Well hello there friend, pour yourself a stiff shotta whisky and throw a pincha gun powder innit. Round here we call that a Blacktooth Grin. Let me introduce myself. I am Elliot Rigsby, but everyone calls me H. I make weapons, more specifically I make firearms. I make other oddities, don't get me wrong. Made my first set of knuckledusters when I was but a child, and many more since then. You see, I’m the 8th child inna family of 15. As they say back home, nowhere to go but out. I was on my own when I was 12, workin’ full time at the lumber mill. Sleepin’ at camp in one of the bunkhouses with people of every age, race and color. That's where I made my first set dusters you see, mans gotta protect his own. I don't believe in luck, I believe in grit and determination. It is those two thin’ that got me where I am today.
That long summer turned into a hard winter. The kinda winter that turns boys to men, and men into monsters. When the food runs real low, and people get that wild look in there eyes. Tempers always runnin’ hot. The slightest whisper would topple that rickety house of cards. Turnin’ the group upon each other withouta moments notice. Out of my bunkhouse alone, we lost 3 men. Old Roy, Jimmy Slim and Pete, but like the guys said, "Old Roy was old, Jimmy Slim was slim and well, Pete was Pete."
Eventually the snow began to melt and the birds returned. Work carried on as it always did. One day in midsummer a pair of gentlemen came to our camp. They both dressed real nice with the same brown leather coat. They had them wide peaked lapels and a high back collar. Three button closure at the front and flap pockets at waist, real dapper inna rugged sorta way. I can't even remember who walked up and slapped me up side the head. They said somethin’ about standin’ around and not pullin’ my weight. All I remember is reachin’ into my pocket and slippin’ on the knuckledusters. I caught him straight in the mouth, right in that stupid smile. The smile that said I know better than you boy. Our scuffle was broken up by the loudest sound I’d ever heard. One of the new comers was standin’ with his arm raised inna air, a strange lookin’ instrument in his hand. Smoke was trailin’ out the end of it. There's somethin’ special about the smell of gun powder, for whatever reason it calms me. Even tho this was the first time I'd ever smelt it, it was no different.
They escorted me back to the main office, I thought I was fired for sure. Turns out it was the wooden dusters I wore that caught there attention. After a few hours and a nice long chat, I learned that the two men were weapon manufacturers. They didn't work for any ordinary smithy. In fact these gentlemen were Master Craftsmen at Honeywell Weaponsmith & Armorer* a pioneer firearms manufacturer. They liked my innovative nature and offered me a job. With one condition, I wasn't allowed to punch any of the other employees inna face. Lookin’ at the way they dressed I figured they lived significantly better lives than the guys around the mill. It was an easy decision, and a handshake to seal the agreement.
The first of the two was B, a barrel chested, intelligent, well spoken Dwarf. Let me say this, I have never in my life seen a beard so well taken care of. The time and effort he put into makin’ it his own, was a direct reflection of his craftsmanship. The other was F, a stout halflin’. It didn't take long to figure him out, a total smart ass. Always crackin’ wise, and never takin’ life to serious. When thin’s got tense, it was always F that brought moral back up.
Now you might be wonderin’ why these fellows, as well as myself only are called by a single letter. After you finish your apprenticeship at Honeywell you are granted the title of Craftsman. Each new craftsman is assigned the next letter, this letter is your brand. If anythin’ somehow goes wrong with a weapon you manufactured, the letter identifies who is to do repairs. Every Honeywell product has a lifetime guarantee, and repairs are free. The company was started by a man named Orris Honeywell, better known as A. A lean man with a hard face and a brow that was always furrowed. Which was strange because he was straight ace, a helluva guy. He was the only person at Honeywell besides B that truly made it feel like home. Didn't matter what you made in the shop, A was always fascinated by it. He would ask a million questions, tryin’ to understand how you'd ended up at the finished product. Offerin’ pointers on how he woulda done it, or minor tweaks that would improve the design. He just truly loved his craft, and helpin’ others.
