Dammit! Dammit dammit DAMMIT! Rygart screamed in his head, furious at the days turn of events. Every blasted smith said the same thing, “No experience, no work”. It's ridiculous! You need to work to get the experience, but you need experience to get the work! How does that even make sense!? Rygart made his way into a tavern and slumped down into a chair at a table.

"Grumpy old bastards. The lot of em" he’d had enough rejection for now. Now, it was time to regroup.

"Somebody's had a bad day" As he heard this, Rygart looked up to see a beautiful brunette woman standing next to his table.

"I, uh" for some reason, he just couldn't find the words he was looking for.

"Maybe a nice tall drink will help take the edge off. What can I get for you?"

Oh, duh, she works here, he thinks to himself, finally regaining his wits. "No, thank you. I'm fine. Just resting my feet. I spent the better part of the day arguing with a bunch of old smiths, telling them why they should take me on as an apprentice." Rygart recalled all the back-and-forths he'd had that day, making his head hurt.

"Well, that really does sound like a bad day. How about I sneak you some soup? That should help cheer you up" and with that she smiled and walked away, before he could object, or really say anything.

As she walked away he leaned over, placing his elbows on the table, and started rubbing his temples with his eyes closed. "Ugh, this is a nightmare. I can't climb the tower without gold, and without a job I have no way to get what I'll need for an excursion into the Tower. Ughhh" Rygart was talking to himself now, utterly fed up with the way things had turned out. Suddenly, Rygart heard a man with a deep voice talking unnecessarily loud.

“'Ello there! It seems you a bit down on your luck, eh?” The man spoke with great cheer and full of gusto, as well as with a great deal of slurring. Rygart opened his eyes and began to lift his head when the large man practically fell into the other chair at the table sitting across from Rygart. The man’s shoulders were incredibly wide, and his arms must have been as big around as Rygart’s legs. He had a bushy beard that was white at the roots but still had some grey, and even black, mixed in. His jaw was well defined and sat atop a monstrous neck. The man had long salt-and-pepper hair and wore a strip of cloth that wrapped around his head, starting above his forehead and wrapping around to the base of his skull. Due to the cloth band, his hair was pushed back and stuck up somewhat. All-in-all it was a quite an interesting look, and Rygart guessed him to be in his mid-to-late 40’s.

As Rygart looked the man over one thing stuck out, his eyes. There were ice blue lines reaching out from the pupil, overlaying an incredible lightning blue that Rygart wouldn’t have thought possible, with a sliver of a deep, dark blue running around the rims of his irises. When Rygart looked into those eyes, it felt as though they pierced right through him. Rygart was soon asking himself, Just who is this drunken loon? Rygart then realized that the man hadn’t stopped talking since the moment he sat down.

“... and I swear, one of these days I’m gonna give that ol’ git a talkin’ too.” He finished whatever story he was telling and paused to take a hefty sip from his giant mug. Rygart saw this as his moment to finally get in a word or two and cleared his throat just before speaking.

“Ahem, uh, thanks for the company and all sir, but I’m afraid I don’t know you.” Rygart wasn’t used to this sort of thing, and just didn’t know what else to say.

“Ohh don’t you worry ‘bout it one bit! I see no reason why we can’t get along”, he said with a huge grin across his face, “My name’s Oberon and I am a frequent visitor of this fine establishment. An old friend of mine owns the place.”

“Uh, I see, well..”

“Yeah, we go wayyy back. Further than he’d like to admit, I’d wager. Hahaha” Oberon didn’t even slow down. “He’s a bit of an old stick-in-the mud now, but back in the day we used to get into all sorts of trouble! I’ve got more stories than there are hairs on his head, though I suppose that’s not saying much! Ahahaha”, he paused again to drink from his mug.

“Well my name is Rygart, and it’s nice to meet…”

“Rygart, that’s a mighty fine name. Tell me son, do you drink?” Oberon was quite the talker, and Rygart could see the direction this was heading.

“Well, I’m 17, and I’m not sure what the rules are…”

“Ah 17 is old is enough for me! Hey Ellie, get this young man a drink, would ya? And put it on my tab!”

“That really isn’t necessary…”

“Think nothin' of it! You seem like a good enough lad!” and just like that Rygart was stuck entertaining the old man. He just didn’t have it in him to tell this old man off.

And that’s how Rygart spent the rest of his evening, listening to old stories, keeping the old man from falling over on himself, and doing his best to not making a complete fool of himself. As the night wore on Oberon’s drinking slowed down as he reached his limit. It was well after nightfall that he seemed to have finally had his fill. Jeez, this guy can barely stand on his own two feet. Rygart found himself stuffed under the giant man’s arm like a crutch, wondering what to do.

