The Lost Seekers

Baldrin's Journal Entry Seventeen

Couse i haven't lost enough yet, apparently...

Dearest Fole.

It is my sincerest of regrets that i must write that Patty Fernland, my beloved, is dead. Or i think she is. Currently, as best i can tell, her soul resides within my hammer, powering some enchantment that will allow it to contain the souls of liches. I have been in the Forge for a little over a month now, and tomorrow me and the other Lost Seekers venture forth to attempt to contact Lillavida Banes. The following page is an experiment to see if i can leave a piece of myself here where its easy for others to understand. I’m not sure if it’ll work though, as previously it was something that Patty did, and I’m not even sure what I’m doing will replicate the effects.

As you turn the page you notice the following one is made of a bright, thin piece of metal. It isnt cold to the touch, but just faintly warm and not unpleasant in texture. it seems to be as thin as paper, and you cant actually tell how it is bound into the spine of the book. As you touch it your mind begins to wander, and you discover you know things you simply didn’t before. Even as you contemplate them, it seems as if they play out on the reflective metal before you. In all honesty you aren’t even sure which came first, the memories or the reflections

You stand in a massive circular room. The walls are ornate and covered in bizarre and differing patterns of which specifics are hard to make out. The centre of the room is occupied by a massive silver Anvil. You know that beyond this room is a number of bedrooms and a privy, as well as living areas. You also know you have been there, and that you are about to step into the centre of the room, over a large magical circle. Even as you do it, you know that two people will materialise. As you think it, you remember it and see it. The whole thing is rather jarring really. before you you see a small Halfling Man, and an extremely tall Elfish woman. You know them to be Aliastreia and Seaorin Banes. As you think, remember and hear them introduce themselves, you think to yourself how odd everyone’s names seem to be. Its like all their parents wanted them to be special snowflakes, even though they will eventually die and rot to dust even as Patty did. Then it occurs to you that Patty isn’t dead, she stands next to you as the strange pair introduce themselves. They explain about the strangeness of Seraphim’s existence, and the extra strangeness of Jaronhome. Could have told them that before. Still, Seaorin is a nice enough sort. He explains that you will be working with him to create the Hammer. You explain to him that you dont need no help, and he laughs at you. Nothings ever simple nowadays, not even smithing. Slowly it becomes clear that you’re going to have to use some kind of old magic to make the hammer.

“you cant just beat the Hammer into existence Baldrin, you need to smith it out of stone and metal, with words you dont even know yet. You need me”, Seaorin makes a good point.

Its always been a bit of an odd hammer if you were being honest, made out of stone and yet never breaking. As you think about it time within your memory slowly bends, and you see yourself hard at work at the forge. The Words of Creation, as Seaorin calls them do not come easily. Where Endolynn might have picked them up in moments, you find yourself struggling with even the most basic ones. As time speeds up and slows down you note that most of it is spent at the Anvil, as if you were working 16 hours of a day, only resting to eat and sleep. Even as you think it you start to feel the exhaustion in your arms, down to the very core of your being. You smell the acrid stank of precious metals at boiling point, and feel the burns and scratches on your hands. You start to hear the words you are murmuring to yourself, and yet you cannot understand them. In the blurred state of memory you find yourself in, you start to focus on the work itself. You sink into the hammering of the stone. You watch as the stone slowly gives way to new metals, and feel it as you mold the various alloys into the bones of the hammer. You come to understand that this isn’t some chunk of clumsy metal, but a living thing, built to house souls of some of the most powerful beings in the known world. It is a terrifying work you participate in, and yet it is no less gratifying. On the final day as you stare at the results of your labour you feel nothing but pride. Then Patty speaks.

“It isn’t done Yet Baldrin” she whispers, though you would swear she was too far away for you to hear her. Then What she said actually hits you, and its as if cold water is dumped over your head.

“What ye mean it aint done yet. It’s fine, itll do the ticket no problem. I dont like the look in your eye there Patty, and ive never heard you sound so certain of this kind of thing afore”, even as you say it something nags at the back of your head. Patty hasn’t been the same as she was a year ago, and she hasnt since she died. Certainly the truth is she has said things like this before. Things that just don’t mesh with the strong wild lass you know her to be. An yet other times she’s been just as she always has been. Still, the Hammer will be fine.