It was 4 years of apprenticeship under the watchful gaze of A, before I was raised to Craftsman. I’d earned my letter, my jacket, and one crazy party. I was the newest Craftsman to join the crew in over 7 years, so everyone used that night to let loose and go wild. Even E got drunk, and believe me that never happens. E hates drinkin’, says it makes people stupid. I'd have to disagree with him, some people are just born stupid. It's not the liquors fault. I like people who don't drink tho. Just means more for me and you. The next day was a complete write off. Everyone mainly focused on nursin’ their hangovers, some even went so far as declarin’ they’d never drink again. We all knew that wasn't true, but no one was up for arguin’ that day.
Lets skip ahead about 2 years, giver take. It was summer, I remember that much. I was pressin’ bullets all mornin’ and finished a few hours early, so I decided to head on over to the Red Dwarf. A swanky new tavern just a few streets away from the shop. Being earlier in the day there wasn't much for company in that establishment. I just saddled on up to the bar and ordered myself a double shotta whisky, the bartender asked me to give him 8 silver. Can yah believe it, that's 80 copper for only two fingers. Begrudgingly I paid the crook, but I decided it was best to sip on it instead of just takin’ one large swallow. When I was about finishin’ my drink, the bell above the door gave a little jangle. It was the most stunnin’ woman I've ever seen that came glidin’ through. Her makeup was meticulously done and her hair was up in curls. She was wearin’ a short sundress that showed the right amount of those long legs. That fine woman moved on up right beside me, she leaned against the bar and ordered a double shotta whisky. A woman after my own heart. Before the bartender even reached for the bottle, she glanced at me, than to the empty glass in my hand. Hardly missin’ a beat she changed her order to 2. The bartender deftly poured the drinks, and she slid it slowly into my hand. I looked her over and gave her my most courteous “Ma'am” with a slight bow of my head.
Her name was Daisy, but she was hardly the delicate flower her name led you to believe. She was a hellcat and boy could she pour down whisky with the best of em. I won't get into too much details, but I will say this. We had sex, multiple times a day for the better part of a week. Now I didn't know it at the time, but she was engaged to wed Eugene Honeywell. The pompous good for nothin’ grandson of A. I found this out one afternoon the followin’ week, when Eugene brought her down to see the company he would one day own. Once I found out I did the honourable thin’, and went to Daisy to break it off. Being so skillful in the ways of love, I shoulda known she wasn't gonna let me go so easy. She flat out told me “No” followed by, “If you so much a mentioned it again I will tell Eugene you raped me”. So I did what anyone would do. I decided to keep givin’ it to her till she got sicka me.
It was around this time A began to get sick. It started as a chest cold, but it just never really went away. It started to get so bad he had to stop comin’ to the shop. His son Gordon who was also Eugene’s father, stepped up to help manage the company. The only problem with it was Gordon didn't understand the first thin’ about craftin’ firearms. He was more concerned with savin’ the business money than furtherin’ the evolution of the gun. Which had been A’s entire legacy. It got to the point where Gordon berated various Honeywell employees in the main shop in front of everybody. He claimed that we were “Spendin’ too much on unmarketable research projects”. This little episode got under the skin of all the Craftsmen, which in turn sparked the low rumblin’ of mutiny. We knew it was just talk tho, we all still had faith that A would get better and return to work.
Over the next two years A’s health slowly deteriorated. He had his good days mind you, but they seemed few and far less than the bad. When Daisy didn't have those hellcat claws in me, I spent all my free time sittin’ and talkin’ with A. We were close before he started gettin’ sick, but it wasn't until after that we truly connected. He told me all about his childhood, his dreams and regrets. It was during one of these late night conversations when he told me about his latest inspiration. He called it the “Belted Terror”, an automatic firin’, multi-barrelled death bringer. Then one mornin’ Gordon came into the shop. Which was strange because he'd never been to Honeywell before a noon bell since he'd taken over. He told us that his father had passed away late the night before. It was the single most crushin’ moment of my life. With the loss of A still heavy on all our hearts, the rumblin’ started back up. Most people felt that the business would be in ruins within the next 5 years. Tryin’ to keep my mind off thin’s, I threw myself headlong in to my work. I had an idea for a pistol that would fire more than one shot between reloads, the only problem was Gordon wasn't allowin’ fundin’ for research projects. So I did as much work as I could on my on time, but without Honeywell’s financial support it never got past the blueprint stage.