“Um, excuse me miss” he said, as he called over to the woman who had bending tending to them all night, “My friend here seems to have reached his limit. I would offer to let him sleep it off at my place, but I just got into town today and haven’t quite settled in anywhere.” Rygart blushed as he spoke, feeling embarrassed by the whole situation.

“Don’t worry about it. He always drinks too much. Usually the boss would get him home, but he’s not here tonight.”

Rygart sighs heavily and silently curses his rotten luck. To get stuck with an old drunk on my first night in the city.

“Well, if you know where he lives I’ll see to it that he makes it home alright. He was kind enough to keep me entertained tonight, and I’d feel bad if something happened to him” Again Rygart cursed himself for being too kind. It’s going to get me into some real trouble one of these days. Ha, who says it hasn’t already?

“Well, you’re quite the angel, aren’t you”, she says giving Rygart a playful wink, causing him to blush. “I’ll write out some instructions to make it easier for you to find the place. It isn’t that far.” and with that she walked away. Rygart was still blushing when she returned with directions on how to find the old man’s house. He quickly thanked the beautiful woman and set off on his way.

It was dark out but there seemed to be some lamp posts that dotted the road, giving the impression of little islands of light in a ocean of darkness. Rygart hefted the drunk old man, who was still rambling on about some old story, and together they started the journey out into the darkness. At least he hasn’t passed out. It’d probably take three men to carry this old bastard.

As they walked, the old man continued to babble on, laughing at his own joke or some part of his story. Before long the duo reached what Rygart assumed to be Oberon’s front door. After several minutes of trying to communicate to the old man what was going on, he finally produced a large metal key, which Rygart took and used to open the door. Oberon began to object but was soon lost again to his incoherent ramblings.

Rygart hefted the old man across the threshold and found himself in a wide hallway of some sort. He could just make out a door, laid into the wall on his right side, some few meters in. Directly across from the front door was a set of stairs, leading to a landing up above. Rygart looked around, puzzled as to where the bedroom was.

“Ah, home sweet home”, the old man muttered to himself. Rygart could barely make out the next few words before Oberon returned to barely audibly mumblings, “And now I gotta climb these damn stairs again. To hell with gettin’ old ….”

So I guess his room is upstairs. Of course it is. Anyway, up we go. And with that Rygart began to help the drunk old man up the flight of stairs. Once they reached the top Rygart could see two doors, just to the right of the stairs. He opened the first one and found what he assumed was the old man’s bedroom, based on the monstrous bed against the far wall. He walked Oberon over to the bed and unceremoniously dropped him onto it. Well, that’s good enough for me. He’s home safe and in bed… well, mostly in bed anyway.

Having settled his conscience, Rygart backed out of the room, closed the door, and made his way out of the house. Once Rygart was about to close the front door behind him, he paused. Oh damn, I have no idea where I am. The thought hit him like charging bull. I was too focused on getting the old drunk back here, I didn’t even bother to ask where I could find an inn for the night. Rygart softly thumped his head against the frame of the door. Repeatedly. Damn damn damn damn. Now what. Rygart turned and looked back into the house of the crazy old drunk that had gotten him into this mess. I suppose he won’t mind if I stayed here tonight. It is largely his fault, and I did help him get back safely. Rygart stood there, contemplating what he should do, not sure if he even wanted to stay the night in such a place.

“Well, it’s not exactly like I have a choice,” he whispered to himself.

Rygart looked back into the darkness of the city, and stepped back through the doorway, heading for the stairs. He opened the second door that had been adjacent to the old man’s bedroom, and found a small, plain room with a bed much smaller than the one he’d seen in the other room. It wasn’t a child’s bed, but it certainly wasn’t large enough for a man of Oberon’s size.

Once Rygart was sure no one was in the room, he sighed, walked over, and dropped onto the bed. He was absolutely exhausted. Just that morning he had been on the road, headed towards Eisenrahm, and he hadn’t really rested since then. He had spent all afternoon searching for work, and then all evening trying to keep Oberon from falling over himself, not to mention spending the better part of the last hour half-carrying the old bastard home. Ughhh, I can’t feel my legs. And before another thought could cross his mind, he was asleep.

“Rise and shine freeloaderrr!”

For having been deep in sleep, Rygart’s reaction was actually rather quick. He had still been laying on his stomach, just as he had been when he had collapsed on the bed, but as soon as the yelling started he woke and almost immediately found himself flopping on the floor. He had gone to jump up, but slipped on the blanket that had been on the bed. Now, he was on the floor and the blanket had become quite entangled in his limbs. It was several seconds before Rygart realized he wasn’t in danger, and that the monster he thought was trying to squeeze the life out of him was just a blanket. By the time he had come to his senses the instigator of this little ruckus was keeled over in the doorway, laughing so hard his face was beginning to turn purple.

