The door falls away, and just like that, Shiro is whisked through and plopped back into another section of Kenmore.
Based on the weather, it's a balmy summer afternoon. The sun is high, and the sea is alive with the sound of boats casting off. He's in front of a large building where the sound of metal clanging rings out. Under a large awning is a huge furnace with a stout man banging away at something at his anvil. He's about five foot, with arms like burly oak branches. He's got salt and pepper mutton chops that lead right into a bushy mustache black mustache. He's mostly bald, with a halo of hair that's pulled back tightly into a pony tail. He approached by a slender knight in full plate mail armor, but not a lot can be heard over the banging at the anvil.
The stout man stops in response to an unheard question, then nods to the door.
"Oi! Darin! Get your rear in gear, you have a customer!"
"Coming!" Darin's voice echoes from inside the establishment but something's...off about it. It seemed a little...hoarse? Like he'd been screaming so much that his voice has given out. And Shiro's about to see why. Out steps Darin, no more than sixteen years old. He's still gangly but there's some muscle starting to build on his frame. He's still pigeon-toed and his hands and feet almost seem to big for his frame. Perhaps the biggest difference is the fact that his normally short, spikey hair is braided and pulled halfway down his back. That, and he's sporting a poor attempt at a soul patch on his chin.
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Based on the weather, it's a balmy summer afternoon. The sun is high, and the sea is alive with the sound of boats casting off. He's in front of a large building where the sound of metal clanging rings out. Under a large awning is a huge furnace with a stout man banging away at something at his anvil. He's about five foot, with arms like burly oak branches. He's got salt and pepper mutton chops that lead right into a bushy mustache black mustache. He's mostly bald, with a halo of hair that's pulled back tightly into a pony tail. He approached by a slender knight in full plate mail armor, but not a lot can be heard over the banging at the anvil.
The stout man stops in response to an unheard question, then nods to the door.
"Oi! Darin! Get your rear in gear, you have a customer!"
"Coming!" Darin's voice echoes from inside the establishment but something's...off about it. It seemed a little...hoarse? Like he'd been screaming so much that his voice has given out. And Shiro's about to see why. Out steps Darin, no more than sixteen years old. He's still gangly but there's some muscle starting to build on his frame. He's still pigeon-toed and his hands and feet almost seem to big for his frame. Perhaps the biggest difference is the fact that his normally short, spikey hair is braided and pulled halfway down his back. That, and he's sporting a poor attempt at a soul patch on his chin.
He thinks he looks cool. He looks like a tool.