Ray and Masquerade's RP (The Struggle)

[Frisk E. Coyote]

Meanwhile, down the street where there were few houses, stood a large smithy with its heavy doors bolted shut and the windows wide open for the humidity and heat to escape. Smithson Grunder, whose name was only known because he had forged it in iron and stuck the letters above his door, was just as busy working at night as he was this morning, striking a glowing, red hot strip of iron for a commissioner's sword. He lifted the iron up with tongs and dipped it in a slack tub to quench the hot metal.

After refining the blade, hammering it straight, sharpening it with a whetstone, shining it and attaching it to a custom bronze hilt with a hand guard, he looked the new weapon over and searched for any mistakes or impurities. When he was satisfied, he selected a scabbard for it, and hoped whoever commissioned for it enjoyed his brand new cutlass. It was sweltering hot inside the forge, so to compensate, Smithson or "Grundy" as the other people in this city had affectionately nicknamed him, wore nothing but his leather smithing-apron and a dark red loincloth. Sighing, he wiped some sweat off his brow and sat down on a bench, drinking some water.

His forge was one of the best stocked in the city, anvils, hammers and even furnaces of every size and shape, every tool he'd ever need, as well as a very large range of materials, he had it all. He lived in the back room of his forge, which doubled as a kitchen and a bedroom. Unlike his forge, his living quarters was much, much more humble, furnished with only a bed, a wooden table and stool, a wash-basin and a stove to cook on. There was a smaller room there that functioned as his bathroom and toilet.

Grundy stretched, flexing his powerful arms and legs, yawning lightly. It was so hot in here, he could use a little break. After all, he had been working non-stop since he got his first commissions in the morning. A little break won't hurt, perhaps a walk outside to cool off in the cold night air. Grundy untied his apron from behind him and took it off, hanging it on a peg along with his leather gloves. His stomach grumbled at him hungrily and he looked down at it, sighing. He had forgotten to eat dinner. Looking around, it occurred to him that he had nothing to eat or cook. The bucher's was closed at this time, and so was the baker's and the marketplace. Maybe he stop by one of those inns and order a meal. He didn't like eating around other people, but he couldn't really complain. He was starving.

After shutting the windows and locking them, he unbolted the door and went out, locking it as he left. Grundy closed his eyes and took in the cool, fresh night air, stretching once more so his powerful muscles rippled underneath his fluffy white fur. He could make out the smell of bread and baking in the air. It seems that the baker was still at it like he was. It was a nice scent, and only made him hungrier. He padded down the cobblestone street, enjoying the cool air. He loved the night, when most people were already inside their homes and not out and about to stare at him. He felt like eating some pork tonight.

Meanwhile, a brown blur bumped past the guards in the alleyway and stood before the injured civilian, facing the guards. Zach was in town again, a small-time but talented bandit. He wore a light cloak with the hood up to protect him from the chilly night air as well as obscure his face. Chuckling, he raised a paw gesturing for the guards to halt their advance. "Oh come on now, there's no need for brutality now is there? I'm sure we can all come to some agreement." He said playfully. He disliked injustice like this greatly. Sure, he was a bandit and mugged more people than he could remember, but he never targeted anyone who didn't have a chance. The least he could do here is keep the guard from beating this poor fellow to death.