People die by the soldier’s steel. People live by the blacksmith’s iron. – RecklessPrudence
They say that magic and iron don’t mix.
What do they know?
Common magic does not fare well against iron and steel because both are a different kind of magic. It is a magic of muscle and might and hot fires. Making useful things out of that which was once just rust.
And it is why, should you travel to the village of Uskunriod'thet[1] you will find the Smithy That Builds Itself.
There are numerous things there that eat coal and vent steam. Seemingly alive, but not. Useful, to those who can afford to feed them. And it is also there that you will find Black Jenny.
She, too, seems alive. She is more alive than most of the things at the Smithy That Builds Itself. She, too, eats coal and breathes steam. And she also walks and talks and calls the blacksmith ‘Father’. She will charge you a penny an hour to stare at her, and calmly go about her business as people follow her around like bemused ducklings.
She knows that she’s as unique as her father’s shop. And she also knows she is not for sale.
There had been some debate - years ago, now - when a wealthy foreigner attempted to buy her. The local witch was called to sort it out, and spent a healthy week or three demanding to know how Baker the Smith had managed to 'magic iron’. Then the witch declared that Black Jenny was not now and never would be for sale, because it is Wrong to own people.
Thereafter, she was Black Jenny Baker to the village of Uskunriod'thet. Another piece of local scenery like the wandering oaks.
Black Jenny usually helps in the smithy, now that her father is growing old. Following his instructions to build him a new, metal suit. To replace the flesh one that is growing frail and weary.
So that she, his daughter, will never be without him.
[1] Named in the fine tradition of pointing and shouting at the locals and then writing the name down in a book. It translates out as, “it’s just a bunch of trees, you fool.”
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