82 Fall 513 A continuation of this thread When Inspiration strikes
Favchean stands from his stool, his hulking green body raises easily and his muscles flow in ripples along his chest, back and thighs. Turning toward the forge he crouches to examine the flames, he knew that he needed a certain degree of heat but he also knew that he wouldn't be able to go home until the flames were extinguished. However he still tossed in a couple of thick logs, then used the billows to fan the flames higher and hotter.
He reaches over and snags the leather apron, throwing the thin strap over his head to lay against his thick neck. The garment had been made with an Akalak's height in mind so it reached his knees easily, and covered his very wide girth. The leather was scarred with scorch marks and blade marks, but well oiled and taken care of. It protected his body, so he took especial care of it. He grabbed the tongs, and picked up the now-smooth blade and secured it into the fires with a clamp.
He turned now and grabbed the bucket, one arm hefting it up though it was filled with water. His muscle bulged but he didn't falter as he carried out of the smithy, tossed it outside and went to the rain barrel. The water he had tossed had been cooling fire stoked metal all day, the rain barrel held cooler water which he needed to make sure the dagger cooled quickly.
Quickly he ladled more water into the bucket, splashing the cool substance over the side and down the front of his apron on the last ladle. However he had enough and he turned to hurry back inside. He moved back to the forge after depositing the water bucket down, and checked the blade. It wasn't yellow yet, so he went to the billows and forced air into the fires once more.
This was a waiting game now, he had to wait until the blade turned a perfect shade of hay yellow before he could pull it out. He didn't need to fan the flames constantly, but he did need to keep an eye on the fire. So he found himself leaning against the counter, concentrating on Wysar and his duties. What were his duties? The duties were to keep himself in top physical shape, to strive to master combat styles both with weapons and without, to ensure that he was capable of defense of the city and it's citizens...and to create progeny. The last was becoming more and more weighty on his mind.
Favchean stands from his stool, his hulking green body raises easily and his muscles flow in ripples along his chest, back and thighs. Turning toward the forge he crouches to examine the flames, he knew that he needed a certain degree of heat but he also knew that he wouldn't be able to go home until the flames were extinguished. However he still tossed in a couple of thick logs, then used the billows to fan the flames higher and hotter.
He reaches over and snags the leather apron, throwing the thin strap over his head to lay against his thick neck. The garment had been made with an Akalak's height in mind so it reached his knees easily, and covered his very wide girth. The leather was scarred with scorch marks and blade marks, but well oiled and taken care of. It protected his body, so he took especial care of it. He grabbed the tongs, and picked up the now-smooth blade and secured it into the fires with a clamp.
He turned now and grabbed the bucket, one arm hefting it up though it was filled with water. His muscle bulged but he didn't falter as he carried out of the smithy, tossed it outside and went to the rain barrel. The water he had tossed had been cooling fire stoked metal all day, the rain barrel held cooler water which he needed to make sure the dagger cooled quickly.
Quickly he ladled more water into the bucket, splashing the cool substance over the side and down the front of his apron on the last ladle. However he had enough and he turned to hurry back inside. He moved back to the forge after depositing the water bucket down, and checked the blade. It wasn't yellow yet, so he went to the billows and forced air into the fires once more.
This was a waiting game now, he had to wait until the blade turned a perfect shade of hay yellow before he could pull it out. He didn't need to fan the flames constantly, but he did need to keep an eye on the fire. So he found himself leaning against the counter, concentrating on Wysar and his duties. What were his duties? The duties were to keep himself in top physical shape, to strive to master combat styles both with weapons and without, to ensure that he was capable of defense of the city and it's citizens...and to create progeny. The last was becoming more and more weighty on his mind.