Beginnings

The Blighthammer smithy lay silent. The forge sat cold and the tools all hang lifeless on the pegs adorning the wall and shelf-space. Sunlight filtered in around the cracks of the large wooden doors and shutters on the windows. 

Dust danced across the sunbeams and gave the space the air of a church with large stained glass windows. Off in the distance the sound of a rooster crowing could be heard. Several more minutes passed before the sound of heavy foot steps slowly approached the doors.

The gait of the person approaching was off-kilter. They stopped upon reaching the double doors. They grunted as they slid the large draw-bar that barred access to the forge and foundry. Afterwards the doors swung inward slowly revealing the imposing and to some almost monstrous looking figure.

He stood six foot nine and took up at least a third of the large doorway leading into the smithy. He was broad, bulky but with well defined musculature. If you saw him pulling a cart single-handedly you wouldn't question it in the slightest.

The monstrous aspect of his presence was owed to his scarred face. The iris of his left eye was cloudy and lifeless. The flesh on that side of his face was also marred horribly. The flesh was mottled and saggy like it had started to melt.

Brahm Blighthammer lifted his right arm and flexed it experimentally, observing the way his muscles rippled. Noting the same pain and numbness persisted. He could use his arm but it was as if he had slept on the limb for a month straight. It took him three times as long to finish tasks as he had three years ago.

He had the same pot-marked and blotchy scarring on his arm. In fact it persisted on his whole right besides where it had affected the left side of his face. A reminder of the day his family had—. 

"Brahm, have you seen Killian this morning?" 

Brahm turned, a little awkwardly due to the pain in his leg and addressed his friend and roommate

Lorna Whitbreath who was leaning out the kitchen window of the house they all shared. "Aye, caught sight of his backside as he slipped out long before first light."

Lorna scrunched up her face, hardening her features which could look sharp as a razor or impish depending on her mood. Curly black hair ran down past her shoulders. Her skin was brown unlike anyone else he had ever seen.

Her family had been traders from the nation of Thornum. A prosperous nation and hub for commerce, trade and technology. Famous for building the steamships that now allowed people to cross distances that previously would have taken weeks by wagon in mere days.

Built with iron mined by dwarves, lumber provided by the forest trolls, and designed by gnomish engineers, all of them brought together, organized and funded by humans. It was a testament to the strong alliances that had been forged during the battle against Negphion. 

A century later the races still worked and lived in harmony to further the living conditions for all. That wasn't to say that there wasn't still a profit to be made. Travel and shipment by steam was a bustling industry.

It was still a damn far sight off the instantaneous travel of teleportation circles. Sadly it had been one hundred years since that form of magic had been possible.

"Where would he be head…" Her face immediately fell dumbfounded. "You don't think he—." 

Brahm rubbed the back of his neck before tossing his hand out to the side, palm turned upward and fingers outstretched. "When else have you known him to get out of bed before breakfast?"

Lorna's eyebrows arched in annoyance before she nodded and began to close the shutters; stopping herself and opening them back up enough to call out. "Food'll be ready in ten minutes."

Brahm nodded and waved his hand in acknowledgment. He turned back to his workspace. Checking to make sure no tools had been left out and that Killian had seen to cleaning up last night instead of rushing inside to grab a pint.

Satisfied that his listless friend had at least managed that much he went about preparing the forge, priming it so that it would be warmed up by the time he finished eating.

His father had been something of a mechanical genius. Years ago with Brahm's help they built a method by which the bellows that fed oxygen to the coals and heated the forge could be operated with out the need to constantly work them manually.

The bellows was made of wooden planks, with canvas stretched between the two pieces to from a durable air bladder. A front spout for air and handles on the back for depressing the bladder.

His father and he had designed a counterweight system where a weight would be lowered on a pulley until it landed on a fixed point of the bellows, forcing it down and blowing air into the forge.

Once it finished lowering the bellows handle would trip a relief valve for a small hot water tank fed by rain water off the roof; stationed on the outside wall behind the forge. 

The tank itself was heated by the coals. The outlet for the valve was placed against a iron plate with an outstretched hook running through one of the chain links for the counterweight chain. 

