Ray and Masquerade's RP (The Struggle)

[Masquerade]

Yay~! This role play is strictly between me and Wolven Backlasher, so no outside posters, s'il vous plait! Thank you~!! XD

Here's our story:

Once again, we find ourselves in the country of Dalmaschior, but in a time before any peace has lasted. It is the Chaorian Era, and those that follow Lord Albert Valentine, the Chaos Knight, have persisted in helping him to steal the empty throne of Dalmaschior. So, with much ease, Albert Valentine became the new king of Dalmaschior. Although many cities prospered because of his policies, the capital city of Archaea became a place of depression. King Albert placed many taxes upon the people of Archaea and punished those not rich enough to pay those accursed taxes harshly. He placed the entire city under martial law, allowing his personal soldiers to do as they pleased.
And thus, our story falls upon a single guy and his new friends. A simple baker, this guy is. Though he has no strength, he has determination, courage, and friendship to guide him to liberating the people of Archaea from the Chaos Knight. But what tribulations will the baker and his friends have to go through in order to achieve victory...?

Okay, Ray. Here are my character profiles. (Just follow the example =3)

Name: Masquerade
Age: 16
Gender: Male
Species: Human
Job: Baker
Weapon: Rapier
Orientation: Omni (XD)

Appearance: Masquerade is 5'9" tall and weighs 135 lbs. He has crazy and chaotic brown hair that goes down to his shoulders. His eye color is unknown, for he wears a butterfly wing-shaped mask that covers the top half of his face. On a casual day off, he wears his standard tight-fitting black shirt and white overcoat with cargo pants (his pockets are often full of strange items). When he's working, he wears his baker's uniform with a pure white apron which is often smeared with dough.

Personality: Masquerade is a strange person to many. He is always working his hardest to produce the highest quality baked goods, but his workplace is always hectic. People that pass by his bakery may hear an explosion every once in a while, but only on occasion. He doesn't have many friends, but those who know him well also know that he is a very kind person at heart and only wishes for the welfare of others. Although he hates to admit it, he is also very generous. He knows how it feels to have nothing, and so he often donates some of his products to orphanages and other places of the sort. He is also very humorous and will not hesitate to make light of a serious situation (which often plays out to his advantage).

This guy will seem familiar, eh, Ray?? ^^

Name: Nothus Viper
Age: 24
Gender: Male
Species: Snake-Bird Hybrid
Job: Assistant Baker
Weapon: Lance
Orientation: Bi

Appearance: His body is covered in dark green and black scales. He stands at 6 feet 2 inches and has 2 bird wings with light brown and white feathers with a wingspan of 8 feet. At his knees, his legs become feathery and finally end with two sharp talons. His hands are also talons. His head is covered in very fine brown feathers that very closely resembles hair and flows down to his shoulders. He has two sharp fangs and a forked tongue. His eyes are yellow with slitted black pupils. He typically wears light brown cargo pants and a plain white T-shirt, but he usually wears flowing dark robes to cover his entire body. However, from out of the robes, a long, green, scaly tail emerges.

Personality: He prefers to be alone. He is very insecure about his appearance being part snake and part bird, yet he is really sure of his fighting ability. Although he is a loner, he loves to help people in need and intensely values courage and is very loyal to Masquerade. He hates to be confined and can be annoyed quite easily. Sometimes, he says things he doesn't mean and regrets them later. However, anyone that has ever put up with him have become great friends with him.

Try to limit yourself to 3 characters for now (more can be introduced later and probably will XD) Go ahead and post your profiles and I'll get things started afterwards. This is gonna be fun~! X3

[Frisk E. Coyote]

Hoorayyy! Well, here's my three!

Name: Smithson "Grundy" Grunder
Age: 29
Gender: Male
Species: Arctos Lupus (Fictional Arctic Wolf tribe)
Job: Blacksmith
Weapon: Is used to Warhammers, but is quite proficient with the many weapons he makes. His favorite is the Gunshield, a weapon capable of protecting that was born of his own design.
Orientation: Couldn't care less. He's not really into relationships.

