Deviant Mage Pt. 02 - Lanovale

Umtieone wanted to give a proper expression of outrage, but it probably would have popped some of his stitches. "This is the Butcher's Blade, a priceless weapon wielded by my ancestors!"

"Looks like scrap metal now."

"It is a sacred relic! Before it was destroyed, it was blessed with divine power. I have witnessed this power myself! It must be restored." Umtieone tried to talk while moving his lips as little as possible, and it still hurt.

"Seriously? A magic sword? Lemme have a look at that." The master smith looked vaguely interested. Umtieone handed him the crossguard-half of the Butcher's Blade. "What's it do?"

"I do not know. I only discovered the sword's blessing after it was destroyed. A drop of noble blood falls upon it, and the blood turns to black dust. Nothing else."

"Oh, lovely, some kind of blood enchant. That means there's probably blood-iron in this thing." He spat into the scrap pile. "Refined from the spilled blood of your ancestor's enemies, probably. Horrible stuff."

"Can you repair it?" This was not how Umtieone had expected this meeting to go. The nerve of this man!

"Maybe. How much are you willing to pay?"

"You hold a piece of Lanovin family heritage, likely blessed by Hethaltie Himself. It would be your privilege to restore it to its former glory."

The blacksmith stared at Umtieone for a moment, and then laughed in his face.

"I don't work for free, and I don't care who you are."

"You can re-forge it, though? You have the means?"

"There's not going to be anything left of the 'blessing' if I reforge it. I do have another way to fix your sword, though, that ought to work. I don't guarantee anything, though."

"Name your price then."

"Twenty-seven full gold. Whether it works or not."

If Umtieone had been drinking something, he would have spat it out. "Outrageous!"

"Sure is! Take it to Iosul if you want it done cheaper. Smith there'll probably ask you fifteen. Now, if you'll excuse me- hey! Watch it, you idiot! It's pouring slag now!" he hurried over to the furnace and lectured a worker about something he was doing wrong.

Umtieone seethed quietly for a minute, but they were thoughtful seethings. Why would it be so much more expensive to do it here?

He stayed in the workshop, watching the men draw slag from the furnace, but not really paying attention. A thought had come to him and wouldn't leave, and he found himself very concerned.

Half an hour passed, and the master blacksmith, now soot-stained, sweaty and stinking, returned.

"You're getting in the way, my lord. You should leave."

"Why would it be so much more expensive to have the Butcher's Blade repaired here than it would to have it done in Iosul?" Umtieone asked.

The blacksmith froze, just for a moment. Then he glowered at Umtieone. "That's what we call a trade secret."

"You need something illegal, don't you? You had to smuggle it in."

"Watch it, kid..." the master smith said, his expression darkening.

"As Lord Protector of Lanovale, it is my duty to seek out and destroy all unholy things. If you have something that weakens our God, at the very foot of Hethaltie's Plateau..." Umtieone was genuinely shocked.

"There's nothing unholy about this!"

"Tell me then, what is it?"

"Science! A pair of compressed gasses that burn together to make a flame hot enough to melt steel. Has to come all the way from the Empty Ocean!"

"Much of science is just as unholy as witchcraft. You should know that even better than I, craftsman. I should put this matter to trial, you before the Shrine for charge of heresy. It is my duty to see it done fairly. If you are judged poorly, then the Shrine will have to see to this matter."

Cold rage radiated from the blacksmith, and Umtieone could not help but note that he hadn't brought any guards, that there were lots of things here that could be used to murder someone, and he was even willing to admit that he was a piss-poor fighter despite his best efforts. But he pressed on anyway. "But you could prove to me now that this steel-melting gas isn't unholy. Repair my holy sword. Do your duty, and ask nothing in return, citizen, and I shall consider this matter settled." Blood was starting to leak from the bandages on Umtieone's face and drip down his chin, his stitches starting to tear from running his mouth. The pain was considerable. And yet, in the moment, he didn't actually mind the pain.

"This is probably why someone broke your sword, you jackass."

"Call me that again, and I'll see to it that you are flogged for disrespect towards the rightful lords of Lanovale."

The master blacksmith's face was now utterly expressionless, but flushed red. Wordlessly, he stormed over to his workbench. He had powerful friends, he could probably win a trial if the Umtieone decided to press this, but it would be a long and painful process, whereas he could probably manage this job in only a couple hours and get this prick out of his sight.

Umtieone had just made an enemy of the Lanovale Guild of Craftsmen, if he had anything to say about it.

"Give me the fucking pieces and get out! And it'll be weaker after I'm done, just so you know, and don't expect it to look pretty!" And there wasn't a perfect chance of the enchantment being repaired with the sword either, which the blacksmith didn't admit. He could do it. He would have welcomed the challenge, except apparently, he had to, practically with a knife at his throat.

"I think I'll watch, since of course you have nothing to hide." Umtieone handed the blade-half of the sword to the blacksmith.

"Oh? Well then watch real close!" the master smith snapped back. And then, fuming, he started to disassemble the Butcher's Blade.