The plate would shoot up and once it got high enough the opposite side of the hook hit a lever, detaching it from the chain and allowing the plate to slide back down the shaft it sat in. Iron bearings on the side insured it didn't low through the ceiling or slam into the ground.

He had shirked the praise for the idea, saying it was something he'd heard of on his travels. But building something you heard discussed in passing was still a feat in and of itself. He'd slapped Brahm on the shoulder for his part, giving his son the lions share of the credit for pulling it off.

Brahm's face became passive at thoughts of his father. His musing was interrupted by Horace, Lorna's pet boar. She had wanted a dog but the few mutts Brahm and Killian had managed to search out were too wild or diseased to domesticate.

A side effect of the cave that sat low in the valley; the Shadowcomb labyrinth. It's taint had slowly begun to effect the wildlife in the immediate area these last three years. Horace came waddling inside the smithy, sniffing for scraps and bumping into Brahm's leg.

The man nudged the porcine, regretting his inability to say no the the girl when she had begged him to spare the little ball of bacon. Horace scoffed at him momentarily before charging out of the smithy a few feet.

Brahm closed the doors but didn't bother barring access. If anyone attempted to enter he'd hear from the house. He started up the path and Horace followed after him. He refused to allow the animal into the house, especially the kitchen.

He begrudgingly allowed Lorna to feed it scraps from the kitchen. They couldn't afford to waste anything with the meager turnout the labyrinth had pulled in this last year. The Shadowcomb had been mostly mapped and cleared by now. All of it's secrets and treasures cleared.

Gone were the days when the trickster god Negphion used his powers to make the mortals of this world play his deadly game. The final battle had ended with the god dead and magic all but vanished.

So there was no re-spawning of monsters in the old dungeons. The only way those old caverns would replenish their stock of killable monsters would be the taint working it's evil on the creatures that managed to find their way inside. 

The creatures that were once confined to old tombs roamed free. Without magic to aid them the denizens of the world were forced to adapt. The past century had seen the dawn of a new age, an industrial revolution.

Brahm came up to the house and opened the lower half of the split door leading into the kitchen. Turning to give Horace an evil eye, stopping him in his tracks.

Lorna Turned from the stove where she was was browning some potatoes. "Just now getting the forge started I see, bad dreams again?"

Brahm had to suppress a yawn, most of the dreams about that strange world were ordinary; or as ordinary as an imaginary world could be. Only a handful of them were unpleasant. 

But the moment that Takeo gave his life to save his brother reminded Brahm so much of the events of three years ago that he was unable to get back to sleep after. The day proceeding that dream was always difficult to get through.

"They're less of dreams and more curses created by the gods to torture me."

Lorna smiled, shaking her head as she turned with both of their plates and set his down in front of him. "If they hadn't abandoned us all I might agree with you."

Brahm had never had much use for the gods. Not just because they'd left this world a hundred years ago. His father had taught him to trust his own two hands and what he could accomplish with them.

His mother had still told him about all the different faiths and beliefs. When he scoffed at the fact that the gods didn't even bother with this world anymore she would admonish him by saying. 'Did they abandon us or were we lost to them?'

Brahm stabbed a piece of potato and dipped it in the gravy Lorna had poured over the sausages she'd prepared for breakfast. She was a terror in the kitchen. She also did all the hunting for their household. Brahm and Killian were both more than capable but she claimed it as her responsibility.

Killian suggested later to Brahm that the reason Lorna wanted to get out of the house so much was because she was restless being cooped up in their village.

'She has a touch of wanderlust in her blood, maybe she's keen on visiting her homeland.'

He got quiet after that, a rare sight from his rather boisterous friend. Killian was blessed with looks; and a mouth that made those looks worthless. He spoke his mind constantly and he also happened to be an idiot. A lovable idiot perhaps but still a moron.

Brahm took a drink of his milk and nodded to the stove where Killian's plate was sitting. "I half expected you to toss his portion to the pig."

Lorna frowned. "His name is Horace. And he's a noble boar."

