The shop was a large industrial structure with pipes and chimneys sticking out of the roof and sending smoke and steam into the air. Outside on the street passersby could hear the banging of tools and the roar of fire, electrical and steam powered gadgets and gizmos making all manners of noises in a cacophony of bells, whistles and the like. The citizens of Andoras had long ago grown used to the raucous sounds of the shop and many others like it that spanned the sprawling city and paid the shop little mind as they walked past it.

It was a building with four floors above ground and a fifth below, with windows dirtied and fogged by steam and grease and so thick with grime few could manage to peer through the glass to see what waited inside. The only visible means of entry was a door out near the street over which hung a small round sign depicting an old man with a wrench in one hand and a wand spouting off sparks in the other. The paint was faded and chipped and below it the name was once written, but it had long ago fallen to the test of time.

Jericho approached the building with a limp in his step, leaning heavily on his cane. The door he opened with a gentle push and a bell chimed overhead as he stepped in. Immediately, the man was buffeted by a wave of hot hair and as he approached a counter that lined the wall of the shop's storefront a door behind it opened up and another man appeared. He wore goggles over his eyes but brought them up to rest on his forehead, his cheeks were stained with soot and his nose was bright red. He eyed Jericho suspiciously for just a moment and then lifted a break in the counter to step around.

"You took your sweet time about getting back, Jericho," the man wore a tag on his shirt that said Charles. "I was this close to giving your job away to this bright young lad who had come inquiring about a position a few days ago," though his tone was rough and stern and not at all pleased with Jericho's later than desired arrival, he held little menace in his gaze and lacked conviction to sell the tale.

"Oh, I'm sure you were, Charles. It was very kind of you to hold on for a little while longer," Jericho laughed and he approached the man who was removing one of his dirty gloves to shake hands. "But surely I wasn't that sorely missed," he said as the pair met. "I would have thought a little extra work in my absence would be nothing for the likes of you."

"Yes, well, it piles up in the end and I have my own affairs outside the shop to see to, your absence cut into a great deal of my free time and my research now suffers for it. I hope you're pleased with yourself," Charles scrunched up his nose and tugged his glove back on before turning back to the counter. He was already through the door leading to the back of the shop by the time he turned and barked harshly at Jericho. "Well" Are you coming or not' We've got work to do!?

Laughing, Jericho limped through the break in the counter and followed Charles through a narrow hall leading to the heart of the artificer's shop, where all manners of instruments could be seen sprawled out on tables and hanging by wire from the ceiling overhead. All around him stood machines and gadgets, some looking like they'd just been wrecked and others halfway through their repairs. Overhead in the center of the workspace was a blue ball of light that rotated in the opposite direction of the three golden rings that were secured around it, spinning frantically with a faint hum of energy that flowed through power lines attached to two rods that in turn were directed to the curious sight.

Sparks lanced from tip to tip and fueled the generators that powered the shop. Jericho smiled at the sight of it all as he unbuttoned his coat with one hand and approached a small room full of lockers and a bench. There, he found a locker with his name written on the plate outside it and fished a key out of his pocket to open it up and retrieve his jumpsuit.