“Ahahaha you should see yourself, hahaha, thrashin' on the floor, ahahaha.” Oberon could clearly not contain his laughter, and was struggling to get out what he was trying to say, “I couldn’t have asked for a better way to start the morning! Ahahahaha”

Rygart managed to free himself of the blanket and stood up angrily shaking his fist in the air, “I bust my ass to get your drunken fool self home safe and you repay me by scaring the soul right out of my body!?” Rygart was clearly upset, but he was more embarrassed about being so easily frightened than he was angry at the old man. Truth be told, if Rygart had been in Oberon’s shoes, he’d be just as incapacitated by laughter.

“Calm your little fists, there’s no reason to be so upset. I was just havin’ a little fun” Oberon had raised his hands in a reassuring manner and had a large grin splitting his face ear to ear. “I do appreciate you kindly helpin’ out an old man who’d had a bit too much to drink”

“Ha, a bit too much?”

“Hey now, I’m a big man! What might seem excessive to you is not quite so to me” he replied, still grinning.

Having been satisfied that no more fun was being had at his expense, Rygart began to stretch out some of the soreness that had crept up on him while he was sleeping.

“Yeah yeah, justify it however you want. Keep up that pace, and you’ll drink yourself out of house and home” For some reason Rygart couldn’t help but like Oberon. He might have been a handful, but he was genuine, and at least he was a cheerful drunk.

“Haha true enough I suppose. Now, if you want, feel free to join me downstairs.” As he said this, Oberon turned and started heading down the stairs, “I’m just about to make me some eggs. You’re welcome to eat your fill of course.”

At the mention of food Rygarts stomach began turning flips. I haven’t had a full meal since yesterday morning. No wonder I’m so hungry. Rygart followed Oberon down the stairs and through the door he had noticed the night before.

Rygart stopped just as he came through the doorway, and his jaw dropped at what he saw. It was a large room, perhaps ten meters to the other wall across from the doorway that Rygart was standing in. The room stretched perhaps four, or five meters to his left, and continued on another meter or two to his right. The ceiling was maybe eight meters or so up, with large beams and braces. To the left of Rygart, tucked into the corner, there was a little kitchen area with a small wall separating it from the rest of the room. But what shocked Rygart most of all were the contents of the room. There were multiple forges, of differing sizes, along with several work tables, scattered throughout the space. Rygart was so shocked he just stood there, staring like a fool.

Oberon was in the kitchen, cracking some rather large eggs, when he turned and saw Rygart still standing in the doorway.

“You comin’? What’s with the dumbfounded look on your face?” he said, then turned back, continuing to make breakfast.

Rygart returned to his senses and hurried over to the kitchen, not quite sure what to make of it all.

“I don’t understand, you never said anything about being a smith.” Rygart thought back to the night before, he was certain the man had never mentioned it.

“Oh, I’m no smith. Not anymore anyway. Not for a while.” As he spoke he continued to cook, cracking an egg or two and tossing them onto a large pan.

“But look at this place! It’s amazing.” Rygart walked back towards the door, walking to the edge of the wall that separated the kitchen from the large smithy.

Now that Rygart looked a little closer, he could see there was a fine layer of dust covering everything, and there were some large pieces of fabric that were partially covering some of the forges and work tables. It was clear that no one had worked down here in quite some time. He could still see several boxes and barrels that still had metal in them. It was as if someone just stopped in the middle of whatever was going on at the time. Tools were still strewn about, wood chips and metal bits lined the floor. It was all very surreal.

“Why did you stop?” Rygart asked as he walked back over to the kitchen. “From the looks of this place, you used it a lot before you stopped” Rygart sat down at the table, contemplating the reasons that could have lead to Oberon making such a drastic change.

“There just wasn’t anythin' in it for me anymore. I used to love it. Workin’ the metal, fixin’ things, findin’ new ways of combinin’ metals, but, after 20 years or so it lost its appeal. I used to be one of only a couple of smiths in this part of town. Now, there are a dozen or more. Now everyone calls it the Iron District, what with all the damn smiths that have popped up.” He told his story as he cooked, never looking up from what he was doing. “I was popular enough in the old days. Makin’ fancy things for rich snobs. I used to only do that sort of thing sparingly. You know, whenever I had a big payment comin’ up and I didn’t have as much as I needed. But, over the years, I would get more and more such requests, and before too long, all I was doin’ was makin’ stupid, fancy little things for the rich. It had become about the money, and not the work.” As he continued, it was obvious he regretted some of the things in his past. What exactly it was, Rygart didn’t know, and he wasn’t about to ask either. “Once I realized that I’d lost the love for it, I stopped. I had made enough that I wouldn’t want for much, and so I settled into retirement.”

“How long ago was it that you stopped” Rygart figured this was a simple enough question. He wanted answers, but he didn’t want to bring up any unpleasant memories. He could tell there was more to this story.

