Brother Timothy in his rage had lapsed into the first language he had really learned; it was a language long extinct and not even noted in the historical record. You need to be calm, now. If these lunatics wish to deal with you as the Ap Hwywd's have done, so be it. They have a forge here that I need, but I can not have them constantly attacking me when my back is turned.

"What rules do you mean, he who is dressed like a knight? Does that include crossbow quarrel attacks and spears from behind?" He wrenched the woman's hair up a bit for emphasis and kept the sword edge at her throat. "I am going to ask some questions, and if I do not like the answers, I will start cutting off pieces of the one I hold in thrall here. Then I will start in on some others. I believe I asked before, HOW many outside this place are like those in here? I KNOW all of you are immortal, like I am; if you want another taste of what you felt earlier, go ahead…lie!"

This time Brother Timothy was not leaving anything to chance. Every few seconds his gaze swept the room, making sure no more threats emerged. Lydia's expression of fury had slightly abated, but was replaced with what seemed to be curiosity; one trait which Brother Timothy found so often aggravating in the past, but especially now. Percy the knight seemed initially outraged, but was now conversing in low tones with the dwarf character. The swordsman removed his ruined shield and inspected his sword.

"Nathan, I thought ye said this was the best stainless steel ye had! That bastard ruined my sword and shield with one blow! Would ye look at this!?" Despite his close brush with death, the swordsman was adamant about his ruined weapons. The woman he still had held up by her hair started moving around.

"Is anyone going to answer me? Oh Well." Brother Timothy brought the sword edge close enough to the woman's throat to draw blood. She screamed, but the scream was choked off by the monk's left hand on her throat. "Last chance before I—"\

"All of the Anachronists you see are like us, monk! Please let my friend go!"

It was the previously wounded cleric that spoke. The archer gave her a look of reproach.

"Marian! Why did you answer him? Now what in hell will we do?"

"Edward," she replied, "He is like us as well; can't you see? He is not what he appears to be, though."

Lydia nodded her head in agreement. "No monk fights with that level of malevolence and skill." She went silent again as she shook her head.

Brother Timothy released the pressure of the blade against the woman's neck. "Why is it that you play this inane little game? You are very lucky that none of you are really seasoned, or else you would have been dead by now; I know of only one other cadre that uses packs of immortals, and it is they I seek." Brother Timothy now put together another piece of the puzzle. "No head blows allowed. Now it makes sense."

"It is about all we can do to pass the time, monk," Faustus spoke, "any of us that have ventured too far from this demesne are invariably killed somehow. So we all congregate here in as peaceable of a manner as possible."

"You battle imaginary creatures and use dice or the word of another to determine who has won or lost?" Brother Timothy laughed. "Okay," Brother Timothy's voice had softened, but not his level of alertness. "How many is that more or less? Twenty? Thirty? More?"

Faustus cleared his throat, "I think closer to one hundred is a correct estimate. After a number of us were killed after we left this area, it was decided to simply stay put. Since we have done so, no more of our number have perished. It is only on occasion that we have to protect who we are. You are the first that has appeared from outside here in a long time."

"And what of the others that did? And do those stupid policemen know who you are?" Brother Timothy would have laughed out loud under most any other circumstance, but not now. He knew the answer to the first question even without asking. Two times they had tried to kill him as best as they could.

"We do what we have to do to protect what we have, monk; that is how it is. As far as the constabulary is concerned, we are a bunch of freaks that play anachronistic war games." Brother Timothy had failed to notice the dwarven character up until now, but he seemed to be no threat. The man was staring intently at his sword! "What manner of metal is that, sir? It can't be pig iron; even iron is not that dark. I would guess some esoteric mix of metal? How on earth was that made?"

Brother Timothy suddenly remembered that there was a forge here. "Who would wish to know? I only came here to ask to use a forge for sharpening my sword and recasting a piece of armor. Are you a blacksmith?"

"I am the one that works here as needed; as it goes ye will cost me some work I think. I have never seen any sort of metal that could shred steel like that, though."

At this admission, Brother Timothy saw a possible way out of not only his current situation but also a way to get the use of the forge he desperately needed.

"You want your friend back; I am in need of the forge you have here. Perhaps we can come to an agreement of sorts." Brother Timothy still was wary of the ones in the room, but he continued. "You congregate here together to play this game in this book; I find it rather inane and amusing, but that is beside the point. You are not the ones I seek; that is, I have no quarrel with you. You see, I am NOT playing a game of the sort you are playing…not at all! I seek a murderer that stole some items from me; I may also be seeking some others who congregate in a group as you do, but they DO play rough! Nor they or I roll dice or calculate hit points and we have no game master over us. Am I making my self clear so far?"

