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Einiri

I wallowed in my filth for a while. I drew a little in the dirt with my staff before gathering the shattered pieces of my ego and started searching for fire-starters. If only there was some dopey city-folk around on a camping trip or something. They'd at least have a blade so I could hunt.

I continued walking through the woods, happening on a circle of runestones. ”What is this?” I murmured aloud, crouching down to examine them. I could make out a few meanings, but no discernable purpose. A shovel was nearby, and runes were glowing on the neck of the shovel. Dig, the runes implored. The glowing runes floated off of the neck and rearranged themselves inside the circle of runestones. Now that I was farther away, the runestones seemed almost ghostly.

These were wisps, every one of them, I slowly realized. I was apprehensive, but I did as I was instructed. I dug a hole until I hit metal. A thick sheet of a red metal that I definitely couldn’t move by myself. Instead, I pushed it farther into the wall of the hole, making only a slight opening to reach through, and it was there that I saw it: a very dull blade, inscribed with runes. I jabbed it into the wall over my head and clamored over it, out of the hole. I pulled I out with all of my strength, discovering that the sword was incredibly balanced.

A blue, unadorned blade witht a crossguard gilded with gold. A hilt wrapped in golden leather that I recognized from the Greek tanners and a polished ruby that served as the pommel. A sword of my own. One that I could barely lift, all things considered. But mine all the same. I dragged it behind me and found a Roman road begin the next line of trees. A straight, level road, rough cobblestone meeting at odd ends to form small gaps. And on the other side of that road-A blacksmith. I could probably commission a sheath for the runic blade there.

Crossing the road took some guts. There was no way to know of a Terminus boundary ran around it and if there was, I'd be totally and completely obliterated the second I tried crossing. Terminated, as the term goes. But the Roman god of borders was on my side today. If there WAS a boundary, Terminus himself wasn't home. I crossed the road as carefully as possible, waiting for the violet flash that signaled a magic boundary was nearby. Not seeing one, I peered inside the smithy.

In the front, it looked like a normal smithy: some fire, some water, some molds, and an anvil. As I circled around it, though, it looked completely different in the back. Magical lava, the same kind as Mr. Thorson has, is flowing. Metals melted together, steel with steel and gold with gold. There were careful lattice patterns guiding the lava streams into small pools. A magic engraving tool sat nearby to inscribe names and abilities into swords. I examined the stock weapons. This battleax could cleave through solid rock like butter. That sword could ignite on ccommand. This spearhead, when planted, grows a friendly spartai.

I shuddered at the thought of the last one. Spartai are among the most destructive but also the most disturbing monsters. Imagine a human with translucent grey skin and no blood, organs, or soul. Only bones. Bones and eyes. Bones and eyes and that translucent grey skin. Nearly immortal with only the intent to kill. Not to destroy. In fact, it's said that they go out of their way to preserve buildings. The Spartai retook their homeland, the state of Sparta, soon after Ragnorok. And anyone who makes it out of the city, which has only been three in the past century, describe a perfect time capsule of a city. It looked impeccably like Sparta from 4 a.R, the year that the Spartai attacked. Now that I thought about it, this looked exactly like a Spartan blacksmith from the history books. I quickly excused myself, but a skeleton blocked my way out. A Spartai.

And it was waiting for something.

I lifted my runic blade. It wouldn't defend against any attack from this thing. But I had to try. Suddenly, a human wielding a warhammer emerged behind the skeleton. “Identify youself!” he yelled.

I spoke quickly, not wanting to meet my end at the head of that hammer. “I-I-I'm Einiri, of Bellares. Illusiomancer, second class. In exile for grand theft among other things. I want to commission a sheath for my sword here,” I stammered. “I have money!” I yelped after the Spartai picked up a sword.

“Put it down, Bones. We'll hear him out,” the blacksmith sighed. He set the warhammer upside down on it's head. “Give me the sword.”

I was reluctant to hand my only weapon over so easily. But the sword itself glowed and shot into his hand. His dark eyes skimmed the blade.