Appearance: [spoiler=Smith stands at 6 feet, 4 inches in height, and is seldom seen without his charred and scorched leather gloves and apron, as he's almost constantly working. He has a muscular build developed from years of hard work smithing all kinds of things from horseshoes to weapons and armor. On rare occasions, he can be seen wearing either only his pants, or a red loincloth, possibly to cool off. He is never seen without his bandanna. His fur is white all over, and quite soft and nice to the touch. However, it was made to keep him warm when in the snow, so he's often left sweltering hot. This is why he is the least dressed blacksmith in Archea. He has been described as "somewhat handsome" and "fluffy" by the womenfolk in town, and he's turned down his fair share of women.][/spoiler]


Personality: Grundy is large, muscular man who keeps to himself. Despite being one of Archea's best smiths, he is silent and reserved, choosing to use gestures and eye contact rather than speaking when addressing his customers and clients. It has been speculated that this is because he is of foreign descent, and knows nothing of their language. But in truth, he is simply a mute. His rough and gruff exterior hides a kind, gentle and just soul, quite fond of kittens, and frightened of large spiders. He is very self-conscious about coming from the Arctic region, despite having learned advanced smithing there that has brought him success in this country. He is also very self conscious about his appearance, from his size, fur color, and even the color of his eyes, which is a deep amber. He's also ashamed of his muteness, deeming himself stupid whenever his gestures are misinterpreted. This makes him very skilled at charades.

~ ~ ~

Name: Zacharion "Zack" Krauzer
Age: 19
Gender: Male
Species: Dingo
Job: Male Prostitute/Bandit
Weapon: Various Blades
Orientation: Bisexual

Appearance: [spoiler=Zee stands at 6 feet flat and has a lean, athletic build great for agility, flexibility and nimbleness. He is covered in slightly course, chestnut-brown fur, and rather soft creamy-tan fur on his muzzle, front and the tip of his fluffy tail. He has dull, dark brown eyes. He's had many flings with women who fell for his "roguish charm". Usually wears sleeveless shirts, hide or leather pants, and boots.][/spoiler]


Personality: Zee was once part of The Noble House of Krauzer, a well known family of rich nobles and aristocrats. All his life he was kept away from the world, told that it was all dirty, and that he was too good for it. He couldn't make friends with other children unless their family was well off, like a mayor's daughter, or a tax-collector's son. He was robbed of his childhood, and gained nothing from it, as his younger brother, who was natural born genius, garnered more respect than he did, no matter what he did or how hard he tried. Rebellious in nature, he ran away from home at the young age of ten, and lived a harsh, cruel life, but a true life nonetheless. At first, he survived by stealing, learning from his mistakes, getting better and better at it until he could rob whole crowds without even looking. But before that, he had to prostitute himself to perverted ladies and even men who liked young boys. He learned from experience and became what was arguably "the best lover in town", as well as the most expensive for his good looks and charm. Despite his rebellious streak and penchant for being an all around scoundrel and blaggart, he has a good heart, and will not steal from those who cannot afford it. He also secretly hopes to find someone whom he could actually love. He has a strange habit of juggling knives with one hand when nervous, having learned how to use blades from a traveling performer whom he paid for lessons with sex. He has developed kleptomania, a fondness for stealing for the joy of stealing. The harder the target, the more enjoyable the theft. He often thinks about how his little brother is doing.

