The overwhelming heat from the forge leapt up from the flames, staving off the bitter chill of the crisp night air. The sound of metal tapping metal rang out, almost as if each ring lead into the next, forming a beautiful melody. The numerous different smells all combining and creating something new and unique, belonging only to this smithy. A lone figure, tapping away tirelessly with skillful and deliberate strikes, could be seen taking great care to shape the bar of red-hot metal that lay before him. A young man in plain clothes and a simple, yet sturdy, leather apron toiled in front of the forge intent upon his work as he hammered away.

From a distance he could pass as a full-grown man. Standing tall, just over 180 centimeters, with a strong build, due in no small part to the strenuous work that comes with being a blacksmith's apprentice. It is only when you see him up close that you can still see the last remnants of boyhood on his face and in his eyes. With the light of the forge filling the small smithy his features are clearly visible. Dark, shaggy hair, piercing green eyes, and a small scar, connecting the corner of his left eye to the very edge of his left brow.

As the young man works, a hulking figure appears in the doorway, eyeing his apprentice with furrowed brows, holding back powerful emotions. No matter how angry he may be, his respect for the work being done outweighed his feelings, if only just barely. The smith waited patiently in the door as his apprentice worked the metal, shaping it with skill uncommon for someone his age. The smith knew, of course, just how skilled his apprentice was, but he would never admit it to the boy. Many talented young smiths would let that fact go to their heads, ruining their chances of ever being great. For a great smith knew his limitations.

As he watched, the smith's rage regressed into something more akin to burning coals than the raging inferno it had been. As the metal being shaped cooled, causing the color to change hues, the apprentice placed it back into the forge to re-heat. Seeing this, the smith took the opportunity to say what he had come here to say, knowing it would take some time for the metal to reach the appropriate temperature. "Still here I see" he spoke, letting just a hint of sarcasm into his voice.

Sighing slightly, the apprentice turned to face this giant of a man. When he looked into his face he saw past the furrowed brow, the harsh eyes, and instead he saw the face of the man who had raised him. Who had taken him in and had given him life. The man who had taught him how to work metal, ride a horse, even hunt deer. Feeling his resolve soften, he looked away, steeling himself for what was to come next. "I told you uncle, I'm leaving for Draghiem as soon as I'm ready." Even as he said the words he braced himself, knowing his uncle would not be so quick to relent.

"Ha, when you're ready? No one is ever ready for that damned place. Do you know how many blasted fools die in that abomination every year?"

"Uncle..."

"Countless! So many that they can't even keep track! Is that what you want? You wanna be just some other cursed fool that dies a pointless death in search of glory and riches?!" The last grain of reason being lost, the smith waves his hands in the air, emphasising each word.

"I am no fool Uncle!" replies the apprentice, smashing his fist down on a small worktable. "I know the risks! That's why I've waited this long! What, do you think this is just something I thought up on a whim? I've dreamt of conquering a Tower since I could even have dreams!"

"No one conquers Dragheim! It can't be done! The entire royal army hasn't been able to reach the top! I've told you, that thing is an abomination!" The smith begins pacing around the room, furiously waving his hands. "Dammit Rygart! There are other Towers! Why don't you just start somewhere...smaller? You could go to Dawnhiem. It's closer, the city there would be much easier to grow accustomed to, and, most importantly, you wouldn't be committing suicide just by going into the damn thing!" As his words reached their apex he threw his hands into the air and slumped into a chair in the corner of the room. All the shouting has him almost out of breath. He leans over, putting his elbows on his knees, rubbing his eyes with the tips of his fingers.

Several seconds go by as the apprentice waits for the heat of the argument to cool down. He walks towards his uncle and crouches down in front of him, bringing their faces eye-to-eye. "Uncle, you once told me, “if ther's ever somethin' werth doin', yuh'd better be tha bes' at i”'" He says, with an exaggerated impression of his uncle.

The old smith grunts sarcastically, "Huh. Out of all the idiotic things I've said to you, that's the one you decide to live your life by?" Still slumped over in his chair, he closes his eyes and starts to rub his temples, clearly fighting his own thoughts.

