I hated it there.
I’m not a blacksmith, like my father, my grandfather, my great-grandfather or my brother.
I was going to inherit the smithy when my da went to the lover’s final caress. I couldn’t do that to my brother, or to me. So I ran away.
The name isn’t mine. The name’s a joke. “Attention to Detail” is the joke, or I am.
I ran away to stop him giving me the Smithy. But he found me anyway, and he gave me a brand new one, to be built in the new world. From the king, to the land, to my da, to his worthless son.

I came here with nothing. I learnt to make Pistols, because it looked interesting. So I made the pistols, and now I know what they do first hand.

So I became a Talismancer, because it’s a new world full of things to explore and new things to learn that nobody else knows, and I can do something that makes me unique. But the New World advances fast, and by the time I know where I’m going someone’s already been there. I was not quick enough to explore.

So I need to find my path, my lady, and I’m hoping its as your servant. The weaver church here seems almost Teacherish, stuck in a grove like badly tilled soil, maybe I’m the one to break it up.

Or until I find a new path that looks more fun.

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