~ ~ ~

Name: Alexander "Xander" Krauzer
Age: 16
Gender: Male
Species: Dingo
Job: Aristocrat/Musician/Composer
Weapon: Customized Musical Instruments
Orientation: Bi-curious/confused

Appearance: [spoiler=Alex stands at 5'10 feet, has a slender build, and is rather frail. He has chestnut-brown fur all over with yellow-cream fur on his front, and muzzle, just reaching his eyes. He is made to wear expensive clothes, but tries to dress simple and comfortable, often in just pants and a long-sleeved shirt. He has a tuft of yellow-cream fur on top of his head, and is considered by many to be "cute".][/spoiler]


Personality: Alex is a bored, cold, and calculative individual. He is rather sickly, and lacks friends, but is actually rather friendly after he gets to know someone better. He is a natural born genius, and is considered one of the best musicians and composers in the country. He is however, unhappy, as he never truly lived like his brother did. He misses his older brother and blames himself for his brother running away from home. He is very passionate about music and can touch souls with the way he plays, claiming to understand what people feel in their hearts and playing accordingly, or vice-versa. His best instruments are the cello, violin, grand piano and flute. He is the chosen Heir of the Krauzer family, but is humble about this. He is a very compassionate and gentle person who loves animals and feels a pain in his heart when the less fortunate suffer. He does what he can to help them, being from one of the most influential families around. His music is so serene that he has on more than one occasion been requested to play for King Albert himself.


I'm ready! I'm ready!

[Masquerade]

OOC: Then prepare yourself, Ray. Here we go~!!

IC:

The night that shrouded the skies of Archaea was broken by the sparkling stars that shone ever brightly. Not a cloud rendered the peace of the darkness. Down below, many lights radiated out of windows--the warmth of the hearth fires spreading into the tranquil cobblestone streets of the magnificent city. Not many people strolled along these quiet streets. They rather be at home with their families after a long day of work.

On the main street of this glorious town was a small bakery. Sweet smoke still billowed out of the chimney, and acitivity could be easily determined within its wooden walls. Although the sign on the door said 'Closed', inside, the baker continued his work.

Earlier that day, Masquerade the baker had been assigned to design a birthday cake for one of the nobles. He worked persistently all day, knowing that the pay-off would be extraordinary if he managed to create a perfect cake. Even deep into the night, he worked. Inside, the front area was covered dough. The fragrant smell of fresh icing wafted through the air. A couple fires were blazing in different places--one in the oven in the front area, and another in the back room which is where Masquerade and his loyal partner, Nothus, lived, ate, and slept.

Masquerade was vigorously whipping up more batter for another layer of the cake he was planning on making when he heard some commotion going on somewhere outside. Nothus appeared quickly from the back room.

"Shall I go see what's going on?" the snake-bird hybrid asked. "I don't want you to get distracted from your work."

"That would be very kind of you, Nothus," Masquerade said and smiled. Of course, the smile was replaced by a look of anger as he continued whipping the batter.

Nothus scratched his head nervously as he opened the door and left the bakery. The noise was coming from a nearby alleyway. Nothus moved stealthily towards the entrance and peered around the corner. The ethereal light of the moon lighted a horrific scene. The walls of the alleyway were covered in blood and several of King Albert's knights were beating up a civilian.

"When do you plan on having the money, scum?!" one of them said roughly as he punched the defenseless man laying on the ground, covered in blood.

"The tax is t-too....high...," the civilian managed to get out. However, his answer was not too well-received by the knights. He got a swift kick in the ribs and was sent flying to the end of the alleyway. The poor man hit the stone wall and slumped to the ground, unconscious.

Nothus watched eagerly, waiting for a chance to strike. Justice had to be dealt and the man needed to be helped. But he was outnumbered at the moment.

[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.

[Masquerade]

Nothus gripped the handle of his lance tightly. It seems his wish was granted after all. Through the darkness, he saw a figure that had appeared to be guarding the helpless civilian. He also noticed that he was against three heavily armored guards. Well, we're still outnumbered, but not the odds have evened out somewhat. As long as we can save that man, everything will be fine. Nothus put up the hood of his dark robes which successfully allowed him to mend with the shadows--the darkness obscuring his every move.

The knight that was beating up the civilian was taken aback by the newcomer. "You must have lost your mind, knave!" The knight drew his longsword and his friends did the same--all of the blades pointed at the dingo. "The punishment for interfering in the affairs of the knights and breaking knight-civilian confidentiality is death! Are you ready to face the consequences of the charges I place upon you?"

