My Dell, the real Western Wilds.

50th of Amsiel, Second month of Summer.

2138 years since the new gods came.

Tired. Farm work is hard. Been working on a “hay making” machine. It will cut down the grass, and sweep it into nice rows for me. Harder than I thought it would be. Magic would make it easier...magic is a shortcut. Not going to use it.

Got a message from Einar's kid. His youngest, Mike, is coming for a visit in a couple months. Something about nightmares. Meh. Will be fun to have the lad around. Going to have to add a guest cottage. Need to make one for Ivan too. Will work on that in the morning.

51st of Amsiel,

Cottages started. Well, not cottages as it were. Just a couple more cabins like mine. I had to use more earth magic to level the ground. Ivan seems to have absolutely NO magical ability. Really good with a scythe though. I think I will make him a combat scythe. Keen blade, unbreakable, extra damage to the living. Where did that come from? Meh.

52nd of Amsiel,

Had drinks with Brandywine and Ivan tonight...

- - -

“So, Max, how did you end up here?” Ivan asked, lowering his wooden tankard of beer from his lips. Dinner was over, the sun setting, and all three of them were sitting around the cabins only table.

“Well, my wife died.” Maxwell lost his train of thought for a moment, before continuing, “Then I got really drunk and went around looting and/or pillaging, or just plain old stealing, from various temples and churches of the gods as a form of revenge. I never killed anyone. I got caught a couple of times, but escaped before I was recognized.”

Brandy looked up from her shot glass, “Do you still have any of it?”

Max hung his head, “Yes.”

Several minutes passed as Maxwell pulled items from his trunk, and placed them gently on the table, “This candle thing,” an ornate candelabra, “is from the Idiot's cathedral in Garthax. That is the capital city of where I'm from.”

“This red sword,” The magnificent long sword glowed in a dark crimson hew, “is from the church of war in Pearlbell. Nice bell there, too big to steal.” He placed it on the table next to the candelabra.

“This magic book,” It was bound in brown leather, with many cracks along the spine, from actual abuse, not just age, “Is from the temple to whats their name, of magic. Littlespell was the name of the town. Big magic school there. Bit of a story too. You see, I found the book in the deep catacombs, behind a lead sealed silver door, inside of a sealed glass coffin. Just lying there for anyone to take.”

Ivan laughed. Brandy stared at the book. The book of spells. Confiscated from the first Fae to cross into this world, almost ten thousand years ago. A book long thought destroyed by the gods. Wars in the lost realms of ages past had fought over fake copies of it, because of the power the still contained. Max tossed it onto the table.

“The book is mostly useless. I learned a couple things from it, but I lack the time it would take to fully master it. Every so often it gets thicker.” Max said, after swallowing beer from his own cup. “Probably some form of good foolery.”

Brandy drained her shot glass, and filled it up again as Max continued. “This knife I actually stole from a cult of death worshipers.” The knife in question was made from obsidian, and seemed to suck in the light. The leather wrapping the lower part of the blade for a handle was wound with silver and gold wire. “Funny thing with it, is that when I arrived to kill them and take it, they were already dead. Looked like someone had just walked through during their ceremony, and 'Death Touched' them all at once.” He took another swig. “Good loot there too.” He stuck the blade into the table a tiny bit. Brandy and Ivan watched as the wood around the blade desiccated.

“I've got more thingies in here,” Max said, pointing at his trunk, “But...Meh. Maybe I'll show them off another time.” He slammed his beer, only spilling a little as he noisily swallowed. “URP!”

Max looked at his friends, and mistook their looks of terror as awe. “Well, fine. One last one.” He spent a full minute digging around the trunk. Finally, he lifted out a tiny figurine. “This was in the ancient history section of Knowledge's big temple near Sleetpoint. Back room, covered in dust. Bottom of the case labeled 'Goblin Artifacts'. Notice the clothes?”

Ivan studied the figure, just over an inch tall, made of lead, and standing on a 3/4” base. The figure had been painted by a master of their craft, as it looked almost alive. Then he gasped. “It...It's wearing clothing from my world! From the future, I'm sure, but from My WORLD!”