“It ain’t done yet Baldrin, and you know it”, as she says it she steps forward and reaches for the Hammer, “there’s something that still needs doing”. For whatever reason the look in her eye puts Baldrin on edge. It’s like some weird mix of sadness and longing.

“No, i think its fine”, you can hear the desperation in your voice, but you dont care. Whatever she’s about to do, you ain’t going to let her. You pull the Hammer away. “It’s fine. You dont need to do this. We can get something else, or do something else. There always be options”, your memories hazy, and it feels like you missed part of the conversation. Still she looks at you sadly.

“Ok Baldrin, we’ll do it your way. We’ll do something else”, as she says it she smiles at you. Its her old smile, and for a moment you forget what you were about to say. She’s let it go. So you smile as well and reach out to hug her. As you lose focus she puts her hands out and touches the Hammer. A few words and but a moment of time pass but in that second you know something is wrong.

“What’d you do lass? stop!” Even as you say it you see the light fading from her eyes.

“You’ll be right love,” and with that Patty falls. As she falls, the world falls out from under you. You dont notice the change in the hammer, or anything else around you. The very room disappears. All you see is that final smile she gave you, and then the world begins to shatter. As her body begins to drift apart like a mound of sand, you hear sounds around you. Dimly you recognise in the farthest part of your mind that these people are friends, family even. You dont care. Again, this world takes the most important things. All you want to do is scream and tear it apart. As if from a great distance you hear people saying your name, and you hear your response to them. Something about leaving the room. It sounds calm. Thats so very different to the screaming howls in your head.

Even as the others leave the room all you can hear is your own voice. Things like “its my fault” and “why did i bring her” rattle around in your head. Your aware, vaguely, that you are breaking things. Small things grab your attention, such as the ache from your knuckles splitting against the wall, or your hoarse breathing. Even then though, you continue to berate yourself. “should have left her with the caravan” and “should have sent her back at the first sign of trouble” rattle’s through your skull like the ringing sound of a hammer on an Anvil.

CLANG!
It was your fault she was here.
CLANG!
She shouldn’t have come, you shouldn’t have brought her.
CLANG!
You could have asked your family to look after her.
CLANG!

Your hammer smashes into the molten Adamantine. Your not sure how long you’ve worked this metal, but you’d say its been a week or two. Time has passed, but you still feel empty. Lost, you can only think you’ve moved through the past few days in a lifeless shamble.

CLANG!

more time has passed, and now the Adamantine resembles a suit of armour. Next to it rests the Liches Heart. Even as you look at it you cant help but think thats a stupid name. She shouldn’t be remembered by something that sounds so evil. An look at the Hammer itself. Its pretty, but it doesnt have any of her fire to it. It needed something more. As you started to think on it, your steps took on more life. You started to move about more purposefully. The next few days were spent working the final touches of the Armour, and making one small change to the Hammer. At the very base of the handle, you make a small Inscription.

Sincerest Heart

No where else on the hammer is a name placed. No plaque or memento, so maybe this will help it change its name and possibly its fate too. Still, you feel it needs something more. So out of the Anvil you take a long red piece of silk fabric. Its a deep dark red, just like the colour of Patty’s hair. You tie it at the base of the Hammer head, and let the majority of it hang down the Hilt. As you pick up the Hammer you wrap the Silk around your hand and pull it tight. Then you shut off the Anvil, take your armour out back and begin preparing to travel.

As you start to make preparations within the memory, you become more aware of the space around yourself. You draw yourself away from the journal for a time, and sit. It takes the world a while to stop spinning. As you pick the book back up, you turn to the next page, where there is a final written piece of this particular entry.

So, that’s the tale of the end of my lass an how i dealt with it. At best, i can say it was a death, but ill try to make sure it was worth something. I figure every innocent i save with this hammer is a person Patty would have liked, and that’s about as good as it’ll get. So, ill be off now then Fole, you ’av a good one.

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