Several acknowledged what he said with barely perceptible nods of their head. Well, so far, so good, he thought. No one in the room had looks of fury on their countenance anymore. A few were still rather pale, though. The crossbowman spoke.

"Wot in 'ell is this here? That looks like acid on that quarrel!"

"Yes it is, along with some poison; it comes in handy at times. But getting back to our original discussion, I am in need of your forge, but I have no quarrel with you. We all are immortals in this room and there is no need to fight. If I have YOUR WORD there will be no more attacks on my person while I am here, I will release your friend. As soon as I am done with the forge work I need to do, I will leave. Agreed?"

Almost as one, the others in the room huddled close and began to converse in low tones. While some punctuated their speech with angry gestures, others, especially the dwarven one, were far less expressive. Finally, they broke apart; the dwarven figure whose name was Nathan, spoke.

"I asked them about what happened before I got here; it is apparent you could have killed some here, but ye didn't. You have our word that no harm will come to you here by our hand."

Brother Timothy tilted his head. Success! But could they be trusted? His thoughts were interrupted by the woman whose hair he held wrapped in his left hand.

"Let go of my bloody hair right now, you BASTARD!"

Her grip against his hand, however futile against his strength, did belie strength of her own. He released his hold on her hair. As she moved away from him, her left foot snapped back, catching him painfully in the shin. Once she was far enough, she spun around, her eyes blazing, "Kill that bastard now! Since when have we suffered this sort of humiliation! I was treated like I was some sort of trollop to be had for nothing?" She shoved Nathan, "Kill him!"

"Caroline, I will not raise a hand against him; I gave our word as a group. There would be no percentage in it for any of us."

"No one asked for MY opinion!"

The crossbowman spoke, "Caroline, we called a truce in fair order. There is a lot more to this than you could imagine. Belay your ire until as such time as we have discussed this in full."

Caroline was still angry but she backed off.

"I will sheath my sword now; be advised that I can redraw it as quickly as needed if it comes to that." Brother Timothy did so and turned to Nathan. "May I see the forge? I have my own tools for doing what work I need." He walked to where his belongings were set and retrieved the set of tools.

Nathan inspected them with an experienced eye. "These are a right well good set of tools, but perhaps ye may need to be apprised of some changes that have been made. The forge is through here." He gestured towards a door and proceeded to enter through it. Brother Timothy followed him, aware that some unfriendly eyes were still on his back.

It only took about forty-five minutes, and then Brother Timothy was left alone with his possessions and the forge facing him. He was both mystified and pleased at the same time. This is what happens when you do not keep abreast of things, he thought. The forge looked like a forge in almost every way. No bellows were present, though. It was heated with some sort of hot-burning gas; acetylene was what both the knight and dwarf had said. No more waiting for the right temperature, either. From cold to white hot was only a matter of minutes, with a maximum temperature well above that needed to melt Iron. I actually only expected to be able to repair the greave; I may be able to fully recast it! That possibility both amazed him and worried him at the same time; what if he had lost what skills he had so laboriously learned over the years? Clay or the equivalent for molds was also passé; this casting gel was not only easier to use for an experienced smith. It could be reused over and over again and was overall much easier to handle. He laughed, no need to use lightning this time. The easiest task at hand would be sharpening and cleaning the sword, therefore, that would be first. The metal box was set aside with the sack containing the greave. The new robe was set far away from the forge, along with the one he currently wore. He removed the top portion of his underclothes so that he was only clad from the hips to the knees.

One thing had not changed. The forge threw off massive amounts of heat; the blacksmiths of yore never had to worry about freezing weather. Only after Nathan had left did Brother Timothy prepare for the work to be done. The sword was removed from its scabbard and laid aside for the moment. He turned on the forge; within minutes, the well glowed with heat. He had brought along some food with him; it had been ordered online. He ate until sated then forced himself to eat a bit more. The fat-laden energy bars tasted awful, but they provided horrendous calories for their size. He would need those for the work to come.

In no time, the sword was heated to a bright red glow. Upon his close inspection had not suffered much; only a few dull spots marred its edges; some colorful stains also broke up the black sheen of the blade. There was no way to correct this without first heating it. Only then, and with some effort, could an edge be restored to it. Well-worn sharpening stones attested to this fact. Despite the blast heat of the forge and the hard work it entailed, he enjoyed this almost as much as writing. Once the sword's blade edge glowed slightly beyond red hot, he pulled it from the forge with a heavy leather glove. Placing it into a metal stand, he began to hone and polish what he had originally made on a gamble…..an old song burst from him, so as to keep a proper working cadence…

Area of Future Country of Wales ca. 6000 B.C.E.

