The heat of the forge made Shim's brow sweat into his white headband. He'd been working for the master since his arrival in Aurora. In that time, he'd cultivated his understanding of the master, and the craft. He was still learning, but 90 days of consistent and solid work solidified his permanent place at the forge. The master, if not pleased with him, at least could trust him for now. Trust him to do more than bring water to the quenching buckets; he now shoveled coal into the furnace. His station, the heart of the smithy, afforded him a better opportunity to view his Master's work. A place of honor indeed.
"Saitana! More fire!" The master howled in the heat of sword making, the blank glowing hotter than a neutron star on x-ray scope.
"Fire, aye!" Cried Shim, adding coals to the furnace while the bellows-boys kept the air even across them. A true responsibility, the bellows. Which explained their higher rank and superior attitudes. The master interrupted his thoughts with the steady clang of his forge hammer. Today he was shaping blanks for sharpening, a task for journeymen tomorrow. It seemed a large order came from the elven cities to the south in need of blades for some war, somewhere. Good for business.
What a different life these past 90 days had been, Shim reflected. From PhD astronomy student to coal-minder at Amrizanp's best sword foundry. From lonely and bookish, to blessed by a Kama and transported to a new world, this Aurora. Declared a Champion, no less. To play a game in the spirit world, and to win, appease the spirit, and gain access to the multiverse in return. What an opportunity for science. What an opportunity to learn from the Master, to gain mastery for himself, and to gain blessing from the Kama. And perhaps, to forge a blade that would shear the veil between the spirit world and his own. One day. One hour at a time.
"Saitana! More fire!"
"Yes, Master!"
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The "Men O' McTavish" travelled down the King's Road and through the Forest of Silence. A fortnight had passed since the terrible attack on Pan McTavish's first caravan. She'd made it to the Shimmering Shores with enough coin to send a message back to the clan. An attack on a McTavish Trading Co. (R.E.C) caravan was intolerable, and so they'd been set out (unofficially of course) to "solve" the problem. Through the direct application of force to whichever bandit scared little Ornaitha. The boss had a soft spot for his grandniece, and a standard to set. Nobody messes with Clan McTavish.
The group was well armed, and experienced. So when they set up camp, they established a night watch, drank the last of their ale, and dug in to their sleeping bags. Soon, the little forest glen filled with a cacophony of mustachioed snores. Which made the approach of the Wendigo that much easier.
The purple creature hurt. It'd been a long time, by its estimation, since it last tasted any "tasties" along the Kings Road. Instead, it'd curled into a ball for a few days and healed up before subsisting on bark, bugs, and one day a rabbit. The sound of the wood elves in the clearing drove it wild with desire. It needed to eat.
Approaching the night sentry, the Wendigo allowed itself to blend into the night. It became invisible and crept closer, its footfalls covered by the snores of the men. Closing the distance, it reached out with a clawed hand. Larger than its quarry, six foot to their four, it long arms and sharp claws made a slight noise as they closed on his neck. Unable to stop the brief scream of the caught elf, the Wendigo drew him to it and savaged him until the jaw came lose. That, combined with the lack of a pulse, stopped the screaming as the Wendigo retreated with its prey.
In the camp, the Men woke to the sound of the night sentry's death. Confused but roused, they sallied into the woods with great gusto, pistols firing. When the captain gathered them together, they began the search for Finn McGanallon. A search that only turned up a detached jawbone and a few loose teeth, followed by a drag mark into the dark woods.
The moon passed behind a cloud, and the Men O' McTAvish shivered. Something was out there.
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Loki turns to Korenthis, rolling dice behind his partition.
"Korenthis, your "reaction party" suffers damage from the Wendigo. Roll your save; Luris, roll initiative for the Wendigo."
Dice roll as the two goddesses roll their die, both praying for the same result.
Loki giggles to the room.
"Oh no! looks like that darn Wendigo attacks and kills the sentry! Luris, roll to see if he gets away. Korenthis! Roll to see if you can catch it!"
Luris rolls and groans in dismay while Korenthis fumes beside her. Across the table Bevgile and Makkedon are in the kitchen, grabbing a Celesty Ale and some more snacks.
As the gods vie for control of Amrizanp, a Wendigo runs wild, and Loki cackles, amused for the first time in decades.