For more than a week Lefty and Ol Blu lived in the back of a wagon that sat parked behind a warehouse on Market Street. Many of the Camelian merchants who brought them to the city could afford to stay at a nearby inn, but that luxury was not afforded to their guests. The newfound adventurers could sleep in their wagon and partake of their remaining bread… but other than that they were on their own. This didn’t bother Lefty at all… initially.

To say he was excited to be in The Capital would have been an understatement. Just as in Opprobrium, the former sand miner was eager to see everything, know everyone, and learn all that this new place had to offer. He didn’t care where he slept or what he ate, so long as he got to explore his new surroundings and meet interesting people.

Unlike Opprobrium though, The Capital did not accommodate his desires. The city was an eternally busy place full of eternally busy citizens, and most of them had long since run out of patience for the ignorant gawking of rural peasants. Lefty learned, rather quickly, that he was not significant here. The Capital had tens of thousands of residents and received new visitors on a daily basis. To the city dwellers, he was just one drop of water in a sea of people; another stranger to be ignored, exploited, or feared… and unfortunately for Lefty, his inquisitiveness resulted in much more of the latter.

You see, back in Opprobrium, he had been praised for silently observing people at work, and for taking an interest in the lives of common people. But here in the city such silent staring was met with hostility. It didn’t help that Lefty was a tall young man with unkempt hair and cheap clothing who possessed noticeably muscular arms. He could easily be mistaken for a ruffian, if you didn’t know him. And since most people didn’t know him, his innocent curiosity was often mistaken for something more nefarious.

Needless to say, the young adventurer quickly lost most of the enthusiasm he had for The Capital. It seemed like every time they left to walk the streets, they ran into some kind of trouble. Guards and merchants alike chased Lefty away for suspicious behavior, and the few friendly faces he did encounter… turned out to be fast talking swindlers who attempted to rob him of his scant possessions. These ordeals rapidly drained Lefty, and after just a few days of living in The Capital, the energetic young man had transformed into a glum, silent version of his former self.

“I don’t think I belong here.” he said one night as he and Ol Blu sat huddled in the back of their wagon, riding out a brief rainstorm under its covered roof. “Maybe we should just go back.”

“Back where lad? To Ash Tab? You want to be a sand miner again?”

Lefty shuddered at the thought.

“Or you wanna go back to Opprobrium?” Ol Blu continued, hopping down from Lefty’s head so he could look him in the eye. “I suppose you could be a farmer. No shame in that. But I thought you wanted adventure lad. You know; see new things, meet new people. You won’t get much of that if you head back to a small town and settle down. Oh it might seem new for a while, but that feeling will wear off before long.”

“Yeah… I guess you’re right…” Lefty sighed. “It’s just… this doesn’t feel very… adventurey.”

“Well, not every step of the journey is going to be thrilling, lad. You have to put in the work to get what you want.”

“I’m fine with work! I can work all day! Just give me a shovel or an axe or a sword and I’ll do whatever work you want! But wandering around the city being laughed at isn’t work! …it’s just annoying.”

Now it was Ol Blu’s turn to sigh. He sympathized with the young man, he really did. Lefty was a natural born warrior. Stong, ambitious, and full of energy; excited to explore and willing to take big risks. If he had been born during The Dark War, or any war for that matter, the people in power would have sought him out; would have to work to earn his loyalty.

But one unfortunate side effect of Scaevolus’s peace… was that it didn’t leave many options for men like Lefty. There was little need for warriors anymore. Boldness and ambition didn’t have much practical purpose. If anything they were kind of a liability. Which meant the wartime roles were reversed. He would have to work for their attention… and that was not the kind of work he was good at.

“Look lad, I know this isn’t your cup of tea, but if you want to get to the Drink Tabernacle and fight the beast within it, then we’re gonna need cash and supplies… and that means finding a patron.”

That’s what they had been doing every day since they arrived. Blu's plan was to find a senator or a wealthy merchant who'd be willing to supply them with everything they needed to find and conquer the other tabernacles. Such arrangements were actually fairly common in the years following Scaevolus' reign. Wealthy citizens from all over Att proudly sponsored adventurers, or sometimes whole teams of adventurers, to explore the tabernacles. At first these arrangements were made with the understanding that, should the adventurer succeed, they would reward their benefactor with the kind of wealth and influence that only a king could bestow.

Eventually it became clear that no one could beat the tabernacles, but for one reason or another, sponsoring adventurers remained a fashionable trend for the rich. It simply morphed from an attempt to seize power, into a status symbol that the wealthy flaunted among themselves.