The young apprentice stands up and walks back over to the forge, "Oh I don't know. You had your moments. Both good and bad. At least your most impactful advice wasn't, “Don’ ever let a pretty lass tempt you into drinkin’ more thun yer fill. Cause that's how yuh find yer self merried ‘n up to wits end in runts runnin all over tha place.”" They both couldn't help but let loose a smile.

Looking up from his hands the old smith lets out a laugh, "Ha! Someday you'll wish you'd taken those words more seriously. Assumin' of course you don't slip ‘n fall on your arse, all the way down that damned tower." They smile at each other, both picturing such a ridiculous scene.

As the apprentice moves back to the forge, readying himself to finish his work, the old smith stands up to walk out the door knowing there was nothing more he could say. Just as he reaches the threshold he stops and turns just enough to see his apprentice going at it again with the hammer. "If you do this, do it with all your heart and soul." The apprentice stops and lowers the hammer. He smiles, "Of course. That is the way I was raised after all." With that said he goes back to his work, letting the heat wash over him as he hammers away. No matter what happens in the world, smithing, one of the greatest tools his uncle had given him, is one thing that will always stay the same.

Ugh, six weeks. Six weeks of travelling. If I can make it through this hell that Tower doesn't stand a chance, and with that thought Rygart’s mood was lifted just a bit. Thinking about his upcoming adventures is the only thing that has kept him sane during his six week long journey from his home town, Brekt, to the the capital city of Eisenrahm. Even now Rygart could see Dragheim, the largest Tower in the kingdom, if not the world. Even among Towers, Dragheim was special. So large that Durnea's capital city fit within its first floor. It's as if several massive stone trees grew, twisting together, forming what, from a distance, could almost resemble a mountain, so tall that you can only just see the top. The sheer size of it is mind boggling. The first floor is said to be over 10 kilometers in diameter. Big enough to fit the capital city and its 250,000 residents.

The Tower has been visible for some time now, a lone sentinel giant, whose head rests above the clouds. Rygart was soon thinking to himself, No wonder no one has reached the top. Even if it were nothing but a giant set of stairs it'd still take years just to walk up it. Equal amounts of anticipation and fear took root in Rygart’s stomach. I will not give up. I will reach the top of this Tower. Failure is not an option. To keep his mind off things he walked among the other travellers on the road. This close to Eisenrahm the road was close to 10 meters wide, with dozens of people heading in the same direction as Rygart. This allowed him to mingle between one person or another hearing all sorts of stories about the capital. After many hours of such stories Rygart once again found himself lost in thought. All these people have such wonderful stories. Even tales of monsters and magic. Rygart’s uncle had always been skeptical about such stories. It's not that he didn't believe in magic, he had seen his fair share of it after all, but it was the scale of it all that he found doubtful. Brekt didn't have any mages. The Ruha there was too dense and unpredictable. In the past some have tried to study the unnaturally dense Ruha found in the area, but it was deemed too dangerous, and as such, mages tend to give Brekt a wide berth. If only uncle Brahn could have come with me. He would have had a cow when the Tower first came into view! Thinking of his uncle's reaction to the sight of the Tower brought a smile to his face. "But still, certainly the stories of the monsters are embellished."

"Embellished? Oh, I don't know about that. I take it you don't know the history of the Draghiem then?" Startled, Rygart looked up to see an elderly man, well on in his years, walking beside him. Left hand on his cane, right hand clenched in the small of his back. It was only now that he realized he’d been speaking out loud.

"I'm sorry sir, I was just thinking out loud." Rygart smiled at the man apologetically, hoping he hadn't offended him.

"Oh, don't worry about it. I can tell you're not from around these parts. So tell me, was I right when I said you didn't know the history?" The old man seemed kind enough, and in fact seemed to be glad to have someone to talk to.

"Yes sir. I was raised far north of here. As for the history, I know just what I learned in school. That the Tower of Draghiem is home to Durnea’s capital city, Eisenrahm, and has been since the kingdom was founded nearly 300 years ago. Is there something I'm missing?" Rygart had never been much interested in history, and he had difficulty recalling just what he had told the old man.

