Alan enters the guild building, only to be immediately smacked head-on by an oppressive wave of heat. While he has experienced worse, he wasn't expecting such a sudden change just by stepping through an open doorway. The lobby of the building is framed by metal floors and ceilings, with stone brick walls so smoothly cut and perfectly straightened as to appear like one solid piece of stone with finely penciled lines. Combined with the seemingly magic powered lighting, the place has an almost modern style to it. The only complaint he has is the omnipresent heat, easily ten degrees above the summer weather outside.
The receptionists stand behind a counter opposite the entrance, dressed in plain clothes and guarded by glass and metal, as they quickly move through the line of people that manages to hover around the same length as new people join the queue. Multiple doors and a hallway line one wall, with people occasionally going in and out, and the final wall is covered with several bulletin boards filled with papers. Of course, while Alan is quite fluent in the spoken language, the written language used here is a phonetic alphabet that he has only barely picked up over the last two weeks, rather than any of the written languages he knows.
Alan waits in line for a receptionist for several minutes, before one is finally available. While approaching the desk, he realizes the receptionist that called him over is an old, bald man who looks to be in his 60's or 70's, with a short, white beard, and a face that seems twisted in a perpetual scowl.
"Welcome to the Smith's Guild," says the man in a rough voice that sounds like it's been damaged from years of smoke inhalation. "What can I do fer ya today?"
"I'm looking for work," Alan replies, noting an almost immediate shift in the older man's expression from bored to contemptuous. "Is there anything that I can get through the Smithing guild?"
"And what exactly would someone like you be able to do for us, Outlander?" The last word is spoken with particular hostility.
Taken aback, Alan replies, "I have some experience as a smith, so I was hoping to-"
"Haha! What a knee-slapper! You, a smith? Ya ain't got the air of a Smith about ya, Outlander." Once again, he says the last word as if it were pejorative.
"Okay, I won't argue that, but this is still what I want to do and learn. Is there any way to get experience working for the guild? It's been a few years, but I've forged a coupl-" Suddenly, a hand slaps down on the desk in front of Alan. The other receptionists and some of the patrons look over, but most quickly look away upon seeing the old man is involved. Their expressions seem to convey this is hardly the first time this old man has behaved so inappropriately.
"Quiet, you. I ain't interested in hearing no bragging of yours about how you've 'masterfully forged hundreds of top swords', only to find out ya made a handful of cruddy table knives like all the other Outlander swindlers that come this way. Ya think you can come in here and rip off the Smiths guild, make off with valuable metals and tools? Yer type're a copper a dozen. Liars and thieves, looking to ruin the lives of upright Renkish citizens. Too bad you're a fool's fool. Hahaha!" The fellow laughed heartily to himself for a moment, before returning to looking at Alan with utter contempt and disrespect. "Well? Ya ain't scrammed yet?"
With a wry smile, Alan asks, "Hey, I'm just looking for an apprenticeship. Isn't there anything for apprentices to offer work to the guild or find someone to work for and learn under?"
"Fer a lyin' braggart like you? No. I feel like that'd sully the guild's reputation, and we can't be havin' that. Besides, we ain't got any work for someone of such low caliber as a flabby, sweaty thief like you. Now scram, Outlander Boy." He points towards the door while looking down his nose at Alan.
"I haven't lied or bragged, though. Is there someone else I ca-"
"No. I told ya, we ain't got any work for ya. Now, if you don't scram immediately, I'll be gettin' the guards to kick ya out. And trust me, they're a helluva lot less friendly than me." He maintains a glare directed at Alan. A guard standing in the corner, barely in Alan's view, was also clearly paying close attention to the situation, no doubt drawn by the old man's boisterous words and actions.
Frustrated, but lacking any other recourse for the situation, Alan simply leaves the guild as he was told. Leaving the guild and walking down the steps, he once again finds himself on the main road of the outer district. Apparently the guild managed path isn't available to him; at least, not right now.
Clearly, that fellow is rather ultra-nationalist; simply for being marked as a foreigner, Alan is being discriminated against. The way he was being addressed also leaves him asking a question in his mind: 'Looking half my age might feel nice at first, but is it actually a detriment?' He starts walking down the street towards the teamster's guild, his mind wandering as he barely takes in his surroundings. Other than the crowds of people and a few opulent buildings, this area is actually not that interesting to look at.
'Well, at least there's no requirements to being a porter other than carrying things... But I'm sure that can't be a very well paid job... At least, not unless there's danger involved, and I don't think I'm willing to do that just for a pitta-' Suddenly his thoughts are interrupted by a large hand turning him around by the shoulder.