Though Ol Blu hadn't been to The Capital in some time, he was still familiar with this practice, and knew the city well enough to make his way around the wealthier districts. He didn't exactly have friends or connections, but his status as a nigh-mythical creature, combined with his ability to talk as well as any swindler, ensured that he could always find an audience to listen to his proposal... even if most of them responded with laughter.

You see, by the time Lefty arrived in The Capital, sponsored adventurers were little more than glorified mascots for their wealthy patrons. Most of them never actually left The Capital or made attempts at the tabernacles. The large majority of them were simply attractive people who posed in decorative armor; more concerned with the appearance of being brave, than in actually doing anything brave. The few that did have legitimate skills were usually kept as glorified bodyguards, escorting their patrons around the city to give them an air of importance.

As such, Ol Blu had a difficult time being taken seriously. Though he could often talk his way into an audience with someone, he rarely got to speak to those who were actually in charge. Most of his meetings ended up being with impatient assistants who dismissed him outright as soon as they saw the young man he was trying to sell them. Lefty was not ugly by any means, nor was he in poor shape, but the standards for these fake, eye candy adventurers were very very high.. and he wasn't anywhere near their level.

Of course not everyone ignored the duo entirely… it's just that those few who did actually listen to Ol Blu's proposal… were the ones who laughed the hardest. Which we probably should have expected. After all, years of attempts by hundreds of individuals had proven that gathering the Clavis Imperium was a suicidal endeavor… so the prospect of spending money on such an endeavor was about as appealing as burning it.

Now you might think that actually having one of the Clavis Imperium, would have helped Lefty and Blu to be taken seriously... but this was not the case. For you see, while no one had actually bested any of the tabernacles before, that hadn't stopped people from claiming that they had. Since no one knew what the Claivs Imperium looked like, it wasn't too difficult for a charismatic swindler with a fancy looking key to fake their way into a bit of temporary fame and fortune. False claims like this weren't a common occurrence, but it had happened often enough over the years that most educated people didn't trust anyone making such claims. As such, most of the people Ol' Blu talked to didn't even look at their strange gear… and the few that did brushed it aside without close inspection.

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This was all Lefty had experienced his first week in The Capital; just a string of meetings with rude rich people who laughed in his face and claimed he was a liar. Between them and the guards, it was no wonder that he felt unwanted.

But, for better or worse, Ol Blu convinced him to keep trying for a few more days. And wouldn’t you know it, but the very next day they finally had a meeting with someone who did take them seriously.

Titus Tiberius was one of, if not the, best blacksmith in the entire city; perhaps even the entire kingdom. He was an old human craftsman, with short white hair and skin like dried leather. Stout, and full of muscle despite his age, the man could do things with metal that others found impossible. He was a true master of metalworking, who created high quality weapons and armor, as well as exquisite masterworks of decorative art.

He was also… a surly and mean-spirited racist who showed little respect for most humans and a blatant contempt for everyone else. He was a gruff and simple man, with a heart as dried and cracked as his skin; a man who's complete lack of empathy made him one of the most disliked figures in the city, and someone that most people, human or not, avoided if they could help it.

Despite his incredible skill, few were willing to hire him, and even fewer were willing to work for him. The man had no apprentices to pump the bellows, relying instead on an expensive device he had paid a sleep mage to create. He was rich to be certain, though just barely so, his wealth coming less from his success as a blacksmith, and more from his extremely frugal lifestyle. The elderly smith lived as cheaply as possible. His simple home was free of comforts he could have easily afforded, and his tools were weathered things that had been repaired countless times rather than be replaced. He was a man who regularly argued with merchants over the price of their wares, often buying old food and flawed equipment at discounted prices. He was eternally haggling, on a seemingly endless quest to save as much cash as possible at every given opportunity.

And yet, when Lefty and Ol Blu turned up to speak with him, Titus listened. Part of this simply due to Lefty's appearance. Years of digging in the desert sun had given him the physique and tone of a day laborer, and the old salt had an instant respect for any human who worked with their hands. What really drew his attention though were the metallic feathers that Lefty still carried with him. The other potential patrons had dismissed them as ridiculous gimmicks, made by some smith with no standards and too much time on their hands; but Titus recognized right away that no hand had crafted those blades. They were something special, and it gave their story just enough weight that, when they showed him the Clavis Imperium, the grumpster actually took a good hard look at it.

“This is a Clavis Imperium?” The smith said incredulously as Lefty handed over the gear.

“Yes sir.” Was Ol Blu’s reply. “We were surprised as well. I’d have expected it to-”

“Shut it bird. Let me look at this thing.” Said the old salt as he sat down on a little wooden stool, and began turning the gear slowly in his hands.