One of the other knights drew closer and was about to strike down the dingo, but he soon stopped in his tracks and looked down at his chest. An enormous lance was protruding from his chest. It had somehow pierced his armor. There was a strange gurgling sound in the knight's throat as he dropped his sword and slumped over.

The other two knights were alarmed. "More trickery and betrayal?! A roving band of murderers that slaughter knights without justification?! The Chaos Knight will here about this for sure!" They were about to run away as Nothus withdrew his lance from the dead knight and used it to blockade the alley so that they couldn't escape.

"The Chaos Knight will be hearing naught of this," Nothus hissed as he glared at the craven knights that were now shaking before him. "Get the civilian out of here and take him to the bakery," he addressed the dingo that had so boldly defended the beaten man against the knights. "I will be there to join you shortly. Just knock on the front door. Although the sign says 'Closed', the baker should let you in."

[Frisk E. Coyote]

Zach's eyes traveled from one sword to another before resting back onto the knight that addressed him, a confident grin turned up the corners of his muzzle. "No, sorry, I'm afraid I can't accept that, you're much too kind." He sneered as a lance impaled the knight through the abdomen. "Oh. You seem to have been impaled through the torso by a vaguely phallic weapon. Its going to be a lot more difficult to execute me when you're dead on your feet!" He laughed at his own macabre joke.

The dingo shook his head carelessly, and in what seemed to be a split second, he had crossed from the back of the alley to between the two knights, a pair of narrow-bladed daggers had pierced the chinks of their armor and stabbed into the sides of their necks, rupturing their jugulars. He retracted the knives, twirling the blood off them before he sheathed them smoothly behind him again, leaving the knights gurgling and drowning in their own blood, dropping to their knees as they died. He smiled at the strange Serpent-Bird hybrid cheerily. "I'd really love to, really, but I just came to nick this." He raised a triad of leather pouches, jangling their contents; money the ex-knights had collected. He had snatched them when he bumped past them.

"So if you don't mind, I'll be on my merry way, and I sure do hope bread helps that poor fellow!" Zach chuckled. "Now excuse me. Your lance is in the way."

[Masquerade]

The serpent glared at the dingo intensely. "A petty thief, eh? Tch. I should have figured as much. Three curses upon myself for thinking that you may have had even the slightest amount of kindness in your heart." He removed his lance and stood it up with the point penetrating the ground of the alleyway. Nothus closed his eyes as a warm breeze blew through the area, his robes being gently tousled in it. However, he knew now was not the time to let the tranquil weather lower his guard. He rushed over to the bleeding man and scooped him up in scaly arms hidden by the long, black sleeves of his robes.

That's when Nothus gave off an unexpected laugh. "Yes, the baker and his miracles. His bread will do more for this poor man than you think." Without hesitation, Nothus ran swiftly out of the alleyway, right past the dingo who had only come to collect money, and grabbing his lance on the way. His clawed feet scratched against the cobblestone street, the resulting noise causing several stray animals to emerge from their hiding places and escape the horrid sound. Nothus made it to the bakery fairly quickly and burst through the door, startling Masquerade. The unlucky baker was so surprised that he dropped the layer of cake he was working on.

"What was that for, Nothus?" Masquerade scolded, pointing a rubber scraper at the serpent accusingly. "I thought it was your idea not to disturb me." That's when his eyes fell upon the beaten and bleeding man in Nothus's arms. "What happened this time?"

"It is the same as all the other times," Nothus said despairingly as he propped the man up in a wooden chair at the front of the counter. The door was left ajar as Nothus went to the back room to get some water.

Masquerade operated quickly and efficiently. He looked through his scores of baked goods until he finally found what he was looking for. It appeared to be a perfectly ordinary doughnut. He held it carefully in his hand as if it were a precious diamond, and he strolled cautiously around to the other side of the wooden counter, stopping in front of the unconscious civilian. "Let me just open your mouth here," he uttered as he moved the man's lower jaw to open his mouth. He slowly inserted a piece of doughnut into his mouth and then took a hold of the man's upper jaw, and, with both parts of the jaw in hand, made the man chew the delicious sweet. The finely chewed morsel slid down the civilian's throat without much assistance. That's when Nothus returned with a glass of water.

