Tinto's not your place if you don't like rock, dirt, grit, grime, mud, noise, sweat, heat, and swearing. It's major export is big, brawny guys who like to beat the snot out of city-dwelling twerps for enough potch for a gutful of beer.

If your major schwing runs along the lines of sharp blades, well-crafted armor, and all the precious jewels you can lay your greedy little mitts on, however, Tinto's paradise. It ain't much to look at- at first glance it appeared as though someone just punched a bunch of holes into a side of a perfectly good cliff, stuck a door on each one, and called it a building. The layout's confusing enough to drive a man crazier than a sackful of monkeys, what with all the different levels and stairwells and tunnels and such. There's also an elevator (which is perpetually broken down) that adds to the overall frustration of Tinto's insane game of chutes and ladders.

If you're an aspiring smith, however, this is the place to be. To be a revered smith by the standards of the people in Tinto is the crowning achievement of any tough-skinned full-bearded muscle man who's ever clashed hammer to anvil. Back in my hero days we knew a guy named Mace who had learned everything he knew from the hammer swingin' gurus of that big pile of rock.

The inside of the mountain is wormholed with natural caves and crisscrossed with mineshafts, the perfect place to visit if you ever have the desire to get lost in some dark, underground tunnels. That's where the people of Tinto get all their ore. Everything you see in Tinto was paid for or built from the stuff they pull out of the mines, which is right convenient for them since they're so secluded from the rest of the alliance. You can imagine how many past leaders of Tinto took a good, long look at foreign affairs and said, "To hell with this," consequently shutting the state's doors to the rest of the known world.

Another thing Tinto's got is a good, cheap, hardy brew. Most places you can spend a good week's potch (by an adventurer's wages, anyway) on some decent tasting bub and not be the least bit tipsy. Not in Tinto. What with all the big men and hard work they have, they believe its their god given right to get nice and drunk without blowing their whole wad. This means that the various bars, saloons, taverns, and any other hole-in-the-ground which sells alcohol is a great place for socializing, picking up the latest adventuring tips, making lifelong friends, and getting into a good fight.

Pohl and I had chosen one of these aformentioned taverns to start inquiring about Tessai's boy who had gimped out with my sword a few days prior. Sure enough, the kid was afoot, led here by Tessai himself who was all exited about a recently discovered vein of iron in the mountain.

I swear the poor rascal about popped his top when he saw me walk into the room provided him by the miners of Tinto. I more or less expected him to crumple to his knees amidst a wall of tears, groveling before me and begging my forgiveness. After all, I was hopping mad and could probably wring the scoundrel's neck.

But then, it was my fat idea to stick the poor lad with a job he wasn't even partially capable of. I would've been better off with the old man until I was sure the master himself would put his time into my blade. Nevertheless, it was my 5000 potch, and I was determined to either have a damn good sword or a damn good explaination.

Luckily Tessai was around to absorb most of my frusteration. He explained that his apprentice was in err for taking the job (the sap was just glazed over when I handed up such a mad stack of potch and couldn't bear to turn me away), and that he would be more than happy to provide me with a sword. In fact, he had been working on it the whole time he was in Tinto, waiting until his request to open up a smithery was processed by one of Gustav's fat bald secretaries.

As it turns out, the whole damn thing fell through and Tessai ended up returning to Kuskus anyway. Such is the chaotic flux of the town of Tinto.

You guys have been waiting four chapters for this (exactly why is anyone's guess), so I'll have to tell you that I was all kinds of pleased with Tessai's work. The blade was forged of 5000 potch's worth of fine Tinto steel, weighing in at a satisfying 16 pounds with a blade as long as a man is tall. A little heavier than I would have liked (then again, I was used to the near weightless form of my old foul-mouthed magic blade), but nothing I couldn't get used to. With the extra thousand potch left over from the blade's initial design, Tessai sharpened it up a bit for me and asked the local runemaster (sorry dollface, I don't remember your name) to graft a Titan Rune onto my hand. For those of you who don't know, that sort of rune links itself directly to your sword and senses when it's swung, boosting the strength in your upper arms and subsequently cleaving anything unlucky enough to be standing in front of you like soft butter.

Don't feel bad. I had to ask what the hell it was too.

Pohl and I met back at the inn at dusk, just as I was about to turn into my stone cold Tinto bed for the evening. Tonight my scabbard would not sleep empty. The kid had a big brown sack of crystals, which he flung onto the floor with a sound like shattering glass. He grinned, ear-to-ear, like a little kid who just broke into the cookie jar: "There they are, Vik. Profit to us: 61,200 potch. All we gotta do is stroll into the kobolds' trading post before those prices fall out from under us."

I couldn't help but laugh. This Treybell kid was turning out to be the best thing that's happened to me since I got to Jowston in the first place.

We drifted off into a peaceful slumber that evening, free of horrid dreams or endless thoughts, just some sweet nostalgia. I thought alot about the Liberation Army that night. Not the big one you read about in history books (history books of the Toran Republic? Try your local library.), the first army. The last time I met a charismatic kid with a bright smile and a lucky air, she whisked me off into her little imperial squabble. The bright-eyed ambitious freedom fighter and her upstart little boyfriend. Who could forget 'em?

You know, if I'd have been there that night, arrived just a short hour earlier, Odessa would've been around when Gregminster fell. She would've celebrated the victory along with the army she created.

Wait. I'm not going to get into all that. I don't feel right saying things like that. I don't want to turn whatever you call this tripe I'm writing into a long list of my ever-present 'what ifs?'. But in a way it was the same kind of thing... because of Odessa and her boytoy I was dragged into the Gate Rune War. And in a sense, it was because of Pohl Treybell that forced me to take the first step towards that rickety old fort I called home for a few months.

"Hey Vik? You still awake?"

"Yeah. Just thinking to myself."

"Happy with your sword?"

"Yeah. It's a real beaut. We're taking the long way through the mountains on the way back so I can try it out."

Dark silence. Then, "Think about a name for it?"

"Not really. I'm afraid if I name it, it'll start talking back to me."

An almost inaudible chuckle, followed by some more silence. Why didn't we just light a freaking candle? It wasn't like either of us was going to get any sleep on these terrible beds.

"You really should name it. What was the name of your old sword?"

I had to give it some thought. It had been three years since I used anything (or, to be quite accurate, anyone) except the old man. It was back in the war, when we finally rended His Rotting Majesty limb from limb. I pawned it off first chance I got once we found the old man... something I regretted in the long battles to come.

"It was the sword I took out of North Window when I left at fourteen. Belonged to a friend of my dad's. The guy's name was Dirk Shiko, so I just called it the Shiko Sword."

"Why don't you give your new sword the same name? Easier to remember."

"I suppose you're right. Shiko Sword it is."

The silence, again, was long but not awkward.

"Hey Vik. I have a confession to make..."

"Yeah, Pohl?"

"I didn't really kill that armored soldier in the war... I just wanted to impress you when I saw you in South Window. I figured you oughtta know that since we're travelling together."

I didn't say anything for a while. I had already known that anyway. No matter how hard a man tries to fly, if he goes jumping off cliffs he's going to end up a stain on the rock. I had a good realization of what was impossible and what wasn't.

"Pohl, you gonna keep buying my drinks?"

"Sure, Vik."

"Then as far as I'm concerned, you killed Teo's whole blinkin' batallion, okay?"