"Ah, yes, yes. You were right of course, however, it does seem that your knowledge of Draghiem is a bit lacking. You see, it's been very nearly 300 years since Draghiem was first risen. It is said that long ago an ancient wizard used powerful magic to rip apart the earth and, in the wake of the destruction, stood the Tower of Draghiem. Such Towers have appeared throughout history, with Draghiem being the third Tower to have been discovered. However, unlike those that had come before it, legions of dangerous bloodthirsty demons poured out of the entrance, devouring the land and the people. In that time, Durnea did not exist. Not as it does now anyway. No, instead this land belonged to one of the neighboring lands, Sarket. As the story goes, this land was forsaken by Sarket's Emperor. It was left up to those who lived here to fight for themselves. Those that survived the demon plague rallied together, lead by a warrior hero of unparalleled ability. This man, along with more than 100,000 others, marched across the land, vanquishing all the creatures that had spilled forth from Draghiem. Years of bloody war went by until they reached the entrance to the Tower. Not satisfied with only having pushed the demons back, they marched straight into Draghiem. Straight into the depths of hell itself. Again many years passed, and not a single soul had left that terrible place. Just as the people were beginning to fear the return of the demons was inevitable, the great warrior hero, who had led so many to their deaths, made his way out of the Tower. Once he returned he claimed sovereignty over the land that had been forsaken and laid to ruin. He then proclaimed the start of the new kingdom of Durnea and that, after taking every single life of those that had followed him, the first floor of Draghiem had finally been conquered. In the same breath that he proclaimed himself king, he also declared that the capital would be built within the Tower, as untold riches were hoarded away deep in the Tower."

Rygart listened to the old man's story with great intent. If this was the kind of history he had learned in school, he would have made much more of an effort to stay awake in class.

"And so goes the story of the Third Tower, Draghiem." the old man finished, with a pleased look on his face.

"Wow. Is all of that true?" Rygart was mesmerized by the tale he had just been told.

"That's just as it was told to me, just as it was to my father and his father before him." The old man couldn't help by smirk a little. He loved wowing those ignorant of the past.

"That is an incredible story. How could it have taken 100,000 soldiers to conquer just the first floor!"

"Well, they weren't exactly soldiers. Not all of them anyway. Most were farmers, trying desperately to save their families."

"And what about this hero? How come I've never heard of him?"

"Why, he was our first king, Loquesh, of course."

"Oh! King Loqesh." Rygart remembered his teacher going on and on about the old king. Though, no one had ever said anything about a war with demons.

"Aha, so you do know the name! I told you." The old man let loose a wry smile as he eyed Rygart through the corner of his eye.

“But, wait, why haven’t I heard all of this before? That seems like a big part of our kingdom’s history.”

“Well, much of the documentation from that time has been lost. As such, we only have verbal accounts of what happened. It’s not surprising that someone from a small town wouldn’t have heard it before. Even to many of those that have heard the story it is nothing more than a legend. Many believe that, over the years, the truth to the story has been stretched to be more exciting.” It was clear the the old man held much contempt for those he was speaking of. “My family is what you might call Chroniclers. We protect history. As well as we can anyway.”

And here I thought that old king was just another lazy monarch. Obviously there is so much more to this world than I had thought. A war with demons, a hero, and a mysterious wizard, powerful enough to create the Towers. I've got a long road ahead of me. Rygart looked up at the sky as he thought, then back to the old man who had been kind enough to share his story.

"Thank you so much for sharing your story with me."

"Think nothing of it. It isn't my story, afterall. It's our story. It belongs to every citizen of Durnea."

Rygart bid the old man farwell and increased his pace. After everything he just learned, he couldn't wait to get his adventures started in earnest, which wouldn’t happen until he got to Eisenrahm. Rygart couldn't wait any longer. Nothing was going to stop him from becoming a bigger legend than even King Loqesh!

Finally! I can't believe I'm here! With just a few more steps I'll pass the threshold of Draghiem! Rygart could feel his excitement overwhelming him. He just couldn't contain it. This was the first major step to his dreams! He was here, a place of legend and fantasy. This is it, he thought to himself, This is where my story begins! And with that he hefted his pack and walked through the massive opening that serves as the main road to Eisenrahm.