“Yeah. There were hundreds of them in the case. But this one called out to me. So I took it.” Max smiled. “I even left a pair of fist sized rubys in the donation box for payment.”

Brandy sprayed her mouthful of booze across the table.

*-*-*

The Celestial realm.

Viewing theater of the gods.

“DO YOU SEE THAT!?!?!?” Narissa, goddess of tranquility yelled at her date, the newspaper man. “HE STOLE ALL OF THEM!!!!!” She stormed out.

- - -

“...and that, my brothers and sisters, is why I ask, nay, Demand that someone go down there and punish Maxwell The Heretic!” Narissa mostly kept her voice steady throughout the statement.

The assembled gods, great and small, looked at each other. How many items had gone missing over the years? How many holy relics were gone? Did He have them? They muttered in low tones. Then in more volume. Finally Mil stood up. “I hereby make the motion that the Heretic be censured. And all of the artifacts he has shown stolen be returned.”

Ghondish, having surprisingly attended, as his game had been canceled by the summons, stood on his hind legs, “I second the motion.”

Several eyes bulged. Someone called for the vote. The motion carried. Sarah, small god of small shadows, suggested by Ghondish, was given the job of punishment.

*-*-*

54th of Amsiel,

Weird dreams last night. The gods were yelling and screaming at me. No clue why. Remembered which Mike was which while we were working on the cabins. Mike is on his way. He will be taking the sea route. A captain I used to know was apparently in port, and was chartered to bring him to the coastal town of Houndhol. I will meet them there in 30 or so days. I keep forgetting how fast sea travel is compared to over land.

He's bringing along some of his fathers knights. Looks like I'll need to build a bunk house of some sort. I hope the knights aren't the arrogant sort.

56th of Amsiel,

Harvesting for the winter starts tomorrow. It will get in the way of working on the Reaper, the name I have given the harvesting machine. I think it will work on grain as well.

Gods are strange. One stopped by. She's spending the night.

- - -

Sarah appeared in the sky over the Dell. She looked over the dwelling place of the Heretic, and smiled. Nice place. Too bad my...children...can't live in a place like this. She descended towards a small rise, and settled before the men, and pixie.

“I have come to punish Maxwell the Heretic!” She crowed. “Come forward to receive your divine retribution!”

Maxwell didn't look up from the wood he was squaring off. “I'm busy. Come back later.”

Sarah stared. What kind of insolence is this? Clear disrespect for a god? All the gods? “You have been sentenced by the council too be punished for your misdeeds. Thief!”

“I said I was busy.” Max finally looked up. “Aren't you a little small to be a vengeful god?”

Sarah looked down at her slight form, “Are you mocking ME!”

“No.” Max went back to work, failing to notice Ivan and Brandy edging away from him. “If I was insulting you, I would say something like 'Look at the short, prepubescent girl child the gods sent to annoy me'. Or something along those lines.”

Sarah looked down at herself again. She was exactly what he had described. “What in the hell? Who designs these bodies? Did they just throw me into a generic girl child body? Assholes!”

“Sounds like them.” Max replied, finishing off his work on the log. “Bjorn, and I guess the goat, seem reasonable. The rest? Idiots.” He looked over to Ivan, “Get the other end. Time to put this one up!” Ignoring the now, literally, steaming Sarah, they hoisted the log into place on the cabin. “Let's take a break for a bit. Brandy? Get the poor gal a beer. One of the good ones.”

Brandywine bolted for the main cabin, returning moments later with a cask and four mugs.

After filling a mug, Max held it out to Sarah, “Beer?”

She nodded, still in shock, and quaffed the whole thing. “Not bad! Another if you would?”

“Sure.” Max replied.

The next day, two completed cabins, a bunkhouse, and a high-five later, Sarah left the mortal realm to slap a couple of gods.

*-*-*

3rd of Kusha, The month of Harvest.

I have to meet Mike on the 28th. Going to have to leave on the 23rd in order to make sure I'm on time. Most of the crops should be in by then. Still can't get over the gods sending Sarah down in such an inappropriate body. I hope she smashed in a few faces. I'm glad to know she liked the little figurine too.

The Reaper is done. 3 acres a day! Better than the 1/3 acre a day by hand. Too bad I did a rush job, and have to fix bits every so often.