The sun rode low in the sky over Uruk, marking the end of another day on Mesa Roja. Already the oppressive heat of the desert world began to fade, an almost pleasant precursor to the deathly chill that night would bring. All throughout the city, the various shops and businesses prepared to close their doors, for only the very foolish, or the very desperate, ever braved the icy winds that blew down the streets at night.
Yet, in one of those shops, a soft glow spilled onto the twilight streets. Within, a man continued his work with an ignorance of time borne from deep enjoyment of a task well done. Sparks danced with each blow of the hammer, illuminating the sun-darkened face of the smith as he beat the steel into shape. The piece, red and glowing, was nearly done. It was the last for the day; the culmination of an order for horseshoes which the farrier had requested earlier in the week.
Finally satisfied with his work, Zauz quenched the arc of steel and placed it within a barrel with all its brethren. Only then did he notice the nearly pitch darkness outside his small shop. There was no need to worry about the icy wind in there, however. A smithy was never cold. Not so long as the smith continued his work. But… it was a good time to close up shop for the day.
Methodically, and almost robotically, Zauz went through the tasks necessary to prepare the forge for a night of disuse. The banking and covering of the coals, to prevent a fire as well as ensure a quick start to the next day. The checking of tools for damage, before hanging them in their places on the wall. Pulling down the shutters and opening the ceiling vent. And, lastly, passing through the 'front desk' area of the shop, key in hand and ready to lock up for the night.
A faint smile tugs at the Gerudo's lips as he passes the desk. Upon it, a small potted cactus is the sole decoration of the room. Nodding to it, as another might a fellow employee, he wishes Señor Cactilido a pleasant night, locks the door, and climbs the stairs towards his living quarters.
His workshop/home was far from a large building, and most of it was dominated by the smithy itself. Zauz's actual living space was little more than a glorified bedroom, with a bed, a small washbasin, and a trunk for his clothes taking up all the space.
Having gotten caught up in his work, he didn't have time for a proper bath at the local bathhouse, nor time to get dinner from the tavern. Instead, he had to settle for a quick wash with the warm, stale water in his basin, and a hunk of bread left over from the mid-day meal the kind woman who worked at the tailor's place had brought him. It would have to do.
Still, as Zauz settled down for sleep, he couldn't help but to wish he'd been able to eat something a little more substantial. Perhaps he'd wake up early in the morning and get a large breakfast in before work.
Yet, in one of those shops, a soft glow spilled onto the twilight streets. Within, a man continued his work with an ignorance of time borne from deep enjoyment of a task well done. Sparks danced with each blow of the hammer, illuminating the sun-darkened face of the smith as he beat the steel into shape. The piece, red and glowing, was nearly done. It was the last for the day; the culmination of an order for horseshoes which the farrier had requested earlier in the week.
Finally satisfied with his work, Zauz quenched the arc of steel and placed it within a barrel with all its brethren. Only then did he notice the nearly pitch darkness outside his small shop. There was no need to worry about the icy wind in there, however. A smithy was never cold. Not so long as the smith continued his work. But… it was a good time to close up shop for the day.
Methodically, and almost robotically, Zauz went through the tasks necessary to prepare the forge for a night of disuse. The banking and covering of the coals, to prevent a fire as well as ensure a quick start to the next day. The checking of tools for damage, before hanging them in their places on the wall. Pulling down the shutters and opening the ceiling vent. And, lastly, passing through the 'front desk' area of the shop, key in hand and ready to lock up for the night.
A faint smile tugs at the Gerudo's lips as he passes the desk. Upon it, a small potted cactus is the sole decoration of the room. Nodding to it, as another might a fellow employee, he wishes Señor Cactilido a pleasant night, locks the door, and climbs the stairs towards his living quarters.
His workshop/home was far from a large building, and most of it was dominated by the smithy itself. Zauz's actual living space was little more than a glorified bedroom, with a bed, a small washbasin, and a trunk for his clothes taking up all the space.
Having gotten caught up in his work, he didn't have time for a proper bath at the local bathhouse, nor time to get dinner from the tavern. Instead, he had to settle for a quick wash with the warm, stale water in his basin, and a hunk of bread left over from the mid-day meal the kind woman who worked at the tailor's place had brought him. It would have to do.
Still, as Zauz settled down for sleep, he couldn't help but to wish he'd been able to eat something a little more substantial. Perhaps he'd wake up early in the morning and get a large breakfast in before work.