One evenin’ I stayed late at the shop, workin’ on the blueprints for the pistol. I hadn't told anyone what I'd been doin’, for fear of word gettin’ back to Gordon. Later in the night Daisy came into the shop, lookin’ beautiful as always. I told her I was busy and she should leave, but she just smiled that Cheshire grin and moved to undo my pants. Again I told her to go, but those words were lost on deaf ears. I may have protested a few more times, but in the end I just let the girl do what she was good at. While we were “at it” we heard a commotion comin’ from behind us. I stood up as quickly as I could, pulled up my pants, and fastened my belt. When I got to the spot that the noise came from, all I saw was a nearby wastebasket tipped over. So I went all the way to the front door, but I didn't find any other reason for the noise. When I got back to Daisy who was still naked sittin’ on my workbench, I threw her blouse at her and told her to go home. This time she listened.
After the excitement of that night, the next few months went by uneventful. Outta the blue just before closin’ Gordon came in. He asked us all to stay later for a quick meetin’. Someone at Honeywell was sellin’ company secrets, he didn't know who it was, but he was goin’ to find out. He threatened us with he old, it'd be better for the person if they just stepped forward. No one did. He proceeded to tell us how ashamed his father would be, still no one came forward. Gordon left the workshop in quite a huff. As soon as the door slammed shut behind him the murmurin’ started again. “Who could it be?” I heard multiple people mutter, “Good for them!” came from a few others. It didn't really seem like anyone cared all that much. To be honest, I felt about the same. Nobody was happy with how thin’s changed, and it felt like justice.
To get our minds off thin’s a small group of us decided to go get a drink. We didn't go to the Red Dwarf, although it was suggested. Instead we went to the Drunken Sailor, the pub I spent most of my pay in. It was the type of place where everybody knows your name, and drinks are real cheap. Only a half copper for a fin’er of whisky. It tasted like a dirty dishrag, but it'd get you nuttier than squirrel shit. After a few hours and a few too many whisky’s, I had the itch to craft. So I headed back to Honeywell hopin’ my drunkenness would solve some of the problems I was havin’ with my gun design. When I got to the workshop I noticed there was a light still on. Being drunkish, I thought it best to sneak in. Hopin’ to give the poor sucker workin’ overtime a right good scare. What I saw was Eugene with a stack of papers, a few blueprint tubes and a very startled look upon his face. I guess I wasn't as sneaky as I thought I was bein’. I asked him what he was doin’, he told me to mind my own business. I reminded him that he was standin’ at my workbench, so it was very much my business. I'm not proud to say this, but it took me far too long to realize what was actually goin’ on.
Eugene broke down into a childlike wail, his words all runnin’ together. It took a bit, but I finally got him to calm down. I asked him about the papers he was holdin’, he than told me what was goin’ on. He said he saw me and Daisy that night a few months before. Shortly after that he started to sell company documents to our competition. Wantin’ to ruin the thing I loved most, just as I had ruined the thin’ he had loved most, a tit for tat situation. Bein’ late in the night I took the files he had with him and escorted him outta the buildin’. Just to make sure he didn't double back to Honeywell, I decided it best to get him all the way home. On our walk to his house I did most of the talkin’. I told him that in the mornin’ I was goin’ to talk to his father, and I hoped he would be there. At least he would have a opportunity to mollify the situation, or possibly outright fix it. Boy was that a mistake.