He had learned by degrees to be civilized amongst those he was with. Some lessons were harsh while others were not.….. they cured him of his many bestial ways. They sheared off his matted hair, made him cook all his food. They made him wear proper clothing. They had after a time even given him a name: Ardis. They called themselves Daoine Na Sidhe; despite their large indifference towards ones of his kind, he had rescued one of their infants. This alone had saved him. He no longer fought with the dogs for his meals; they had, as his demeanor improved, allowed him to eat with them, converse with them; he had thought that they had accepted him, too. He had thought so…

…Many of the Daoine were indifferent to him; that is, their emotions past the very base ones could be at times inscrutable. The slant-eyed ones were of strange countenance; they only slightly resembled those they called the 'others', but it was with them he stayed. He learned their language and culture at a faster pace than many of them; this was not always looked upon favorably, but once he had learned their ways, he put his bigger size to the best advantage he could…

…as he grew into their social group, he befriended their smith, Tuavle'g. Perhaps it was not necessarily as a friend, but more by convenience and benefit. Tuavle'g was somewhat slant-eyed like the Daoine, but not as much as the others. He made weapons and armor for the people. He would often use the children for gathering fuel for his forge and to run the bellows as needed, but Ardis had put an end to that. He could pump the bellows hotter than any five people could. He could carry much more fuel at one time than anyone if he had to as well. As he gathered fuel, some of what he once learned came back to him about substances that could be found in the earth. He learned to render wood into charcoal, but in return showed Tuavle'g the hard black rocks he had found. At first as a reward for this labor, Tuavle'g would give him extra food. One drawback of the Daoine was their short attention spans and limited patience regarding mundane, labor-intensive tasks; soon only Ardis showed up to help the smith. Tuavle'g finally taught Ardis to smith! With the knowledge Ardis had gained long ago in addition to his training, only Ardis was learning from Tuavle'g; he was the only one who had patience enough to master the more complicated techniques and an unremitting stubbornness in learning. Some of his ideas resulted in numerous amusing catastrophes, but more often than not, they improved upon things. Tuavle'g was the richest there in the group besides their leader; he and Ardis both had two each's of their own! In time, Ardis learned to ride his each's. Though at times this provoked momentary envy from the other Daoine, Tuavle'g never spoke harshly to Ardis.

There came one day when not only did Tuavle'g present Ardis with a set of tools for smithing, he deferred to him at the forge! Tuavle'g knew when he was confronted by one more superior in skill; he was dumbfounded at first when his student surpassed him in skill, but then simply accepted it. Ardis had found a black ore which he had been able to smelt only after a laborious process. Tuavle'g was impressed, as were the others of his kind he had met; the metal in trade was worth even more than the copper they usually used, but the slant-eyed ones hated that metal. They wanted nothing to do with it. Ardis shrugged. Sometimes he thought the Daoine strange, but he kept his face shaved like them, not as hairy as those he looked like more…..

….it was in a harsh manner that he learned what the Daoine really were like. For some past time, he noticed the elves to be even more cold and indifferent than they usually were. He and Tuavle'g were making more weapons as the elves required. His two each's were gone one day; they had been taken by some elves. It was at sunset that he heard the weird horn sound; it was sounded three times, followed by a lot of activity outside. He went outside to see a large group of elves mounted on each's; they were clad in their best armor and were heavily armed. When he tried to approach one of them to see what was going on, he had to jump out of the way of a sword stroke. The leader of the group put a strange helm upon their head; it had antlers rising from it. At another sound of a horn, the group of elves left the area at a gallop, completely disregarding him….

…they returned at sunset without any fanfare. He warily approached an elf once again but this time was not greeted with a sword stroke. Where did all of you go? He asked. We went out on a Great Hunt. We thought it would be nice to kill some things. The elf shrugged their shoulders. He looked at the each's as they returned. On several he noticed parts of animals that were edible interspersed with parts that were not. A squalling noise got his attention. Several Daoine had a woman of the others and a small others child. They tied her down to a flat stone and stared at her. She had been stripped bare of clothing. When the little child did not stop squalling, one elf spitted it on a spear. The woman screamed. They all then wandered off as if disinterested…..

…..this behavior went on for days. The child's corpse began to rot in the sun. On occasion, an elf would visit the woman to force her or even to stare at her, but afterward the elves forgot about her. One elf had cut some runes into the woman's forehead. When another elf showed up to have their sword repaired, they asked him what all the screaming was. Ardis picked up a club with the intention of beating some sense into the elf, but Tuavle'g stayed his hand. What is wrong with them, he asked Tuavle'g. The same one who wondered about the noise was the one who cut a rune into her head. They can't help it; it is in their nature not to care as it is within others' nature to care. No action of yours will change that fact.

