( Okay, time to crack the knuckles and get going then.)
It was a bright day, with the sun shining high in the sky, and a warm summer breeze when they took his body out to the funeral pyre. Upon finding him, the guards cried out as they realized their fault. That day was recorded as a great man dying to spare a whole nation the pain of being manipulated and lead by those who only wished their destruction.
Standing at the front of the crowd, is Yezta, crying into her father's shoulder. Charles's body lays atop the pile of wood, with a strange decoration around it. Around the wood is piles of weapons.. swords, shields, bits of armor, all crossed in shapes and designs. Some of the items were heirlooms some were just bought that day, some were crafted by the Blacksmith himself, their owners feeling that the weapon should not out live its legendary father.
After a long watchful quiet, men spoke about him at length, their time with him, his sacrifices, some were stirring, some were tall tales told by men who had never met him. Some were sung by bards, true to the word of his deals with dragons and deathblows to monsters. Some were lies, singing of adventures he's never had. All in all, no matter what, he became a legend in only a year as word of mouth through travelers and taverns his tale would be told through the world.
When Despair's End was handed to the dwarf princess, it light up with fire and lightning to such an extent that the crowds watching and listening were pushed away. She walked up and touched the pyre with the axe, and set it all ablaze.
While he was a simple blacksmith just over a year ago. He was a hero now. For the first time, one every race, from orc, to elf, to Dwarf had to recognize.