"Oi, I said to stop, brat. Didn'cha hear me?" came the rough voice of a man. Fortunately it's a man in his mid 40's, with brown hair to his shoulders and a bushy brown beard, rather than the old man from the guild that the accent reminds him of.
"Huh? I'm sorry. I was lost in thought and didn't hear you. Could you repeat yourself, please?" Alan put on his most apologetic face. He doesn't know if he offended this fellow already, and doesn't want to risk doing so if he hasn't.
"I was askin' ya if ya want a job."
"Huh? A job doing what?" A look of confusion is apparent on Alan's face.
"Gahh... Are ya daft? A job in my smithy. I been callin' ya since ya were still in the guild lobby."
"Oh, uh, Yeah. I'm willing to work for you, but can I ask why you're looking for me specifically? I don't think anyone should know me?" He wants a job, but he doesn't want to be someone's easy mark, so he's naturally suspicious of a stranger seeking out a nobody like him for a job offer.
"It's 'cause that arsehole you met at the guild's counter is my whore ex-wife's father, and if he finds out I hired ya after he chased ya off, it would really anger him, and she'll have to deal with his sour mood. Hahaha."
"Oh... I really appreciate the offer, but do you actually need an assistant? I don't want to waste your time." As soon as Alan says this, the man immediately stops laughing and switches to a frown instead.
"Oh fer the love of... Lad. Stop tryin' to talk yerself outta this job. I was in the guild to post a help wanted ad, but that arsehole keeps refusin' for the stupidest 'violations' on the forms! Screw him, I say." He chuckles again for a moment before looking seriously at Alan. "Now, what about you? Are ya at least willing to come to my store to talk?"
"I agree," Alan says, quickly offering his hand for a handshake. The other man looks oddly at the offered hand for a moment, before Alan sheepishly withdraws it and continues. "My name is Alan Rhett; how may I address you, sir?"
"I am Terrian Ghonna, of the Ghonna Smithing Clan. If you'll be working for me, you should call me Boss or Mr. Ghonna, but none of this sir business; you need to stop talking so stuffy. Why don'cha go ahead and follow me back?" The large man plasters a smile on his face and places his shoulder on Alan with a surprisingly soft touch. After Alan nods in agreement, Ghonna starts walking forwards, indicating Alan to follow behind. He leads his new assistant-to-be through the streets for nearly half an hour, most of the time filled with the older man ranting about his 'whore ex-wife'.
Despite the ranting nature of his words, Ghonna manages to give a few bits and pieces of information that are useful. For instance, both he and that guild fellow have such a strong accent because they come from the opposite side of the Renkish Empire, which is formed from five united kingdoms. The 'whore ex-wife' is from the same place of course, but apparently she's literally a prostitute now, so Alan doesn't think he's likely to meet her in the future. Fortunately though, it isn't too long before coming upon the smithy, on a street corner just a block away from the main road.
The building is nothing particularly impressive; made almost entirely of black stone, with only a few accents such as window sills being made of wood, the building is actually two separate but adjoining buildings. The shop portion is two stories topped with a chimney, while the workshop joined to the wall of the shop building is a short, squat construction with a flat roof. Alan is ushered into the hot and dusty shop front by the Boss, giving him his first look around the place.
Various forged items can be seen throughout the store, easily a few hundred pieces if one counts all the daggers and other small items. The shop counter is right next to the entrance and runs along most of one wall, with a few doors behind it leading elsewhere. The tables, shelves, and cases are nothing particularly noteworthy, being made of unadorned wood. Some of the wares have clearly been here for a while, a fact given away by a thin layer of dust on them, but the majority are much cleaner and shinier, implying that they're more recent products to replace previously sold items.
This smithy is mostly focused on weaponry, with only a few shields on display. The lone suit of armor tucked away in a shadowy corner has a thick layer of dust on it, but considering such armor has to be tailor made, it would be weird if it sold quickly after the person it was fitted for left it. While the shop space is large, it's not quite the whole first floor on this side, leaving a sizeable stockroom and a greeting room for special circumstances. Of course, with a gruff man like Ghonna who's seemingly unconcerned with formalities, this greeting room has a solid layer of dust from a long period of disuse and has been since treated as an extra storage room. Barely visible through an open doorway under the stairs in the back of the store is a bed of softly glowing coals resting in a forge.
"Well, boy, here we are. Now, I overheard you talkin' to that curmudgeonly old wretch, but I didn't get all of it. So, what's your experience?"