"Did you work your magic on 'im?" Nothus asked with a slight, cocky grin on his face.

"Indeed," Masquerade replied simply. "I do not reckon that he will be requiring this drink any longer, but with guests as fickle as our's, he just might happen to be thirsty when he wakes. The baker's gaze shifted to the night outside the bakery. The door was still open, but it allowed the heat of the oven to escape the small shop. Slowly, the mouth-watering aroma of sweet desserts--pies, cakes, doughnuts, tarts, and all sorts of fruit pastries--drifted dreamily out the door and into the night air.

[Frisk E. Coyote]

Zach stood aside simply to get out of Nothus', still smiling mischievously, not at all bothered by the serpent-avian's remark about his profession and his chaotic neutral alignment. Tucking the gold into his cloak, he stepped over the knights' bodies and crouched down, slotting a card into each of their armors that read;

Courtesy of the Dervish!
Don't find me, I'll find you!

That way, should the knights' deaths be investigated, the bakers wouldn't be put to death. He had been leaving these little cards all over, on bodies, scenes of crimes and even women's bodies. He had after all, on more than one occasion, protected those less fortunate than he was, knowing full well how it felt to starve for days. On the way to the inn he was staying at, he thought about visiting that baker in the morning. It smelled absolutely heavenly there, despite all he blood.

[Rosequartz Inn]

Smithson sat on a bar stool and knocked on the counter to get the pretty barmaid's attention. This was one of his favorite diners, it doubled as a pub and an inn, so people usually ate in their rooms, and drinkers tried to keep their voices low, respecting the people who were sleeping. That meant that there wasn't many people around downstairs eating.

"Why h'lo tha' Grundy." The barmaid greeted him cheerfully, brushing a locke of golden curly hair away from her pretty face. "Ah haven't seen you h'ya in a weeyk! The usual?" She asked, taking a pencil and a sheaf of paper.

The white wolf smiled at her warmly in greeting and shook his head lightly. He knocked on the counter seven times, paused, then knocked three times.

"Numbah sev'n, powk aynd mushroom sawce, aynd a numbah three, that's daffodiyel juice. Is thayet awl sugah?" She asked, writing it down.

Smith nodded at her cheerily.

"Sure thing sweethawt, just mosey along ovah theyah aynd ah'll bring yow meal." She giggled as he placed a silver on the counter, and she gave him a couple of coppers back before disappearing behind to give the kitchen his orders.

The wolf sat at a table meant for one and poured himself some water, downing it down in one gulp.

"Oy, Grundy!" A man who was drinking with his friends called at him. "Fancy seein' you 'ere n' outta the smithy! Lemme buy you some grog!" He laughed.

Grundy smiled at them and shook his head, waving a paw at them, declining polite. He then thumbed at himself, and pantomimed hammering something.

"Ah, workin' eh? Say no mo' gov'na, Oi unda'stan." The man chuckled, and returned to his drinking. "Real grand that fellow, Grundy, real grand. Very hardworking." He told his friends.

When the barmaid brought Grundy his delicious, newly cooked food, the heavy tavern doors opened and in came a rather cocky looking Dingo, who immediately approached her after hanging his cloak. Grundy wasn't familiar with him, though he spied him around town on more than one occasion.

"Rosemary! Looking good! Say, I was wondering if I could arrange to move into a room upstairs, preferably with a window facing main street?" The dingo asked, smiling at her seductively as he leaned an both elbows on Grundy's table, his chin propped on top of his paws.

"I don't know hon, the upper quarters are mighty pricey aynd-"

But she never got to finish. The dingo cut her off by ever so casually leaning forward and pressing his muzzle against her full, red lips. Rosemary didn't fight, but she did look a little surprised at first, before she started blushing, and closing her eyes, moaned into his muzzle.

