22 The Happy Hog

Jacob's heart started to beat fast when his eyes took in the scene in front of him. In the street alone, hundreds of people shuffled around, going about their business. Most of them were dour, but the atmosphere was lightened whenever a child squealed in joy. Jacob himself smiled at the sound, a rare occurrence in the past month.

Shaking himself from his stupor, Jacob walked down the street, pushing against the myriad people that surrounded him. His first task was to find an inn and earn some coin through his lute. He didn't bother traveling far, figuring the further he went to the center of Steelshade, the higher end the establishments were. His skills were not good enough to grant him a spot in one of those inns. Starting with the commoners' inns was the way to go.

He struck gold in the first inn he visited, a little thing just off the main road. It was called the "Happy Hog," a jovial name for a seemingly happy place. The few people within the building were smiling, drinking whatever alcohol the inn had for sale. The innkeeper himself was a rather large man, a bald spot on his shining brightly despite the dim light. That apparently didn't affect the man in the slightest, for he was distributing drink with glee.

"Hello, sir, my name's Jacob," he introduced himself to the man. "I've come seeking work as an entertainer. I can play a few songs on my lute, here. It's sure to earn you some extra coin," began his sales pitch.

"Deal. I been looking for a bard to play. Can ya sing?" the man stroked the non-existent hair on his chin.

"I haven't learned just yet, no," Jacob responded, happy with the innkeeper's eager response.

"That's a'right. It'll cut into ya coin, though. Five coppers a night and a room to sleep in. Good?" the innkeeper offered. Jacob accepted eagerly, thanking his good fortune that he didn't have to look hard for a place to stay. The coin would inevitably add up; he wasn't sure how much a good sword or armor would cost, but he'd possess more money in two days working at the Happy Hog than in his entire stay at Leafburrow.

"Glad ta hear it. Name's Erik. Your room is the last on the second floor," the man explained before dashing away to serve one of his patrons. Jacob set his few things down in his new room and decided to explore Steelshade in the hour or two he had before sundown. He was expected to play when the moons rose, for that was when people really began to drink.

Merchants peddling their wares contributed to much of the noise surrounding the main thoroughfare of Steelshade. Upon any mention of weapons, Jacob felt himself pulled to the stalls. As luck would have it, most of the swords on display were at least ten silvers, and those were balanced just as poorly as the one he currently had.

Deeper in the city, Jacob discovered public bathhouses. Thankfully, they seemed to be a popular destination, even among the city's lower class. That probably contributed to the city smelling clean enough. He'd always heard about how medieval towns smelled, but in this world, he didn't really notice it. It was an interesting thought he decided to shelve for another day.

Instead, he actively sought out the armorsmiths. They were located far from the main street, approximately halfway between the wealthier part of town and the poorer sector. Too noisy for the wealthy merchants and the nobles, but also too expensive for commoners to be able to afford anything.

Taking a deep breath, knowing he looked poorer than most, Jacob stepped into the storefront of the first he found. It was a nice shop, iron and steel armor lining the walls. The styles ranged from plate armor, with heavy metal plates covering every inch of the body, all the way to chainmail, made of interlocking metal chains.

The banging of hammer on anvil carried throughout the building, originating from the forge in behind the actual shop. Jacob waited for the armorsmith to finish whatever he was doing; interrupting the man wouldn't help him earn any favor.

It wasn't long before a muscular, middle-aged man stepped out from a curtain separating the store from the workshop. He carried some greaves in his hands, eyes widening when he saw Jacob waiting. "Ah, I see I've made you wait. I apologize for that," the armorsmith eyed Jacob closely, no doubt noticing the shabby quality of his clothing. "Are you sure you can buy anything?"

Jacob shook his head. He was a long way away from being able to afford simple armor, especially in this place. All the work looked like quality, and their prices were expensive. The greaves that the man held would likely cost over a gold, based on the other pieces he was selling. "I can't afford anything, not yet. I came to ask you if I could commission something from you."

"How could you commission something without coin?"

"I can't, but I have some raw materials I'd like to have made into armor. If you'd be willing to discount the armor because I'd be providing some of the materials, I'm sure I could pay for it in a month or two." That wasn't quite true. If the man requested a sum of five gold for the breastplate Jacob wanted – an undervalue of the true price – it would still take Jacob three years to come up with that sum. 10 copper to a silver, and 100 silver to a gold, Rod had once explained. Not that the innkeeper expected Jacob to ever see a gold, but the man had felt it necessary to teach him the value of money. That three-year estimate was if he didn't factor in food or clothing or anything else for that matter. If he sold some of his scales, he wondered how much he could get for them.

"What kind of materials are we talking about?" the armorsmith asked, curiosity in his eyes.

"I've acquired some wyrm scales. I know they're pretty durable, so I'd like a breastplate made from them," Jacob explained. He brought out some scales from his backpack; he didn't feel comfortable leaving them behind in the inn.

"Holy hell, kid. Where'd you get those?" the armorsmith asked as he ran his fingers over them.

"I slew the creature outside of my hometown."

"It'll cost six gold for a breastplate, given that you're already supplying half the material. Now, looking at you, I know you can't afford that. If you give me three of those scales for my own use, I'll waive the cost entirely. I'll warn you ahead of time, you could probably get more than two gold for a scale like this on the market, but you risk being swindled by those clever bastards," the armorsmith looked at Jacob like a kid on Christmas. Jacob laughed, agreeing to the trade. He didn't want to deal with anything like the markets just yet, not without fully understanding the proper value of things.

"Fantastic! I'll have this done for you in a month, if you're not in a hurry. Stop by anytime after that and I'll hand it off to you. I promise, it's going to be a beauty. It's not everyday I get the chance to work with wyrm scales, you know. That being said, I do have some contracts I need to fill…" the armorsmith explained apologetically, his hands thrown up in a "what can you do" kind of motion.

Jacob left the shop pleased with himself. Whether the man scammed him or not – the armorsmith had felt honest, though – he was happy to begin work on some real armor. He'd love not to have his ribs smashed next time he fought something. They had just healed; he needed them just where they were.

As he was about to leave the square, a sign caught his eye. "Magic Emporium."