“Hmmm, not quite seven years I think. I hadn’t really thought about it much. By the time I quit, the area was boomin’ with other smiths. Once I had stopped working on orders, they stopped comin’ in altogether.” Oberon was now finished with the eggs and started laying thin strips of meat onto the skillet, with the satisfying of cooking meat.

“Well, I’m sorry you lost interest. This place looks like it’d be amazing to work in.” This was the kind of place Rygart wanted to have himself one day once his Tower climbing days were behind him.

“Oh, that’s right. You’re an up-and-coming self-proclaimed bladesmith, right?”

“Eh, kind of. I apprenticed under my uncle. Ever since I was eight years old.” Thinking back to his childhood brought a faint smile to Rygart’s face. “Even before that, I was always in there, watching him work. My earliest memories are of watching my uncle work metal. But we never worked with weapons. Mostly tools, things the townsfolk would need. A lot of repair work.”

“Well it sounds to me like you’d put any other apprentice around here to shame. Certainly findin’ a job wouldn’t be too hard.” Oberon turned around with two big plates loaded with bacon and eggs. As he finished speaking he slid over a plate, offering it to Rygart.

“Huh, yeah you would think wouldn’t you?” When Rygart spoke he let all the contempt he had inside seep through with each word. “I’ve been to six bladesmiths so far, and every one of them has turned me away. Each one saying a different variation of “No experience, no work”. It’s infuriating.” Rygart let go of the pent up anger and began eating his breakfast with the gusto of a man that hadn’t eaten in days.

“Eh, I knew the lot of em were a bunch of gits, but I never thought they’d be stupid enough to turn away fresh talent.” Oberon ate as he spoke, taking humongous mouthfuls. “Ya know,” he paused, looking up from his plate, thinking about something, “I could put in a good word with you. It might sway one of the old fools to let you get some work in the city.”

“Really?” Rygart stopped, mid-bite. At first he felt elated, but then the memories of the day before came rushing to the forefront of his thoughts, and anger once again flared up within him. “Actually, on second thought, to hell with the old bastards. I will not work for a man I don’t respect, and I sure as hell don’t respect fools. But thank you for the offer. I appreciate the thought.” And with that Rygart continued eating, slowing down as his stomach filled.

“Hmmm, I understand that, believe me” Oberon was slightly nodding along as he spoke, “I’ve been in plenty of situations, much like your own. I respect a man that keeps to his morals, even in the face of adversity. I’ve no doubt you’ll get far here in the city.”

“Thanks, I appreciate that. Now I just need to find out what to do before I starve to death.” Rygart paused as he took another bite, then continued saying, with a mouth full of egg, “Or robbed and murdered from sleeping in the streets.”

“You know,” Oberon stopped chewing and looked up at the ceiling, thinking about something, “I suppose it’d be a shame to let this smithy go to waste, when there is an eager young smith right here willing to tend to it.” He finished his thought and returned to his breakfast.

“Are you serious?!” Rygart exclaimed, jumping up from his chair at the table, and sending Oberon into a fit as he nearly choked on his breakfast from the outburst. After several seconds of coughing, Oberon finally managed to start speaking again.

“By the Twelve, boy! You almost sent me to my grave!” After another bout of coughing Oberon once again began to speak, “Calm yourself and sit back down. It ain’t nothin’ worth gettin so worked up over. Like I said, I might not be interested in pickin’ up the craft again, but if someone else wishes to use it, I don’t see any reason not to let em. As long as you’re not up all hours of the night, bangin’ around, makin’ an ungodly racket, then feel free to use this smithy as you please.”

“Thank you so much! That is more than I ever could have hoped for!” Rygart couldn’t believe what the old man had just said.

“I’m not promisin’ anythin’ more than what I have here. I’ll find you a customer or two, to help get started, but that’ll be the extent of my involvement. I’m happy enough with things the way they are, thank you very much.”

“This really does mean a lot to me. You’re saving me an incredible amount of trouble. I won’t forget it!” Rygart was beaming, the excitement of all the possibilities made him feel like a new man. “And how about this, for every sale I make, I’ll let you have a portion! How about we split everything fifty-fifty!”

“Whoa whoa now, I told you, money isn’t an issue. I’m plenty happy with what I have. There’d be no reason in chopping you off at the knee. You’ll need every copper you earn.”

“I know, but I must do something! How about seventy-thirty?”

“Okay, fine, but make it eighty-twenty, and I won’t have it any other way!” Oberon spoke up, cutting off Rygart just as he was about to object.

“Alright then, eighty-twenty! Looks like we’re gonna be partners from now on, eh?” Rygart said, letting loose a grin. Looks like I’ve made my first friend here. I’ll be sure not to let him down. And with that Rygart finished his breakfast, imagining just what his future could hold.