“Blue Mythril. That indicates a Norse forging, but the Norse never guild their swords this way. This is Roman gold and Roman patterns. And yet, this quality ruby is only found in Nile. A Greek design straight from Athenian forges. And yet, this Mythril is folded in a Shintonese style…” He shook his head. “This sword comes from everywhere and nowhere. You're wasting your time if you want to place it because none of these countries would ever collaborate willingly on a single sword. I can certainly sharpen it and make a scabbard for you.” I reach for my coinpurse before realizing that it was confiscated when I was deported.

“I… can't pay,” I said.

“Sorry then, lad. You can sharpen your blade and stay here for a few nights, but metal costs money.” I flinched at his use of the word ‘lad’. Metal…

I was about to leave before remembering the strange red metal in the hole in the woods. The wisps had thought of everything. “There's some metal in the woods, where I found this sword! I can sit here and sharpen it if you and your Spartai can go get it. I'm sure it's valuable, and there's way more than I'll need out there,” I added.

He considered this. “Bones,” he called. “We’re going on a little excursion.”

We walked into the woods, Bones behind me and the blacksmith behind it. I led him to the hole.

“Looks like red Mythril!” the blacksmith hooted. “Bones! Boy! We're going to be rich!” I was too startled to be offended by ‘boy’. It wasn't just my day of maturity, I'm just not a guy!

“What's so great about red Mythril?” I asked. Bones the Spartai clattered it's teeth in response. Was iti laughing?

“It's only the most valuable metal on Mythos! A sheet of this only an inch thick- only an inch! Can withstand a direct blast of the hottest pyromancy flames. Goggles coated with it can see through illusions! I can do so much with thi-“

“Yeah. Okay. Can I get a scabbard?” I interrupted.

“I could make you five scabbards and a suit of armor and STILL have enough material to forge and sell and build my own town!” He roared with laughter. “Dig, Bones! Dig, boy! If you do, I'll make you that scabbard free of charge!”

“Sir, I'm not a boy!” I yelled.

He stopped and stared at me like I had just pronounced that I didn’t believe in monsters. “Of course you are. Are you feeling alright?”

“I was born a male, but I'm a girl, okay? I'm a GIRL. And on top of that, today is my day of maturity.”

“Whatever you say, miss.”

Miss, I noted. He called me miss.

Not everyone in the world is like my father.

***

With Bones and the blacksmith working together to haul the Mythril, it took less than an hour to bring it to get the dense metal back to the shop. And true enough to his word, the blacksmith melted the metal, fashioned a mold around my blade, and poured the red Mythril over it. He included intricate designs of roses up and down the hilt and planted a beautiful pink sapphire in the center of it all. “To give it a… Feminine touch,” he said with a wink. “What's your name, miss?” he asked at the end. It was

“Einiri. I have no second name.”

“And your blade’s name and history?”

“Excuse me?” That was a Norse Alliance thing, right? “We don't, uh, name our tools in Greece. And I just found this under the Mythril deposit.”

“Ah. You're Greek. Then we shall name your weapon and forge a new history, starting now. You might as well take a second name here, too.”

“Fine. Fine. Okay. Let's do this,” I started. “Sword, I, uh, name you Manyfather. And I take for my second name Nofather.” I spoke in Elvish for the ritual, unsure of where I got the words. But it certainly was Elvish, because no language was that light and fast.

“Very well, Einiri Nofather of Greece. Welcome to the Wilds. My name is Schnee Vulkinson of Rome. Welcome to the Wilds.”

Suddenly, we heard a blast from the front. Vulkinson grabbed his warhammer and bones jumped to action with the dragon-tooth spear- the one that summoned more of his kind. They both scrambled to the front, ready for action while I sat cowering in the back forges and storage. Manyfather pulsed with energy, but I was far from being able to wield it. Helpless and alone was an Evolved wolf, armed to the teeth- literally, with a crude Maul in his mouth- snuck into the back and started shoveling as many weapons and metals he could find into a sack.

He froze abruptly. “W-who are you?” he said through the deadly metal dentures over his gums.

His fur bristled and he readied the clawed gauntlets on his handlike paws and charged.