Harrington Smythe was exahusted. He had been working all day, and had little rest, mostly due to the fact his son was still not yet home. Some years ago he had lost his wife, and then his eldest daughter, who at the time had been the most likely heir to the forge. Now all he had was his young girl, Persephone, who loved to climb trees more than anything and his unenthusiastic son who was at the age where the ladies were far more attractive than a hammer and anvil. As the bell to his shop rattled for the fourth time that day he looked tiredly up, cloth in hand, towards the front of the shop where his forge burned.

"Son?" he asked in a low voice.

"Is anyone there?" came an unfamiliar reply.

Harrington blinked before setting down the sword he was currently polishing and twisted around to start heading into the shop. A frown creased in his brow as he strode in to see not his son, but rather a warrior there - an Akashiman by the looks of him. He paused, pulling up the sword to heft it against one of his massive soldiers and asked in his growling tone.

"Aye. I am. Harrington Smyth. What you be looking for?"