Rygart found himself in a large tunnel that seemed to go on for about 60 meters, with the width being the same as the road he had been travelling on. The ceiling was incredibly high. Easily a hundred meters. It wasn't like walking through a tunnel at all! The tunnel was so large that Rygart could see straight through all the way to the city! He could see the walls off in the distance, along with many large stone buildings. Rygart again increased his pace, eager to reach his final destination.

As Rygart exited the tunnel he began to look around himself, to get a better look at the first floor of Draghiem. There were several large gaps that formed between the "stone trees" that twisted together to make the base of the tower, through which light poured in. The ceiling, or rather, the second floor of the Tower, was so unbelievably high! He couldn't even begin to guess. Hundreds of meters for sure! It was like nothing he had ever seen before! Wow, this is not at all like what I had expected! It was all one massive room. Only, the ground wasn't made of stone. There were gently rolling hills, outcroppings of rocks and boulders. It was like they were outside in the fields, as if they hadn't just entered a Tower at all. There were trees, and birds. Grass everywhere, except for the road. This really is incredible. I wonder if all the floors are like this.

Soon Rygart found himself approaching the main gate to the city. Large walls, maybe 40 meters tall and made of thick stone, enclosed the city. I hear it's because they get attacked by monsters rather frequently. Even though the floor has been cleared, monsters still show up from time-to-time. Rygart was now cursing himself for his lack of knowledge. He had no idea the city was still under threat of attack until talking with travellers on the road, much like what had happened with the old chronicler. Well, there's a lot I need to do before I can start moving up into the Tower, so I had better start working on settling in first.”Rygart walked through the city, thinking about the things he needed to get done today. Well, first I'd like to find work with a smith. It's the only trade I know. Uncle always said I was a half decent apprentice, and he did give me an introductory letter. With all the adventurers that make frequent trips into the Tower, there must be a high demand for that kind of work. Although, Rygart looked down, seeming to be worried, I've never worked on armor or swords. Uncle Brahn just worked with farm tools. The realization of the lack in his smithing knowledge put a damper on Rygart’s mood. Well, there is the sword I made, the night before I left. Rygart thought back to what he had been doing when his uncle had found him in the forge and they had their argument.

The next morning Rygart had showed his uncle the sword he’d made. He didn't say much while inspecting his work. "Where did you learn how to make a sword? Closest thing we ever made to that was kitchen knives." So Rygart decided to tell his uncle how the man that had been teaching him how to properly use a sword also told him a little bit about how they were made. Once he finished, Uncle Brahn gave the sword back, "Not bad", he said, with a hint of a smile. Rygart’s uncle was never quick to give out praise. I thought he'd have said something a little more than “not bad”. I had to make most of it up as I went afterall!

Thinking of all this, Rygart decided he would use the introductory letter, as well as the sword he had forged on his own, as a way to show his skill and get a job. I don't know much about forging blades, but I think I'm a fair judge of my own work, and my sword turned out fine enough for a first try. And with that he set out, determined to find work as a bladesmith.

After sometime of asking around, Rygart learned that there were, in fact, several bladesmiths in the area, and so, he hunted down his first lead to a job.

"Look, I don ‘ave time to teach ya the basics. There's no work ‘ere if ya don't know what yer doin" Rygart found himself in front of a stout, and angry, bladesmith, trying his best to sell his skills.

"Sir, please. I promise you won't be disappointed! I'm a quick learner and a hard worker. I even have a letter here from my master, and a sword I made on my own!"

"If I gave a job to ev’ry greeny that come round ‘ere beggin’ for work, I'd be up to me eyeballs in apprentices."

"But sir, I-"

"No experience, no work!" and with that he turned his back and walked away.

Ugh, grumpy old goat! Rygart thought to himself as he stomped down the road. I have plenty of experience! Maybe not with swords, but I'm a quick learner dammit! Rygart scoffed and kicked at a pebble by his foot. Oh well, to hell with that old bastard. There are half a dozen other smiths in this part of the city. Certainly they’re not all angry little men, and again Rygart set off on his quest for a job.