When I got to the shop the next mornin’ Gordon was already there, sittin’ in his office with the door open. First thin’ I did was go to my workbench to put down my lunchpail. Before I could even get there Gordon's voice called out from the office. So I quickly put my lunch at my station, bundled up the papers Eugene had taken, and made my way to the office. When I got to the door I noticed that Eugene was already there. Not just Eugene, but Daisy was there as well. I shoulda known somethin’ was amiss when Gordon asked me to take a seat. He told me Eugene had came to him late in the night with troublin’ news. Eugene claimed that he caught me red handed sellin’ Honeywell documents to competitors, of course I protested. He than produced bank notes with varying amounts of value. These notes were from various competitors, and were all addressed to me. Gordon finally gave me a chance to tell my side of thin’s. I spilled the beans, every dirty secret . How Daisy had blackmailed me, how Eugene had caught us, how I caught Eugene... everythin’. Gordon asked Daisy if this was true, but she denied it. Even goin’ so far as callin’ me delusional. There was an awkwardly long pause before Gordon finally spoke.
Firstly he asked Eugene and Daisy to leave the office, and to shut the door behind themselves. He levelled those hard eyes on me, the same eyes as his father. Inna harsh tone he asked me for the truth. I reassured him that everythin’ I'd already told him was the truth. He got me to retell the story from the beginnin’ not skippin’ any details. I obliged. Then he got me to tell it for a third time, and I did as well. He sat quiet for a good long while after the third tellin’. His head was down, eyes closed, and his pointer fingers slowly rubbin’ his temples in tiny circles. When he finally broke the silence it seemed an eternity had passed. He said he didn't know who to believe, and because of that he had to do the only thin’ that seemed reasonable. He needed me outta the shop and outta the town, but he didn't want to lose me as an employee. He knew I was a valued member of the team, and the respect his father had for me still held water. Instead of just firin’ me he gave me a carriage with horses to pull it, as well as all the tools from my work station. I was to be a travellin’ representative for Honeywell with free range to craft and sell products as I desired. As long as Honeywell got its 60% cut. I had my space cleared out in about an hour, and my bunk in half he time. A last once over at my station then I had to say a quick goodbye to all the fellers. I can't remember what F had said, but I'm sure it was a wise crack. Smart ass halflin’.
I made sure my last farewell was B. For some reason it only felt right. As I approached he put out his hand, and we locked forearms. He pulled me in towards him inna half hug, awkward shoulder slap thin’. He told me he was proud to call me a friend, and an honour workin’ with me all these years. B reached into his coat and pulled out his pocket watch. “To help you remember the good times.” He said pushin’ it into my hand. It was silver with a mountain scene wrought in gold on the front. I clicked it open to look at its face, inside the dust cap was a paintin’ of A and B. A had a full head of hair, and B’s glorious beard was only slightly shorter. He said they had it painted shortly after the Grand Openin’ of Honeywell. He walked me to my cart and helped me load the last of the crates, while we quietly reminisced. Then it was time for me to leave. I jumped in the drivers seat and head towards the edge of town.
I haven't been back since that day. I think it's around 17 years ago now. I've kept my word and I send back the 60%. I wait until I have at least 2000 gold before I deposit it into their bank account. In those 17 years, boy has my life changed drastically. I still craft when I can, but it's not enough to pay the bills. The only other thin’ I'm good at besides drinkin’ whisky and makin’ guns is shootin’ em’. First few years I worked on a farm, but it didn't work out so well. The hours were too long, and my craftin’ started to fall by the way side. Now I go wherever the money takes me, collectin’ honest pay for hard work. I think that's why the mercenary life suits me so well. Well that's my story friend, an I'm mighty glad you stuck around long enough to hear it. I tell yah what, if you get the next bottle. I will tell you about the time the yeti attacked my cart.
* Honeywell Weaponsmith & Armorer
Est. 1418D.R.
“Nothing shoots as sweet as a Honeywell”
1397 A was born
1418 Honeywell was founded
1423 A’s first child Gordon was born
1447 when I was born
1449 Eugene Honeywell A’s grandchild born
1460 when I started @ Honeywell
1467 when I became Craftsman
1469 when I started sleepin’ with Daisy
1472 A’s year of death @ age of 75
1473 when I left Honeywell
1489 Greenest attacked
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