“Well, now that we’ve gotten all of that taken care of, why don’t you show me that blade of yours? I’ve been curious to see how well you did. With your lack of formal teachin’ and all” Oberon smiled and stood up from the table as he started cleaning up from the morning's breakfast.

      “Oh, right. You haven’t seen it yet. It’s nothing special. I’ll be right back.” Rygart got up from his place at the table and started making his way back up the stairs to the room he’d slept in the night before. After he entered the room he found his pack right where he’d left it. He bent down next to it and untied the sword, freeing it. Currently, it was loosely wrapped in some old fabric with some twine tied around it to keep the fabric from slipping too much. He hefted the sword and returned to Oberon, ready to show off his work.

      “Here it is. I shaped it to fit with my sword technique. The best I could anyway. I haven’t really gotten to test it out in combat, but I have done some simple stress-testing.” As he was speaking he started to untie the twine and free the blade from the fabric. “I didn’t make a sheath for it or anything, which is why it’s wrapped up like this. Before I head up into the Tower, I’m gonna need to figure something out.”

      Once he finished unwrapping the sword he laid it flat across both hands and held it out towards Oberon. All-in-all the sword was a little over 100 centimeters long, the blade being about 80 of that, with a width of roughly 15 centimeters. Leaving about 20 for the handle. The guard was very minimalistic. Just a silver piece of steel just a bit larger than the handle, that was a half-sphere, shaped somewhat like a bowl, with the rounded end facing the handle. The pommel was another small piece of steel, again not much wider than the handle, shaped like a torus*, but without the hole.

      Both edges of the blade were gently angled towards the tip, narrowing faintly as the blade reached the point. Some 12 or so centimeters from the tip, the angle became more noticeable as it slightly tapered to a very fine point. The sword vaguely might resemble what you would get if you combined a longsword and a rapier. But the most interesting aspect of the weapon was that the blade was totally black, including the sharpened edges.

      “Hmmm, interesting blade you’ve made” Oberon studied the sword with a very sharp look in his eyes. As Rygart began speaking, Oberon reached out to hold the blade himself and get a closer look.

      “The style my teacher taught me relied on quick, successive strikes.” As Rygart spoke he gently handed the sword over to Oberon for him to inspect. “Mostly thrusts to weak points. That’s why the whole thing narrows a little as it reaches the tip. As for the point itself, part of me feels like I may have made it a little too narrow, and started the taper too soon. If I were to do it again, I would probably shorten it a little. Make it more like an arrowhead.” Rygart felt a great deal of pride as he described his work. He couldn’t help but feel he’d done a great job for his first attempt. “I carved a piece of wood to fit over the tang, and wound some strips of leather over that to create the grooves, so it would fit my grip better.”

      “How did you wind the leather around so loosely? Between each band of leather I can see the wood. How does it not slip around? I can’t say if I’ve ever seen anything like that.”

      “There’s this tree sap that is pretty common where I grew up. It’s pretty thick when you collect it, but if you heat it it loosens up and flows better, kind of like water. Anyway, then you mix in saw dust, which has been boiled and drained, apply it to whatever you want to stick, cool it rapidly, and then bam, it hardens like stone and is forever stuck to whatever you applied it to.”

      “Hmmm, I’ve never heard of such a process” Oberon was inspecting the handle, tapping on the leather strips with his fingernail.

      “It’s actually pretty common in Brekt. It can be a pain though. People only do it if they need to. That sap is incredibly sticky, and if you get any of the mixture on your skin when you’re applying it you’ll need to scrape off the skin to get it off.” Rygart thought back to the last time he’d gotten the stuff on his hands. He was bleeding by the time they managed to get it all off.

      “What about the color of the blade? How did that happen?” Oberon had shifted his gaze to the blade now. Curious as to the process that had caused the metal to blacken all the way through.

      “I’m not really sure. At first I thought it was just black from the forge, like usual. But as I sharpened and polished it, the color stayed consistent.” Rygart remembered how he had felt when he first realized the blade was solid black, all the way through. “I think it might have been something I added to the iron. There’s a rare ore that is sometimes found in the mountains, and I had never used it before. So I decided to try and add it to the iron to create a type of steel that was more durable and could hold a sharper edge. It took a lot of testing and failed attempts. Ultimately what I got wasn’t any better than regular steel, but I went with it anyway.”