Judging Rosemary's bulging cheeks, Grundy assumed he was giving her a lot of tongue. He pulled away as suddenly and as casually as he had leaned forward, and sure enough, he pulled a about three inches of his tongue out of her mouth.

"Ah... Ah believe we can make an arrangement." Rosemary swooned.

"Oh thank you Rose! I'll go collect my things!" The dingo said, and trotted off toward his room cheerily, as if he hadn't done anything that earned him the stares of everyone in the tavern.

"Lucky bastard..." The man who had offered to buy Grundy a drink murmured.

[Masquerade]

Nothus set the glass of water down on a nearby wooden table. "Those knights are really getting out of hand. If we hadn't heard that commotion, he probably would have died." Nothus watched as the wounds on the man's body started fading slowly away--slowly, but they were definitely vanishing. He was always astonished by the way Masquerade's sweets cured wounds, and no matter how many times he asked the baker about the secret, Masquerade would kindly turn him down and change the subject.

"Well, it seems the sweet did its job as it always has," Masquerade replied giving off a heavy sigh as he felt fatigue settling in. He stood up to return behind the counter. He examined the remains of the layer of cake he had dropped. "But we still have a problem. Just because the civilians can be cured by my sweets, that doesn't mean that they should be thrashed around. It must be a dreadful experience." He bent down and scooped the ruined layer into his arms and carried it over to the waste bin. With hesitation, he dumped the tasty remains.

"I-I'm sorry about that," Nothus apologized. "Oh! I forgot to mention that I didn't fight those knights alone. I had the pleasure of receiving the aid of a worthless thief."

Masquerade returned to his work. "Well, he must not have been worthless if he helped you." Masquerade smiled mockingly. He looked into the oven to pleasantly see a spare layer for the cake inside. "Excellent. It seems all has not fallen to naught. That was the last layer I had to make, but it's a good thing that I decided to fix a spare!"

"You're not psychic, right?" Nothus questioned in curiosity.

Masquerade winked at him as he reached into the oven without mitts and pulled out the pan that contained the final layer of the cake. He placed it on the counter to cool. "Don't be silly, Nothus. I can't see the future."

"It matters not," Nothus replied, deciding to get back on topic. "There's a problem about the bodies though." Masquerade winced as he heard this. "Yeah, that's right. The thief was more than glad to take the knights's gold, but not dispose of the bodies. Of course, they have no proof that I was behind it, so I think we'll be okay. We're only bakers, right? What harm could we pose?"

[Frisk E. Coyote]

After a very hearty meal, Grundy was satiated. Content, he half-bowed his head at Rosemary gratefully before he spoke to her with a few hand gestures. They were simple, but the funny thing about the blacksmith was, everyone could understand what he was saying no matter how difficult the phrase, sentence, or word in particular. Grundy always got his point across. This wasn't because his gestures were so easy to comprehend and perform, thanks to the blacksmith's dexterity, but mostly because his amber eyes showed nothing but the honest truth, serene sincerity. No matter what he was saying, his eyes always had a look to accompany his gestures, giving him that much more personality and emotions.

"Rosemary, be careful around that dingo. Those knives he's wearing don't just seem to be for show." The white wolf said through gestures, his eyes speaking volumes. "He has this air of malice to him, like he's just up to no good, and when he walks, I couldn't even hear those big boots of his make a sound on the floor. He could be a murderer, or a rapist." He continued, his eyes showing genuine concern.

Rosemary smiled at him. "You're mahty sweet, sugar, but you ain't gotta worry about lil' ol me." She assured him. "He's been stayin' h'ya for three days nah, aynd we theynk he's a performah. He juggles his knives and does tricks to pull in moh cust'mas foh us." She explained. "He sort of is a rogue, aynd he's got no manners, but he ain't done nuttin' wrowng so fah."

Grundy narrowed his eyes. "I don't like the way he kissed you just like that. I won't tell him, but your husband won't like it."

"Actually, he kinda deeyd." The barmaid blushed lightly, and leaned closer. "The dingo kissed him too." She whispered in his ear.