“Hmmm. Well it ain’t bronze. Or copper. The texture ain’t right. And the weight is all wrong. Unless there’s a heavier metal inside this thing… but double casting something this small would be a lot of work.”

Titus reached into his leather apron and pulled out a small magnifying lens. Holding it up as he inspected the object closer. “You’ve got the royal insignia there. Looks official and…” He leaned in closer, “... and there’s no tool marks… Hm… ”

“Well it’s dream crafted alright.” He said as he put the lens away and turned the gear over a few more times. “High quality too. Symmetrical. No imperfections I can see.”

The old smith balanced the gear on one finger, the disk refusing to wobble as he moved his hand in a slow circle. “Weight is distributed evenly too. Solid all the way through.”

Titus looked up at his guests again. “This took effort. And skill. It was made by a professional.” Ol Blu smiled, but the old man’s face tightened up, his eyes squinting as if trying to spot imperfections on the kicken. “Question is… how did you two get something like this?”

Lefty remained silent, his face unreadable. Ol Blu’s face went stern as well. He had already told Titus where they got it and didn’t like the insinuation that he was lying. Also he was still upset at being called a bird. He was not a bird! He was a kickn! It took all his effort just to hold his tongue in the face of such indignity.

Fortunately, Titus interpreted the silence as an invitation to speculate.

“I reckon you could have made it yourselves…” He said rubbing his chin, “but if either of you was this good at sleep magic, you wouldn’t need a patron.”

Titus looked back down at the gear. “I suppose you could have stolen it.”

The old man didn’t see Lefty and Blu flinch with indignation.

“But that would mean a dreamer made this on their own… and why would they? A gear with nine teeth has no use in a clock. And why the royal insignia? No one would even see it?”

For a moment all three were silent. Titus was contemplating the possibilities and none of them fit perfectly except… the story they told… what if it was true?

Titus looked up again at Lefty, and for the first time in decades there was a tiny glimmer of hope in those bitter old eyes. The old man was able to remember a time before the bickering senate; before thullhans, pentoids, and deepuns made everything worse. He remembered back when Att was ruled by a powerful, noble, human king; a single strong figure who commanded authority and created prosperity. Those were good times. At least they were for him. And now, here was this strong young man, holding a Clavis Imperium, asking for his help to restore the monarchy.

Here was a chance to make the kingdom great again. A chance to reverse the downward spiral of society, and go back to the way things were. Finally, here was another great man who could claim the kingdom for humans, and reign in the unclean masses that had corrupted their once glorious civilization!

Of course, Titus didn't say any of this out loud at the time. Thinking himself a very rational and smart man, he simply assumed that Lefty's goals were the same as his own. I mean, why wouldn’t they be? They were both humans.

And to be fair, Lefty said nothing to convince him otherwise… because the young man hadn’t said anything at all. He had been standing there stoically since they arrived, letting Ol Blu speak while he stared off into the distance like some visionary hero. To Titus, he seemed the epitome of aloof confidence, a statuesque man gazing towards the next horizon; so sure of himself that he need not participate in trivial negotiations over mere cash.

In truth, Lefty was just trying desperately not to mess things up. Titus was the first rich person to actually invite them in, and the young man feared that a single wrong word might ruin everything. He knew he was not great at speaking, and so he didn’t try. Instead he stood there in silent terror, hoping beyond hope that Ol Blu would be able to clinch the negotiations without his assistance.

Fortunately for him, silence was just what this situation called for. Some people need constant prodding to be convinced. Others will convince themselves, if given enough time to think. And that was Titus. He trusted no one’s opinion more than his own. And so, after only a few moments of contemplation, the bigoted old blacksmith agreed to become Lefty’s patron. Titus did not like to spend money, but if this young man could restore a human to the throne, it was worth any price.

That evening, Lefty and Ol Blu bid farewell to the friendly camelian merchants who had brought them to The Capital, and sheltered them while they searched for a patron. It was a bittersweet farewell to be certain. Truly they were kind-hearted people, and Lefty could not thank them enough for all they had done, but he was eager to embark on the next leg of his journey. Plus, after two weeks of sleeping in the back of a wagon, it would be great to have a room of his own and a bed to sleep on once more,.. or so he thought.

The room that Titus provided for him was a tiny windowless space above the smithy. It was perpetually hot, smelled of burnt sweat, and had cracked floors that were practically guaranteed to give splinters. His “bed” was little more than an old cot, two sizes too small, and sitting on uneven legs that made it wobble incessantly. Titus may have been willing to help them, but he was still an unsympathetic and utterly cheap grumpster. Their time with him would not be pleasant.