      “Interesting…” Oberon had stood patiently the entire time Rygart spoke, looking over the blade with a keen eye. “What was the name of the metal you added?”

      “Dichalcum. At least that’s what I know it by. I didn’t have much. My uncle never liked working with it, so he gave me what little he had.”

      “Yeah, I’ve heard of it. I’ve only ever seen enough to make some jewelry. I tried workin’ with it once. Never liked the way it felt. It was damn finicky though. I remember that. It lost heat too quick and took forever to get hot enough to work with.” Oberon looked up once he finished speaking and held the sword out for Rygart. “Although, I hear that it is very reactive to Ruha. Maybe that has somethin’ to do with it?”

      “Oh really? I didn’t know that. Hmmm, the Ruha is unusually dense in Brekt. Maybe? I don’t really know that much about magic.” Rygart had never thought that Brekt’s dense Ruha could have been the culprit. “What is Black Ruha again? I forget.” Rygart had never had much interest in magic growing up, and the schools in Brekt weren’t exactly top magic schools.

      “Black is death, though it could possibly be Onyx, but I highly doubt it. And of course this is all assuming the color of the blade is a direct reference to which color of Ruha it resonated with. The color could just be a coincidence, or a mixture of different colors. Plus, there’s regular iron in there, along with whatever else you added to make this steel. I wouldn’t jump to any conclusions. I doubt there’s anythin’ to it at all. It hasn’t been enchanted right?”

      “Of course not. I couldn’t afford that. Not yet anyway.”

      “Then it’s doubtful anythin’ will happen until you get an enchanter to work on it.” Oberon sat back down at the table and leaned back, placing his hands behind his head and looking up at the ceiling. “That’s a mighty fine blade you got there anyhow. Marvelous work for a first run. The edge was straight, if perhaps a tad too sharp. There’s no real style or character to it, though that’s to be expected. It’s well balanced, although there is one thing…” Oberon scratched his beard as he thought. “Now, don’t take this the wrong way, as you said it was your first time workin’ a sword” Oberon learned forward a little and looked Rygart in the eye. “The weight is pretty far off. Especially for the type of style you said you were goin’ for. I’d say it’s easily twice as heavy as you want it. Have you even tried swingin’ the thing yet?”

      “Huh? What do you mean?” Rygart’s brow furrowed, showing his confusion. “It weighs pretty closemto what I’m used to. If anything, it’s a touch on the lighter side.”

      “Look, it’s no big deal. For your first try you did a remarkable job. With a little bit of practice I’m sure you’ll be one of the best in no time. Don’t let your pride get in the way of you progressin’ your skills. Acknowledgin’ mistakes is a key part of learnin’.”

      “I would acknowledge my mistake, if there was a mistake.” Rygart was becoming irritated by Oberon’s attitude. At first I thought he was messing with me, but he really thinks there’s something wrong with the weight. “That sword is almost just as heavy as the one I used to spar with my teacher.” Rygart had his arms crossed and looked Oberon straight in the eye.

      “You couldn’t possibly swing that thing around! Certainly not as quick as you say.”

      “I can, and I will.” Replied Rygart, as he grabbed his sword and stood up from the table.

      “Go on then, let’s see it.” Oberon spoke with a great amount of sarcasm and amusement, expecting Rygart to make full of himself. “I gave you an easy way out, but if you're determined to make a fool of yourself, I’m more than happy to watch.” Oberon leaned back and crossed his arm as he watched Rygart get into position.

      Rygart made sure to give himself enough room to do some basic maneuvers. He closed his eyes and thought back to all those days he had spent training with his teacher. He imagined two attackers, both in front, one to the left and one to the right. He held the sword, hand-over-fist, and brought the hilt up to the right side of his face, blade parallel to the ground. He leapt forward, swinging the blade in an overhand arc, then he quickly stepped to the right and brought the sword about, swinging horizontally then bringing it up, as if to cut his attacker from chest-to-chin.

