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60th of Fall, 514
The cold night on his hard bed had left him stiff. The horrible padding had only made it worse. He considered buying a new bed after he settled into his new job. Or I could save up... Buy my own home... with a forge! That lit a fire under him. Zikiro rolled out of bed despite his aches and pains. With a large yawn, he stretched his arms, his young bones grinding under the stress of his experienced muscles.
After his arms fell to his side, relaxed, he walks over to the single tbale in the center of his room. He did not even sit, instead he took up a leftover turkey leg form the previous night and chomped into it. His free, crimson hand, took up his skin of water that hung over the back of his chair. After swallowing his first bite, he took a swig then chomped into the roasted limb again.
Clothes... He almost needed to remind himself to get dressed. His chair was across the room, near the fire. He lumbers over to it and with a turkey leg hanging from his mouth, he takes up the first article. Silk undergarments, nice and warm from the now smoldering fire. That's going to feel great. A thought straight from below.
Llama wool pants, a leather vest, boots, his handy hammer nestled on his belt. It was not hard to imagine where he was going a he passed by random citizens. With that vest doing nothing to hide his bare arms, that crimson shade stated his race. That hammer stated his intentions. That stride stated his eagerness to get there.
Zikiro loved his work. He loved it more than life; namely because metal was his life. Heat, hammer, cool, sell; that was his physical relation with his creations, sure. Beyond that, he felt a deep satisfaction with each finished project, the very thought of what shapes he would have to forge took up his walk to work. Every other aspect could come later, during the walk home.
Arriving at the Ironworks, he swiftly finds his favorite forge unattended. Of course it was, considering how early it was. He may not have been the first one to arrive, but he only saw the glow of six forges. Lighting the forge was something of his morning exercise nowadays, each morning he misses his chance his whole day seems off.
He plucked the coal shovel from the wall near the forge and scoops a small load to add to the still smoldering embers. He could tell, someone had burned the midnight oil with this one, it couldn't have been out for more than a few bells. After the forge was stocked, he kneeled and took up the billows. With a strong, yet gentle squeeze, he coaxed air into the embers, encouraging the rising temperature. "Come on, time to work. Time to wake up, it's a brand new day." He gave the coals another measured wake up call from the billows.
"There we go. Let's get started then." He chimed, leaning down to drive his crimson fist into the coals. He gave them a light stir, mixing cold coal with the smolderimg embers that now glow just right. The temperature felt good - on the right track to perfection, he believed. All he needed now was to coax it a bit more and he would be ready for the metal.
After his arms fell to his side, relaxed, he walks over to the single tbale in the center of his room. He did not even sit, instead he took up a leftover turkey leg form the previous night and chomped into it. His free, crimson hand, took up his skin of water that hung over the back of his chair. After swallowing his first bite, he took a swig then chomped into the roasted limb again.
Clothes... He almost needed to remind himself to get dressed. His chair was across the room, near the fire. He lumbers over to it and with a turkey leg hanging from his mouth, he takes up the first article. Silk undergarments, nice and warm from the now smoldering fire. That's going to feel great. A thought straight from below.
* * * *
Llama wool pants, a leather vest, boots, his handy hammer nestled on his belt. It was not hard to imagine where he was going a he passed by random citizens. With that vest doing nothing to hide his bare arms, that crimson shade stated his race. That hammer stated his intentions. That stride stated his eagerness to get there.
Zikiro loved his work. He loved it more than life; namely because metal was his life. Heat, hammer, cool, sell; that was his physical relation with his creations, sure. Beyond that, he felt a deep satisfaction with each finished project, the very thought of what shapes he would have to forge took up his walk to work. Every other aspect could come later, during the walk home.
Arriving at the Ironworks, he swiftly finds his favorite forge unattended. Of course it was, considering how early it was. He may not have been the first one to arrive, but he only saw the glow of six forges. Lighting the forge was something of his morning exercise nowadays, each morning he misses his chance his whole day seems off.
He plucked the coal shovel from the wall near the forge and scoops a small load to add to the still smoldering embers. He could tell, someone had burned the midnight oil with this one, it couldn't have been out for more than a few bells. After the forge was stocked, he kneeled and took up the billows. With a strong, yet gentle squeeze, he coaxed air into the embers, encouraging the rising temperature. "Come on, time to work. Time to wake up, it's a brand new day." He gave the coals another measured wake up call from the billows.
"There we go. Let's get started then." He chimed, leaning down to drive his crimson fist into the coals. He gave them a light stir, mixing cold coal with the smolderimg embers that now glow just right. The temperature felt good - on the right track to perfection, he believed. All he needed now was to coax it a bit more and he would be ready for the metal.