Brahm hunched over his plate; chuckling while nodding to himself before taking a bite of sausage.

"Aye, and his uncle the duke has just worked his way down my gullet." He gave the table a rap with his knuckles. His amusement was stopped at the sharp pain that suddenly shot up his arm.

Lorna winced at the sight. "Here, let me see to that." Lorna stood from her seat.

Brahm made as if to brush her away but her eyes got very intense. "Shush, it'll only take a second."

The ability to use magic had been lost when the hero had dealt the killing blow to Negphion if legend was to be believed.

Isethra was a world formerly rife with many demi-gods and elder spirits. The citizens were blessed at birth with affinities for different magical arts depending on their patron deity or spirit.

After Negphion's game had ended, no child born developed any special affinity. Tools and objects imbued with magical power lost their potency. The teleportation circles all broke and the spirits that roamed this land disappeared. Not a trace of magic could be found in all the land. Three years ago that had all changed.

Magic had returned, in an all together different form than before though. Lorna placed her hands just above his shoulder and closed her eyes, concentrating. Brahm set down his fork and sighed. 

The elves had championed the rush to experiment, catalog and understand the new basis for magic. Since their race was one of the few who had been alive in the time of magic and understood how things were before. 

As it stood now, physical manipulation, illusion, barrier, alchemic and elemental magic were all that were possible. Scholars had yet to discern what it was about those types that made them possible.

While certain magical creatures and monsters had returned out of the bowels of the earth; none of the spirits had returned.

As Lorna channeled the energies required to attempt to heal Brahm he saw her eyelids squeeze tighter. She was pushing herself, one of the reasons he tried to put off these treatments.

The ability to use magic now could be seen as exercise. No longer a base pool of mana, Isethran's channeled the energy inherent in the world and themselves to create a desired effect. Like a muscle, consistent and focused use of those muscles could result in the ability to channel more power more efficiently.

When using magic, if a channeler maintained a steady and measured pace at the level at which they were proficient they could theoretically cast magic for hours. Only overexertion would force them to stop.

Gone were the classes that dictated what kind of magic someone could use. People might find one harder to master over the other, but the rules had all but disappeared. A brave new world had begun.

As the energies worked on his shoulder the numbness and pain in the scarred parts of his body lessened. It never went away completely, and after enough time it would worsen again.

Lorna eyelids began to flutter open as she ended her channeling. She started to smile before her knees began to shake and she tipped to one side.

Brahm reached out a hand to steady her. "Are you alright?"

Lorna brought a hand to her forehead, nodding after a moment and placing a hand on his shoulder.

"Yes, I think so." 

Brahm got pensive, speaking while keeping his voice low. "You don't need to push so hard."

Lorna shook her head, walking back to her seat and sitting down. Saying before returning to her meal. "It's the least I can do, you got those wounds saving us. I only wish my affinity for healing was higher."

Though the special affinities and classes hadn't returned, everyone had their own skill ceilings. Lorna didn't get many chances to use her healing magic so it was progressing slowly.

There weren't many people left in the Shadowcomb village. Many had been killed in the attack three years ago. Those that were left had only managed to survive by providing services to the adventurers who had come to raid the labyrinth after magic returned.

Now that Shadowcomb had been ransacked completely there were less adventurers passing through and less copper and silver changing hands. If things stayed like this they might have to start traveling to the next town over for Brahm and Killian to peddle their wares.

They couldn't afford the expense of a steam-wagon. Traveling that far would also put more strain on the oxen as well as taking them two days travel roundtrip.

Brahm would also have to rent a stall and get licensed as a merchant in that town. He could bypass that by having an armorer in the town buy from him wholesale, but there was no guarantee for that happening.

He clenched his fists, cursing the monsters that had sprang forth from the earth like a geyser, the gods that had forsaken theses lands and people; finally he cursed himself for not being strong enough to save his mother and father and winding up half invalid

Outside Horace could be heard snorting, running around. After a moment they heard the sound of Horace charging and a yelp of surprise from whoever he had gone after.

"I swear one of these days I'm going to smoke you and turn you into jerky!"

