The not-immortal Blacksmith

**Transcript of the Bard, Jon Silva, telling the story of his arrival in our land.**

So my students, you wish to hear a story?

This is the story of when I first came to this world, from my own, from a place called Rio de Janeiro, Brazil; and how I came to meet the Great Blacksmith.

I was walking down the fair street of my hometown, not a street like here, no, this street was vast, almost thrice the size. And instead of the sand and gravel we have here it was a great ribbon of black, dark as a cloudy midnight sky!

My Avó, or 'grandmother' in the common tongue, had kicked me out of the house for the day so that she could clean and watch her TV shows in peace. No Harka, I will not explain what a 'TV show' is.

I had packed my trusty pack, the one you see over there on the stand, with my 'Magic Music Box', and 'Make Louder Box', and other accouterments of our trade, and was on my way to my amigo's home, just a few blocks down the street. Yes Harka, amigo means friend.

Just as I stepped past the halfway point, a pleasant spot with a large tree budding in the fresh spring air, I was surrounded by a circle of bright light! A voice; one that I thought belonged to my own god; spoke to me, saying: "Of all the peoples in this world, I have chosen you for this task, Jon Silva, and you shall go forth and spread your talents to my world, and become someone to be proud of!"

At this point I saw the god, his billowing black cloak and silver mask, and knew he was not "My God", and I was terrified! I ran from him, and soon found myself in a deep dark wood. Yes Harka, that is where I entered your world. May I continue? Yes? Good. And yes Harka, I now know that was Belaroze, god of poets, music and dance. The god of entertainment, if you will.

I stood there, panting, sweating, and afraid. These were not woods I was familiar with. Not a place I was comfortable in. Not in my new sneakers and new jeans! No. I ran through the woods, through briers and brambles where even rabbits and squirrels wouldn't go. I ran so fast my breath couldn't even catch me, and I collapsed in a heap on the side of a road, exhausted.

I awoke to dew on my face and the clopping of hooves coming down the road. I tried to crawl away from the road, but I was stiff and sore from my run the previous day, and had barely managed to rise when a horse drawn wagon--- No Harka, in my world, horses no longer draw wagons. Please hush now, so that everyone may hear the story. ---when a horse drawn wagon came to a stop next to me. The short bearded man, whom I came to know as a dwarf, asked in a deep voice; almost as gravelly as the road; if I would like a ride to town? I just nodded, so was my confusion of the day.

I climbed up onto the seat next to the funny little 'man' and we rode in silence for a bit, before he broke into a jaunty little tune about a milkmaid and her love. No Kerlak, I will not sing it here, there are children present.

I asked the man to repeat the song once he had finished it, and recorded it on my 'Phone'. Yes Harka, that IS the proper name for my magic box. Are you done interrupting now? Good. I then went about the business of listening to it several times, and writing down the tune. When I glanced up from my work, the little man's eyes were alight! He asked me if I was a Skald, a Bard of some sort. I had to answer honestly, Abuela would pull my ears if I did not. "No sir", I said, "Not really. I am just learning about music. Back home; wherever that is now; I was just starting my first band with a couple of amigo's." He looked at me for a long time then. Finally he said "There aren't many people about, who can just write down music like that, lad. Almost none at all. I bet even the thrice blessed Heretic can't pull that trick off."

"Really. We learn basic musical theory in school. Back home anyway." It was not a complete lie. I went to a private academy that taught the most wonderful of subjects. The little man was most impressed with that, and went on to explain that only the rich or talented ever got that kind of training, even at the Bard college of Flagondburn. Most were just taught to read the music and play or sing.

We traveled for several days and I learned early on his name was Hanse, that he thought Elves were pathetic, and that farming was the best way to make a living. We talked about many things, mostly farming. I asked questions about the world, and he gave me answers as best he could. He also sung several tavern songs for me to copy and transcribe. We parted ways in Binarg, Town of the Fairy Ring.

I spent several days looking around the town, searching for work, and singing for my supper. When my phone ran out of power, I went looking for someone who could help. That was when I was pointed in the direction of the blacksmith, Maxwell Smithson.

I came upon his wagon in the morning, and asked if he truly was 'The' smith I was looking for, and got a stern lecture about not going on any more fool adventures. When I placed my phone on his bench, he suddenly became much more interested in the things that I had to say. We spent the next three days in close conversation about how the magic of 'Spark' worked, and I learned much from him on the topic.

After those three days of study and work, I found myself in possession of a Spark supply that would power all of my electronics! I was truly amazed at the workmanship of one who had never before seen complex wiring and circuits before.

The morning after we finished I was making my preparations to leave when the Fairy Circle opened, and the denizens there from, escaped. The town was in an uproar, people who hadn't believed, or just not paid attention running for their lives. I was about to join them when I saw Maxwell standing with the other adventurers, preparing to lay down his life for the town. Intrigued at the sight, I stayed and watched.

It was a wild and wondrous sight to behold! The masters of the combat craft in full regalia and action. Arrows to blot out the sky! Spells so varied, you would need to see them to believe! Swords and spears so fast, they were a blur!

Then, the Archfey came. They were beautiful! They were monstrous. They were wild power taken form. The words and spells they spoke made trees and statues of adventurers and townsfolk alike. Even Maxwell was held at bay by fear. It was then that I realized it. The spells they used were musically based. And what better way to counter it? Music. Specifically MY music. I dug my phone and amplifier from my pack, and set about plugging in the cords. Time was not on my side. I could see flakes of stone crawling up the legs of those near by.

And finally I was done. I selected a well loved song from my home, turned the volume up to eleven, and pressed play. The results were marvelous to behold! The Smith broke out of his trance, and fired upon the Fey again. The adventurers rallied to the attack. But most noticeable were the heroes that came from my own world! They stood straighter, as tho they had iron in their spines; they squared off with the lords of Fey, and struck, some even foregoing the weapons that they carried hand! They punched, and bit and tore at their enemy! So much of the Fey Lords green blood was spilled that the ring is still colored with it.

That was the day I found my calling in this world of yours; and that is the story of my encounter with the great Blacksmith, Maxwell the thrice blessed Heretic.

No Harka, I will not tell another tale. And no, you may not touch the instruments. They are tools for pleasure and for war. That is why you are here, not just to learn to play; that can be learned anywhere; no, you are here to LEARN what to play, and when.

Now off to bed, the lot of you!