Grundy raised a brow and wore an expression of mild shock, a little disgust and disturbance, but more curiosity and confusion.

"He's a charmuh that'un." Rosemary sighed. "He seyez his name's Logan Gyre." She giggled. "At least now you got a name aynd a face, should he do somethin' wrowng. I trust you'd aveynge us, eh?" She said, escorting him to the door. "You take care nah."

"You too, Rosemary. I have to get back to work." Grundy added before he left, bowing once more. Outside, he happened to look up at the inn's many windows. All the lights were closed, and all the curtains were drawn. Save for one. Logan was looking down directly at him, smiling. The dingo waved his fingers at him. Grundy didn't like the way Logan looked at him. He didn't like being noticed or stared at. But to be polite, he waved back, turned, and started walking back down the street.

When he was several blocks away from his forge, his ears perked as he herd a distinct clicking sound a crossbow made when a bolt was being loaded, and he managed to dive out of the way as several bolts darted past him. One hit him on the thigh, and yelping silently, he dropped to one knee, fangs bared.

"Well well well! What do we have here?" An anthropomorphic chameleon said as he climbed down from a tree that was planted in a lot to decorate the town's bland stone and cobblestone streets and roads. He was practically invisible save for his black crossbow until he changed colors to a dark blue one, still hard to see in the night. He was naked for that purpose. "Doherty, Malloy! We've got ourselves a smith." The chameleon said with a grin, one of his eyes focused on Grundy, the other darted here and there, making sure no one was around.

From two alleys, a man and an anthropomorphic weasel came out stealthily, crossbows raised, grins plastered on their lips.

Grundy cursed silently. He had forgotten to bring anything to defend himself with. How careless! It was nights like these that thieves, rogues, murderers and rapists roamed the streets! These thieves were organized too... choosing to mug him at a safe distance instead of up close. If they had, he would've taken them down by now. His tribe had taught him well in the field of combat. But he couldn't even get close to them. He was certain that the bolt in his leg wasn't a mistake, they deliberately aimed for his legs so he couldn't run away or at them. He looked up at them, brows furrowed angrily, muzzle shut tight. He removed his small money pouch and tossed it in the ground in front of him. "I don't have anything else with me." He gestured.

With all the crossbows still pointed at him, the chameleon retrieved the pouch and counted the money.

"How much's in there, Gaspard?" The human named Doherty asked.

"Two silvers, 56 coppers. Not bad. Shame he wasn't carrying more." Gaspard laughed coldly.

"You have my money. There's nothing else I can give you. Let me go." Grundy pantomimed.

The three men laughed at him.

"You mute or somethin' boy?" Doherty asked.

"And what are you wearing? You're almost as naked as Gaspard over there!" Malloy laughed, training his crossbow down at the blacksmith's loincloth. "What? Did someone beat us to you?"

"Quiet Malloy. Can't you tell? He's not just some white wolf, he's an arctic wolf. A foreigner." Gaspard told his partners.

Smith bared his fangs, pulling his bandanna lower over his eyes. He didn't like his differences being pointed out.

"How can you tell?" Malloy asked.

"His fur's thicker, those are arctic tribal tattoos on his left shoulder, and look at those eyes. They're not the regular amber, yellow or blue regular wolves have. Its a lot more... beautiful." Gaspard smirked maliciously. "Arctic Wolf Eyes are very expensive in the black market because hey turn a very icy blue when their owner is experiencing a lot of strong emotion."

Growling now, fury raged through Smithson's heart as he heard this, his eyes flickered the coldest of icy blues for a split second, flickering in color randomly before he calmed down and they remained in their regular deep amber coloring.

The other two men grumbled in awe.

"And if we manage to cut his eyes out while they're still deciding on changing..." Gaspard raised his crossbow, aiming at Grundy's heart. "They're worth more than-" But what ever he was saying never finished as the words choked in his throat, blood foamed from his mouth and gushed out a slit on his throat.