Lorna and Brahm both smiled at their friend Killian's utterance. Lorna stood and walked over to the stove; grabbing his plate and walking back to the table and setting it in front of the seat between her and Brahm. As she sat back down Killian walked up the split door, still brushing himself off.

Killian Guinet was tall, compared to most other people at least. He was just over six foot, with medium length shaggy blonde hair. He was built like a young man who had grown up on a working farm.

He spared a glance between the two. "Don't let me disturb you two. No need to come to my aid after being trampled by your pet ham."

He ended the sentence with a jab in Lorna's direction. She smirked at him before taking a bite of hashbrowns. "Horace probably smelled the cheap perfume the girls from the acting troupe wear all over your clothes."

Killian wasn't a good liar, and he knew it. One of his few redeeming qualities was the fact that he didn't lie. "No need to be jealous Lor, I was merely welcoming the girls back for the festival. I'm still all yours at the end of the day." 

The Fairweather troupe was a band of actors and bards who traveled this province, performing plays and performing illusions masquerading as magic. Though now they could actually perform some wonderful feats through channeling.

Lorna now finished with her plate stood, and picked it up. Addressing Killian abruptly as she turned to place her plate in the sink. "I'd rather share a bed with Horace."

She busied herself with operating the foot pedal to work the pump for the faucet, washing her plate. She couldn't see the clouded expression that passed over Killian's face. His well rehearsed grin sliding off for the briefest of moments.

Saying just loud enough for her not to hear over the sound of the faucet running. "Right, how stupid of me."

Brahm saw the scene unfold and had to suppress a chuckle. The two of them fought like cats and dogs most of the time. They were both so quick to take umbrage at something the other said.

Killian started towards his seat, turning his head at the sound of Lorna's plate slapping the bottom of the sink. She was teetering on her feet, taking a hesitant step back from it before tripping over herself.

Brahm tried to spring up from his seat. But at his size and with his injured body he barely managed to push his chair back before Lorna started to fall backwards.

Before she could hit the ground Killian was there, dashing forward and then sliding to his knees to catch her. Brahm stood and walked over, helping both of them to a standing position.

Killian took notice of the fact that Brahm was walking far more steadily. "Damnit Ox, why'd you let her do that?"

Ox was Killian's term of affection for Brahm, a play on his name as well as his size. Killian directed Lorna to her seat before turning back to the sink to wet a dish towel for her.

Lorna waved her hand at the two of them. "I'm fine, really. I just need to catch my breath."

Killian came back with the towel and placed the cool cloth to her forehead. Holding it there while admonishing her. "The hell you're fine. You went to town yesterday. Did you stop by the orphanage, the church maybe?"

Lorna's face took on a guilty expression. "There's a lot of illness from the taint, this time of year especially. And not many people here have an affinity for healing."

Brahm put his hands on the table, leaning on it slightly while not being able to look either of them in the eye. "If it's a choice between me having a little bit of pain or you passing out and hurting yourself I can stomach a little discomfort."

Lorna looked ready to object before Killian cut in. "Brahm's right, if it was so bad he'd ask for help. I'm not saying you should let him suffer but be smart about how you use your power."

Lorna had recovered by now, pushed Killian's hand away before pointing at Brahm. "He's as stoic as a Laumwood tree and stubborn to boot. He'd drag himself along the ground with his chin before he admitted he needed help. You and I are only alive today because he sacrificed his body to protect us."

Killian gritted his teeth and clenched his jaw. He tossed the towel down on the table and stood.

"I know, I know; how could I ever forget when you remind me every chance you get." He stood and turned towards the outer door.

Lorna's face became apologetic. "Killian I wasn't—."

Killian interrupted her as he moved outside without looking back. "I'm gonna start loading the wagon." 

Lorna hung her head for a moment. Brahm stood and walked to the window, watching Killian's back as he walked down to the barn.

Lorna raised her head and looked at Brahm. "I don't think he's ever gonna get over what happened that day."

Brahm made no sign that he heard. Lorna was about to ask him if he was okay when he finally responded. "I know the feeling."