      He stepped back to the left, brought the blade across his chest, this time raising the hilt to his left cheek, blade pointing towards the first attacker, and, as fast as lightning, he struck out with the point of his blade, thrusting it into his imaginary attacker three times. Twice to the heart, and once to the neck. Having finished, he swung his blade to his side as if to flick off his attackers blood.

      Satisfied that he’d proven his point, he turned back to look at Oberon, sitting at the table. Rygart couldn’t help but let a pleased look come to his eye, and he felt a faint smirk pull at his lips. He saw Oberon, sitting there with an incredulous look on his face. Evidently Rygart had impressed him.

      “By the Twelve, how the blazes do you swing that sword so effortlessly? You don’t have a lick of muscle on ya!”

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      “I do too! Just because I’m not a giant freak of nature like you doesn’t mean I’m not strong! I’ve been working in my uncle’s smithy for years! Not to mention all the crazy strength training that sadistic teacher of mine made me do.” Just thinking about it made Rygart shudder.

      “Ha! You are a strange one, that’s for sure! Who was this teacher of yours? He must have been somethin’ else if he taught you those moves.”

      “His name is Embryil Osrowies”

      “Hmmm, never heard of him.” Oberon stroked his beard as he thought, trying to remember if he’d ever heard that name before.

      “Oh what, you think you’ve heard of every talented swordsman in the world?” Rygart’s words were full of sarcasm.

      “Fair enough. Well, you are full of surprises, young Rygart.” Oberon smiled and chuckled, easing Rygart’s irritated mood.

      “I think that’s a compliment. That’s how I’ll take it anyway.” Rygart smiled back. He liked that people couldn’t figure him out just by looking. It gave him an edge

      “Hahaha of course it is!” Oberon again looked up, lost in thought, as Rygart leaned the sword on the table and sat back down. “So tell me, Rygart, what are you going to do for the rest of the day?”

      “Well…” Rygart hadn’t given it much thought. What was he going to do today? “Well, I should probably clean this place up a bit, if I’m gonna start working down here. And, I still need to find a place to live. I have some money for an inn. I just hope there’s one nearby.”

      “Nonsense! You can stay here as long as you like.”

      “Thanks for the offer, but I’d like to keep things here professional. As far as I see it, I’m renting out your workspace in exchange for a cut of my profits.”

      “Oh is that right? Well, there’s a cot down here, on the other side of this wall. It could help you save some money. Like I said, you’re going to need every copper you can get. It ain’t cheap runnin’ a smithy.”

      “I see…”

      “Plus, the nearest inn is a ways off, and I wouldn’t expect to find any long term housin’ without a steady income.”

      “Oh, well then. I guess the cot it is. That should do well enough for now.” Rygart thought about all things he still needed to do. He hasn’t really settled in yet. He doesn’t have a home, not really anyway, and he might have a place to work now, but there is no work to be done. It will take some effort to find clients and get a steady stream of orders coming in. I can’t forget why I came here. I’m not here just to be a smith. I want to be the first to reach the top of Draghiem. In the 300 years since the first Tower, Norhiem, appeared, only twelve people have been able to reach the top of a Tower and conquer it, and Draghiem is legendary for it’s size. I certainly have my work cut out for me. Oh, that reminds me… “Hey Oberon, do you know how I would go about joining the assault guild?”

      “Hmmm the assault guild eh? What you wanna be doin’ that for? If you just want to get into Dragiem and get some materials, there are other ways, much easier ways.”

      “Well, you see, I’m not here just to be a smith. That’s only to help me earn enough to buy the supplies I’ll need to survive the Tower.”

      “Ohhh I see. Someone’s lookin’ for some thrills eh?”

      “Not exactly. I want to be the first to reach the top of Draghiem.”

      “Well now, I did not expect that! I haven’t heard someone talk like that in ages! Too many of the brats these days are just in it for the thrills and the gold. Glad to see some still have ambition! Ahahaha”

      “Wait, were you part of the assault guild?”

      “I sure was! In my younger years. Oh yes, I was full of ambition. To conquer the impossible Tower. It wasn’t just me of course. I had a whole team, dedicated to reachin’ the top.”