"I've forged a little over a hundred swords over the course of a few years, but it's been over a year since I last forged any, and I personally don't think I'm particularly skilled."
"I see, and do ya have any of the blades ya forged with ya?"
"I don't, sorry."
"Not a problem, let's just see ya make one. Once I know what you can do, then I can tell you what your duties and pay are."
The two make their way to the workshop, the larger man naturally leading. Unsurprisingly, the workshop is fairly warm. The room is larger than the shop front, but once again made of the same black stone as the rest of the buildings in town. A large forge and its attached machinery dominate the room, with the necessary equipment and tools to accommodate two blacksmiths working simultaneously.
Ghonna instructs Alan to begin readying the forge. While some of the devices are foreign, the forge follows a simple and clear enough design that Alan gets it sufficiently hot. While his lack of experience is clear to Ghonna, he had already told his new apprentice this was a solo run with no help. All he has to do is forge a blade and hopefully produce something satisfactory.
As the forge reaches a good temperature, Alan grabs a billet of iron and begins to heat it up in the roaring flames. Once it's sufficiently red hot, he pulls it out of the forge and holds it to the anvil. Grabbing the hammer available to the side, he begins to strike the lump of heated metal to shape it until it begins to cool, upon which he quickly heats it back up. Pulling it out once again, he repeats the process until the heated metal is decently lengthened.
With the next few rounds of heating and hammering, the blade continues to take form steadily, until what appears like a decent, but hiltless, short sword is on the anvil. He then quenches the blade in the provided pot of oil, and lets it rest for a few minutes to cool.
Withdrawing the blade from the oil, Alan cleans the remainder off using a dry cloth. A small tab of metal left off the handle end of the blade is then punctured with a spike and hammer, and inserted in a nearby spare handle Ghonna let him use. While the handle is attached, it's somewhat loose because it's not matched well. With some basic reinforcing and wrapping of the metal tab, he manages a better, but still not ideal, handle fitting.
He then brings it over to a foot peddle whetstone and begins to sharpen the edges. After some time, the edge is sharpened. Alan finally finishes and presents the sword to Ghonna while bowing his head.
"Boss, please instruct me on my shortcomings."
"Boy, you sure talk weird. Where're you even from?" Ghonna mutters under his breath while looking at Alan suspiciously, before shifting his attention back to the weapon in his hands. "This sword is an okay product. The edge is properly sharpened, the balance isn't too bad. The handle is a little loose because you should have made one to match your blade, but it's passing for now and I'm not testing you on your woodworking yet. Just remember to match one to the other properly.
"The primary issues are: the blade is a little lopsided which will give it drag that affects operation, and you forged it too slowly, requiring you to reheat it too frequently. As a result the blade is more brittle and prone to chipping than it should be, but not fatally so. Overall, I'd say this sword barely rates as a class 1 weapon." Ghonna looks satisfied with himself, no doubt because he found an apprentice who doesn't need the basic training. However... It seems he needs to spend some time practicing his facial expressions, lest he scare children.
"Boss, what's a class 1 weapon?" Yet Alan's words immediately fractured that ugly grin. In the couple of weeks spent recuperating and talking to the disciples and priests, this topic hadn't come up. It's no surprise, though. He was overly cautious to not appear too 'forgetful', lest he come off as easy prey for that priest who showed a few warning signs of being a money grubber over that same time, so there were many topics he was ignorant on because he didn't ask.
"Hah? Ya don't even know that? Who the hell did ya train under?"
"I'm sorry, I actually don't remember. I have partial amnesia and have forgotten a lot. I just finished recovering at a temple today."
"Hah? Are you screwing with me boy?"
"I'm afraid not."
"Ah, erm, my condolences... I wasn't aware... You don't seem... Ahem. Right, now, a class 1 weapon is a normal weapon. It can do, or should be able to, well, what're the right words to use..." As Ghonna starts the explanation, it becomes clear that he's quite knowledgeable about the subject, but also just as clear that he isn't the best at concisely explaining a subject in an academic manner. His explanation meanders back and forth and on occasion a mistake is made resulting in a contradiction, but after seeking a lot of clarification, Alan gets the gist of the information.
Class 1 weapons are just standard use weapons. Such weapons are the basis of arming armies. There's nothing particularly noteworthy about such weapons, as the term 'average' applies to them in just about every way.
Class 0 weapons, the only class below class 1, covers junk products, decorative pieces, and other items unsuitable for combat. Whether they're meant purely for training or simply can't hold up in the stress of battle, such a weapon usually means death for the wielder in real combat.
