Part II: The Fires of the Forge
Chapter 4: You Shall Name It The Ghast
The forge of Hef Fastuz, usually filled with the clang of metal and the roar of the furnace, now held a divine silence as the figures of Rhokki and Myndoz stood before the smith. The ambient noise of the workshop was replaced by a serene hum, as if the presence of the gods had imposed a reverent calm over the environment, casting an otherworldly glow over the scene.
[And yes, my magic is such that I can simultaneously appear as two fake gods – its really not that hard if you know the trick].
You can imagine how it played out – startled by the sudden appearance, Hef’s eyes wide with a mixture of fear and reverence. Garf, sensing his master’s distress, barked nervously but remained by Hef’s side, with every hair on his body standing bolt upright in shock!
In the 67 years of his life so far, Hef had never before met with either of these two deities, yet upon their arrival in his forge he knew instantly who they were, and his reddish-brown eyes flamed even brighter than the nearby fires in his forge. There could be no mistaking these two figures that were so ingrained in the religion of the Drokka people (which is what I was banking on).
Hef at once dropped his hammer and tried to brush away the grimy ash that covered his body. I remember thinking – Oh look, the gimp is trying to make himself more presentable – how cute. But what he did next surprised me – for despite the gross deformity of his legs and feet — and thus the great pains it caused him to do so — Hef Fastuz fell to his knees before my apparitions, bowing his head in respect.
[To be honest, that effort nearly touched my heart – yes I do have one – but don’t get carried away, Hef’s painful genuflection only ‘nearly’ touched me — almost, but not quite].
Seeing the labor of the man, Myndoz help Hef arise. [Hey I can be a nice guy sometimes too]. After the crippled smith recovered from the shock of having two immortals suddenly appear in his forge, I spoke through the guise of Myndoz, “Hef Fastuz, master smith of the Drokka, your skills are known to us. We have come with a task worthy of your talents.”
The blacksmith’s eyes watered as it became evident he was overcome with emotion at the recognition of his gods.
As Rhokki remained silent, Myndoz continued, “A blade is needed, a weapon of unparalleled power. It is a task that only you can accomplish.”
Then it was that I had (my) Rhokki lay down a two-ton black boulder he’d been carrying – laying the massive rock at the Hef’s feet.
“Dost thou know what to do with this?” Myndoz asked of the Drokka smith.
“Yes, M-M-Maaaa-ster,” Hef Fastuz struggled to reply. Trembling, he looked up at the gods. His voice, though shaky, held a note of determination. “I… I w-w-will do as the g-g-gods command.”
“Excellent. And, you shall name it The Ghast,” (my version of )the First Balkery averred. Then, from within his flowing white robes Myndoz pulled out an object and handed it to the Drokka, “And here is your chisel.”
Accepting the glowing gift with his smoke-stained, mangled hands, Hef bowed and stammered out, “Th-th-…th-than-….at your bidding, Si-si-sire.” And then holding the magical new tool in one hand, Hef picked up his trusty hammer in the other, and at once began to work upon the ebon stone Rhokii had lain before him, eventually chipping it down to its very core, whilst (what he thought were) his beloved gods watched over him approvingly.
As Hef began to work, the glow of the chisel illuminated his face, revealing the intense focus and determination in his eyes. Each strike of his hammer resonated with a sense of purpose, a rhythmic beat that seemed to sync with the heartbeat of the very mountains themselves. Garf, perhaps sensing the importance of the moment, stood vigilantly by Hef’s side, his usual playful demeanor replaced by a watchful intensity.
The forge’s usual shadows were chased away by the divine light, creating an almost sacred space around Hef as he labored. The air seemed to hum with energy, the flames of the furnace burned brighter, and the very metal seemed more malleable under Hef’s touch. It was as if the gods I’d given him were guiding his hands, infusing Hef’s every strike with power.
This then was the beginning of what would become the weapon of mass destruction I desired – The Ghast. A blade that would change the course of history…
The Apocrypha of Azazel 