….the woman finally died of her wounds and starvation. He buried both of them. Their stench was strong in the air, but the Daoine seemed to disregard the matter…..One even asked what he was doing. Nothing at all, he replied

He had been happy there, then he came to the forge one day and found the place ransacked and destroyed; in the wreckage he found Tuavle'g dead, his head severed from his body. He found out Tuavle'g was considered an abomination, born as he was of a slant-eyed female who had been violated by a male of the others. Ardis buried Tuavle'g himself with no help from anyone else and he grieved only for a short time over his friend's death, but at last he was done with that. It was not hard finding out what had happened. It seemed that a son of a leader of another group of Daoine had come looking for him at the forge, but found only Tuavle'g there; in their anger, he had suffered what Ardis would have had he been present. The Daoine were swifter of foot and more learned in some ways than what they called the others, but they did not have the body strength of humans. Ardis was far stronger than the average human due to the time he had spent at the forge. Where is this leader and his group, he asked the leader of his group. Why should you fret on the matter, Ardis? Tuavle'g is gone, but you are the better smith. I do not see it that way, he spat back. This Daoine came looking for me, but I will find him first. Blood has already been shed, Ardis; more need not be. I will gladly rebuke Tuavle'g's killer in council, but that is all that can be done. That is what you think, Ardis thought. He had repaired the forge and crafted a sword made of the hated black metal…I will rebuke him before your council does…

…This was the group that contained the murderer, so Ardis had been told. He had no trouble finding him. He was like HIM! He also never fell from wounds that would end the life of another man. Battle was joined as soon as both felt each other's presence. He was after my head! Ardis had the sword of black metal in his hand; Daoine scrambled clear as his battle with Tuavle'g's killer erupted in the meeting area of the council. Sword crossed sword innumerable times; the Daoine had stolen a shield of his as well! This spurred Ardis on to even more of an insane fury. A shield made of copper was no match for a sword made of black metal. Soon, the Daoine's arms were in ruins. You found me finally, Daoine Na Sidhe, now you will suffer as Tuavle'g suffered. The Daoine's headless corpse fell on the ground as the disorientation flared around Ardis….

…Needless to say, he was dragged before the council where his leader and the others sat in judgment. His status was the lowest of the low and had never really changed; they still considered him no more than a savage and never had accepted him. You have violated the trust in which this group has placed in you. No, I avenged a death that should not have happened. He sought me at the forge, and I made sure he found me. His standing did not save him from what he deserved. Blood had already been spilled, Ardis. You now have spilled even more. The rebuke I would have issued would have solved this matter. SOLVED it? You would have forgotten about it as quickly as you forgot about Tuavle'g! The end result was inevitable, though….As he was brought in as a savage, so had they savagely cast him out with their judgment. Now once again he was alone. He lived alone by choice this time; a matter upon which he laid extreme importance pre-occupied all his thoughts, even the one that said he should find a mate…..

..he sat outside his crude dwelling while he gnawed on a piece of venison. He was dressed in crude furs; crude in construction, though, not quality. This was largely due to almost total lack of concern. As long as he was relatively warm, who cared how his clothing looked as long as it did its job? After his repast, he kicked around yet another failed attempt at a forging project. The sword had been a fine cast; as a matter of fact, the finest he had ever done. The problem was his strength, always his strength. He was as self-sufficient now as he had been before; it was not as if the Daoine had provided him with anything more he could not find for himself. This time, though, he had held on to the civilizing aspects of the time he had spent with them. The one major problem was others like him showing up, sometimes occasionally, sometimes constantly. He lost track of how many times he cut heads from bodies. A few fights were close, but he always emerged victorious. At times, he would break out in song to celebrate his survival. He had mastered the slant-eyed speech; he spoke it as if it were his own. All of this led to his current problem. The sword that lay in pieces on the ground was the finest he had ever made. But it was no match for his strength. He had shattered it on a recent foes' armor; it was fortunate that the blow had also shattered his enemy as well. Even swords made from the dark metal the slant-eyed ones hated would not last long. He had taken to using a thick staff of oak as much as possible, since that he seemed to not be able to destroy. But you could not cut off a head with such a weapon… He needed to make a weapon suited to him that would not break in battle…..

…daylight came, and Ardis awoke. He washed his face in a cistern nearby and then saw that it still was dark. Why did he think it was daylight? He stepped outside to relieve himself, and then he saw the falling lights in the sky. Interesting, he thought, were the gods visiting? Then the sky lit up nearly as bright as day. A BIG light was falling from the sky! It disappeared, and then a loud boom was heard in the distance. The ground quivered under his feet. He hurriedly grabbed what things he might need for travel. There was no fear in his heart as he ran swiftly towards the sound. Maybe the gods could give him an answer to his current plight!