Next up are the class 2 weapons, which are superior quality weapons. Such weapons are capable of withstanding far more stress from battle before becoming damaged or even dulled. This is the sort of equipment used by the personal guards of high ranking nobility, the core of the royal army, and by high level mercenaries seeking to fight the stronger demonbeasts.
After that, there are class 3 weapons. Such weapons combine superior materials with master level skills, creating an item which rarely, if ever, dulls or becomes damaged. A grade 3 weapon is required to enchant anything greater than medium grade enchantments; such enchantments on grade 2 gear tend to literally burn holes through the material that's enchanted. These weapons typically find their way into the hands of a few veteran mercenaries, a few powerful organizations, and the royal guard.
Finally, there are special class weapons. This category covers a wide range of weapons, from those that barely push past the limits of grade 3 to those that literally split the earth and sunder the heavens, though the latter kind haven't been seen or used publicly in millennia and are believed to be lost or destroyed. Weapons in this category are lumped together simply because they require techniques, strength, or materials simply not found in this world any more, if they ever were in the first place.
"Oh, I got lost rambling on... Back to where we were: the job offer. I'd rate you as an above average apprentice. I can see that your technique is rusty and you need a lot of practice, but whoever taught you wasn't a fool, so you still produced something sellable. Physically though, you're drenched in sweat despite having barely worked for an hour. The old bastard isn't wrong to say that you don't seem like even an apprentice. But since you said you only just recovered from being injured, I figure that's at least something to blame and we can just build your stamina up some.
"Despite the toll it took on your body, to the point where you were even beginning to shake with fatigue at the end, you pushed through the whole process and even operated my very stiff bellows without ever uttering a complaint, so I know you're no whiny brat without discipline.
"So, the offer is as follows: Run the shop and keep the whole building... Erh... Cleaner than I do. I ain't the one who cares about it, but them prissy 'adventurers' think they should be treated like nobility, even when they're caked in mud and blood and have manners bad enough to send a saint into a cursing fit. Also, if I need you to, I'll send you on errands sometimes.
"In exchange for all this, you'll receive a room to stay in, training in smithing, and a small number of coins. Plus, so long as you cover the cost of the materials used, you have free access to my forge when I'm not using it and I'll even let ya sell your stuff in my shop, so long as you're upfront that it's not my work. Sound good, boy?"
"Uh... Yeah. It does. I'm sorry, I don't want to sound like an ingrate, but it sounds like too good of an offer, and I'm worried that... You know..."
"What do ya mean?" Ghonna raises an eyebrow at this.
"It's nothing personal, as I really don't know you so it can't be personal. What you're offering is far in excess of what I'd expect. Because we're strangers, it seems like you're offering too much, which worries me about hidden dangers or some unspoken issue." Indeed, he had asked about the remuneration apprentices normally receive in this city, and it's not nearly as high as what he was just offered. Typically, an apprentice's family would have to pay just to get the position, and the smithing techniques imparted would be considered more than sufficient compensation.
"Ah, yeah, I get what you're saying, boy. It's because the last four apprentices I had were all poached away thanks to that rat bastard. I don't blame them, though, with what was offered and threatened. It's because ya already got a passable foundation in smithing and I don't want ya poached away that I'm givin' ya the sorta treatment ya'd normally give kin. Plus, between us, I really need someone to run the shop; I'm told I've missed too many sales this past year because I was busy in the forge and people thought the shop was closed. So I figure we'll mutually profit."
"Is that all the reason?" Comes one last question out of reflex. Immediately after asking, Alan regrets it as it seems to be just a little too much pressing in his opinion. Ghonna apparently agrees, as he starts to look somewhat dissatisfied, but he still answers regardless.
"Welll... No. The final piece that heaped on with the rest is my intuition. Something tells me that if I get you to owe me one now, you'll well more than repay any favors I give you."
"Your intuition?" Alan looks at Ghonna doubtfully.
"Oi, don't give me that look, boy. My intuition has always been spot on. What screws me is when I don't trust it. Not trusting it has ruined a lot of things, like my... Grrr... Nevermind." He gets a particularly sour look on his face, having obviously recalled something unpleasant. "So, are you actually interested in this damned apprenticeship, or are you wasting my time?"
"I'm sorry for bothering you so much, Yes, I'll be your apprentice."
"Okay. Your first job is to clean this place up. Don't disturb me unless it's an emergency, I'll be in the forge. Talking about the past has left me in a sour mood." Ghonna went into his workshop and slammed the door.
A little uncomfortable, but glad to at least have a roof over his head and gainful employment, Alan starts on the daunting task of tidying up the store front.