      “Really? I never would have guessed. You certainly don’t seem the type.” Oberon laughed at that. Once Oberon’s laughing fit ceased, Rygart continued, “What happened? How far did you get? When did you stop? Why did you stop?”

      “Whoa now, one at a time. Hmm let’s see. The furthest we ever made it was floor 39. Not too shabby I’d say. And as far as why we stopped, well. Get knocked on your ass enough times and you stay there.” At that last part Rygart could tell the humor was hollow. He might have been making a joke, but he didn’t think it was funny. “Look Rygart, climbing the Tower is dangerous. Incredibly so. I lost friends doin’ what we did. And I was witness to plenty more death, other than just those I cared about. I know how people talk about it. No one seems to focus on just how dangerous it is. Thousands die every year, and still more thousands flood in to take their place. Draghiem is not to be taken lightly.” Oberon had lost all traces of humor, fake or otherwise.

      “I understand.” It was odd for Oberon to be so serious and forthcoming. Rygart could see in the old man’s eyes that the Tower had done a number on him. This was the first time Rygart saw a glimpse of just what it meant to challenge Dragiem, and it certainly wasn’t the last. “Thank you for being straight with me, but I’m not weak, or stupid.” Oberon seemed to be pleased with that answer. He nodded his head and stood up from the table.

      “Right. Well, in order to join the assault guild you’ll need to pay the introductory fees, which aren’t cheap. But before that, you’ll need to pass the application process. It has been known to take several months to get past the first screening phase.”

      “The first phase?”

      “Hahaha ohhh yes. Like I said, they get thousands of applicants. It doesn’t help the matter that they only accept applications at certain parts of the year.” As Rygart listened a lump formed in his throat, realizing that his plans may get set back even more.

      “Are they accepting applications now?” Rygart couldn't help but hold his breath as he waited for Oberon’s reply.

      “Unfortunately for you, no. Even more unfortunately is that they just ended an acceptance phase a day or so ago.” Rygart’s heat plummeted with each word. “It’ll be quite some time before they go through another set of applicants.” Oberon had an apologetic look in his eye. He couldn’t help but feel for sorry for Rygart. He was clearly driven, and talented. If he’d made it just a few days before, he’d have made it through the first step for sure.

      “Well, maybe since it was just a few days ago they’ll…”

      “No, I’m afraid they’re pretty strict about that. I can’t remember the last time they let someone in outside of the application season.”

      “What if you wrote a letter? You were once a member and…”

      “Sorry, but that’s not how it works. Maybe if I had been a key member, but I was just another grunt. Regular members don’t have that kind of pull. It’ll be, maybe, six months before they open it up again.”

      Rygart’s good mood had quickly turned, knocking him down, feeling worse than when he’d dealt with those smiths. Six months? I guess it’s not that long, in the grand scheme of things. I wasn’t planning on going into the Tower tomorrow or anything, but still. That’s twice as long as I was wanting to wait. And with that thought Rygart sighed, not the least bit eager to wait so long.

      “Well, it really is a good thing you’re willing to help me out with work. Otherwise I don’t know what I’d do for the next six months.” Rygart looked up and smiled weakly, forcing himself to find the good in the situation.

      “That’s the spirit! Don’t let a little waiting break you! I’m sure you’ll find plenty to do in the meantime! There’s a lot to learn before goin’ in afterall. Believe me, you’ll have your hands full. What with the trainin’ and the learnin’ and the workin’. Hahahaha” Oberon let out a big laugh, trying his best to raise Rygart’s spirits. “And I’ll tell you what. Since you’re gonna have so much time on your hands, I might even teach you a thing or two.”

      Rygart liked the sound of that. This old man might be a handful, but I have no doubt there’s a lot I can learn from him. Oberon’s offer improved his mood quite a bit. Now he almost looked forward to these next 6 months. He was finally here. He’s taken his first steps toward his dream. Sure, they may be small steps, but it’s progress. In six months, I’ll be in front of the door, now I just need to make sure I’ll have what it takes to open it.

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Author’s Note: *If you don’t know what a torus is, that’s the name of the shape of a donut, or inner tube.