The dingo from the tavern flipped a knife, flicking the blood off it, one hand in his pocket. "Guys, guys, guys..." He said nonchalantly. "This isn't the way to treat someone who's eyes you fancy." He shook his head playfully, producing what seemed to be a card from his pocket. He flung it at Gaspard's corpse and the corner embedded itself in the chameleon's skull. It was razor-edged.

"GASPARD!! The son of a bitch killed Gaspard!" Doherty cried.

"You! You're The Dervish!!" Malloy shook, and tried to point the crossbow at the dingo after realizing that it was still trained at the wolf- but it was too late, a card embedded itself in his paw, causing him to yell out in pain and drop the the crosbow before a heavy fist collided with his skull, knocking him into the wall in the back of the alley that he was hiding in from the force.

Doherty fired at the wolf and the dingo randomly, yelling out in fear. The wolf hid behind the tree Gaspard had come down from, but the dingo flicked his wrist, and a knife buried itself to the hilt in Doherty's forehead. The man keeled over backwards, dead.

The town square was silent.

"So." The dingo, Logan Gyre, if that was his real name, said, breaking the silence. "What's a nice guy like you doing in a backwater, overtaxed, crime-infested city such as this?" He asked, walking over to Doherty and extracting his dagger from his skull, wiping it clean on the man's mantle before sheathing it.

There was more silence, but Smith tried to answer back. This man... was a killer. He seemed so nonchalant about it too, it was like he was used to it, like he enjoyed it. The wolf replied with a gestures.

"Yoink." The dingo said playfully as he took the other thief's money bag. "Jackpot." He sneered, and turned to face the wolf again. "I'm sorry, what? I didn't catch that."

Sighing, Grundy signaled again. "Thank you for helping me. I moved here five years ago from the arctic to learn the culture of other lands. I am mute."

"Oh, so you're a mute, huh? Wow. I actually understood that! I never understood sign language before! Though... that looked nothing like sign language." He said as he bent over and placed another calling card in the dead human's mouth. "Go grab your money. He won't be needing it in hell." He gestured at Gaspard.

Grimacing in disgust, Grundy bent over and pried his money pouch from the chameleon's curled up fingers, oblivious to the Dingo tilting his head at the sight of his hindquarters hidden only by a length of cloth.

"Mm... now that's one firm ass..." Zach mumbled to himself, licking his muzzle playfully. He only had eyes for women, but an incident in the past opened his eyes to some men as well, and Grundy was the few men he liked, aesthetically speaking. The wolf was muscular, powerful and quite ruggedly handsome. This was the first time he found a male like Grundy attractive, as he found more feminine men attractive than manly ones.

Perking his ears up, Grundy turned around. "Excuse me?"

"Damn, you've got some hearing!" Zach slapped himself on the forehead, laughing. "My name's- ungh-" He grunted, eyes wide as a couple of crossbow bolts embedded themselves on his back. He keeled over forward, lying still on the ground, face-down.

Grundy's head snapped toward another man, a fourth member who had been hiding nearby. whose crossbow was designed to be as silent as wind. Furious, Grundy forgot the pain in his thigh and charged at the man, who fumbled his bolts in fear as he tried to reload the crossbow.

In the end, the man tried to run, but the wolf got hold of his arm and snapped it like a twig. The man howled in pain, and the last thing he saw before the blacksmith's powerful fist collided with his face was his frigid, murderous, but beautiful icy blue eyes. Grundy's fist connected with the man's face and it caved in, every bone in his skull broke and his neck snapped backward sharply in an angle. Grundy dropped the man, dead, and his anger turned into fear. He had killed someone...

He inspected his bloody fist, caked in someone else's blood. There were some shards of teeth stuck on his knuckles, and he brushed them off, disgusted. He worriedly made his way to the dingo and checked his pulse.

"Ohhh..." The dingo groaned in pain, but was thankfully alive. "That freaking hurt..."

Glad that the Dingo was still alive, he hauled him carefully over his shoulder, and limped back to his forge, trembling, his ice blue eyes flickering amber every few seconds. He had killed a man. He was a killer.