Chapter 1

The windowsill made itself seen on the all-white walls. His curtains were spread open. From side to side, the burgundy drapes fell upon the wooden windowsill. He built it from scratch. Between the windowsill and the bed was a large wooden stand. The stand's height was equal to the height of the bed. The windowsill and the stand were on the right-side of the bed. It's a one-room house. The journey from his bedroom to the living room would be a short one. Connecting the bedroom door to the living room was a hallway. Again, the distance was short, including the hallway. The kitchen is also in the living room. The living room was in the shape of a square. In the upper-right corner of the square was the kitchen. Between the bedroom and the living room is the restroom. The carpet was cream. Three mattresses were on top of each other. The sleeper has a blanket and a pillow. He didn't bother with putting down a sheet under the blanket. The blanket and pillow were blue. The mattresses were made with polyester yarns combined with cotton. The color of the mattresses were white. The bed is pressed up against the wall.

His eyelashes struggled to release the captive irises. He grunted out a sigh. He was sleeping on his back. Flat and straight. He pinched his forehead with a frown. The deep lines that surfaced gave the frown more definition. He balled his hands and wiped the cobwebs out of the cervices of his eyes. He blinked his eyes to make sure the ''eye-boogers'' were gone. He sat up, pressing the pillow against the wall for support. His back slightly leaned against the pillow. The softness of the pillow comforted his lower-back. His head was titled back against the wall. He shifted his head to the right. He narrowed his caramel eyes at the wooden stand. It was thin at the base. It would spread out in width at the top. It was simple, but effective. Hanging from the stand was a brownish, cream-like tunic. A candle was placed next to the tunic, the fire had burned most of the beeswax away, leaving a crude pile of wax in its wake. He got out of bed and stretched. He hooked the forearm around the triceps of his left arm and pulled with his right arm. His left arm strained against the pull by his twin. He twisted his back, rolled his neck and touched his toes. He felt each stiff muscle pull against each other, providing relief. He stopped stretching and gave a loud yawn. He made a fist and covered his mouth, some of his breath reflecting back at him. He grimaced, the fabled ''morning breath'' reminding him of the reason for its title. He put on his tunic. The sleeves of the tunic stopped at his elbows. He felt his eyes grow weary. He struggled to keep his eyes open, as he knew he'd need something to wake himself up.

He sluggishly moved towards his bedroom door. He opened it and walked down the hallway, towards the living room. From his view, the kitchen was to the far-right. In the upper-left corner there was a gray couch. It lied horizontally, pushed as far as it could in the corner. In front of the couch was a small burgundy table. Close to his left-shoulder, without turning you'd see a large bookshelf. A numerous amount of books are lined up side by side. He grunted out a frustrated complaint as he just noticed he passed the bathroom. He turned the faucet and let the water flow, gathering it in his hands. He splashed some on his face and looked in the mirror. The color of his hair was a dark-brown. His hair was unusually long – it could reach his ankles. It's a good thing he had it wrapped up in rubber-bands. His beard connected with itself from ear to ear. It didn't have much length, but his beard was thick and bushy. His mustache was also thick – it would spread over his upper-lip and connect with his beard. He took another yawn and felt fully awake. Leaving the bathroom, he walked towards the living room to leave the house. As he opened the door he heard the loud noise of a bustling crowd.

The noise from the crowd irritated him. He liked his house. He just didn't like the area of his residence. His house is situated in the marketplace. A small marketplace. Still, it was aggravatingly loud. A number of people – bartering, selling and buying. There was a good amount of stands clustered together, side by side. He walked towards the stand, titled: 'food.' ''I assume you're here for the usual?'' The owner of the stand, asked him. ''Did you just meet me?'' The customer grunted out, impatiently. ''Okay Mr.-grumpy, here you go.'' The merchant placed the food on top of the stand. '' ... Do you want help with that?'' The customer stood on his tipsy-toes, his stubbly hands reaching for the food. He turned his eyes up and looked at the merchant with stubborn determination. He leaned against the stand and teeter-tottered against it. Moving from side-to-side, he reached up – almost falling upon his own weight – and quickly snatched the food off the stand. Some of the water doused him, giving his face a quick shine. He quickly fled the scene with his glass of water and bread, his face exploding with a red blush. The merchant gave an exasperated sigh as he stood behind his stand. He picked up the silver pieces that the customer littered on his stand and put them in his pocket. ''Now that the 'midget' is gone can we buy some food?'' Someone said that sarcastically, he tried to see who it was, but all he saw was huge line of customers. He gave a sheepish grin, scratching the back of his head in embarrassment. It seemed his 'customer' took up a good amount of his time.

He took a furious bite of his bread. Gnawing on the food with a frown stuck on his face. Relief spread though his veins at the sight of his shop's door. The shop was entered with a stomp and a growl, the wood creaking under the aggressive offender. The shape of the first-room of the shop is a square. The entrance would give you a simple view of the shop. The first room was the lounge. A simple couch was placed in front of a small table. Two entrances to two rooms would be one of the first things you'd see. Above the two door-less entrances would be two signs titled, 'Weapons' and 'Armor.' With weapons on the right and armor on the left. Inside the rooms would be a series of weapons and armor in display cases. To the left lied a small counter; behind it was a door leading to the blacksmiths workplace. Loud stomps sounded the pathway to the couch. He gave a relaxed grunt as he felt the couch hug his form. The glass of water in his hand was placed on the table. It was still morning. He wouldn't expect any customers this early in the day. The blush on his face died down as he ate his breakfast. In a matter of moments the huge piece of bread was swallowed. Wobbling over to the shop's counter was somewhat difficult. The counter was moderately small. Put in the lower-left corner of the room, it was somewhat cutoff from the rest of the room. With no pathway behind the counter, one could try to climb over it.

He leaned against the counter and brainstormed. His arms reached for the edge, it couldn't be too hard right? Thick fingers grasped onto the edges and pulled with all the effort in the world. He felt his toes lift off the ground, slightly gliding in the air. The head would be the first part of the body to reach above the counter. Beads of sweat fell off his forehead and into his mouth. The bitter taste made him frown with grim determination. Eventually, half of his stomach was above the counter. He leaned on top of the counter with his upper-body as support. His body was now set in a horizontal position. The upper-body was okay, but his lower-body was stuck hanging in the air. The legs flailed in the air with persistence. His flailing stopped when he realized he'd obtained a moderate amount of balance and stability. However, now he was stuck in place. He gave a sigh and took a quick break on the counter. The yawn that escaped from his lips made his eyes flutter. He grunted with stubborn determination and pressed on wards. Unfortunately, he forgot that the counter was somewhat small. Enough of his upper-body was on top of the counter to tilt him over. His journey to the pavement would be a monumental tale of triumph and determination. The yelp that fled from his mouth would be a courageous cry against the ''evil counter.'' Bards would sing tales of a Blacksmith and his battles against his own shop. Well, I guess not 'all' of those things would happen.