on your account, in exchange for the pattern.” Marry smiled, showing off a set of slightly pointed teeth. “Plus free alterations on all your clothes for life. Even if you didn't buy them from us.”

“Very well?” Max nodded, scribed an illegible signature on a sheet of paper, left a few gold pieces on the counter, and beat a hasty retreat.

- - -

21st of Kusha,

Dark royal blue. Ruffled sleeves. Small rubies at the throat and cuffs. Cream colored silk under shirt, and matching hose with pleats and subdued beadwork. Even a new pair of black suede boots with silver buckles. I love this tailor!

Apparently they are well known in the working class as well as the rough and tumble neighborhoods. I have no clue as to why they aren't frequented by the more 'affluent' peoples. Meh, people with too much money are stupid.

Tomorrow is the thing. I don't want to go.