[u][b]The Refinery and Forges[/b][/u]

Behind the shop front and counter of any blacksmiths is a smoking land of fire and hammer, anvil and bucket. In such a land things were dim - the clanking, crashing and battering of future merchandise filled the air and mixed with the metallic aroma that hung there. Aiana's was a humble land, not small or large but the perfect size for everything to run efficiently.
 
Her workers numbered five, all strong and experienced at their jobs. Her three forge workers were all Dwarven, being short and strong respectively, they were able turn even the dullest blade into a capable edge with great detail in design and structure. Then there was the muscle, a large orc named Oprik and an equally large but slightly fatter human by the name Xence. It was Xence that worked the forges, shoveling the raw materials day in and day out, without him their would be no refined ores to work with. 

The Orc Oprik was a lifter and carrier. He moved the shipments from the mines in the mountains inside for Xence to sort through and shifted any heavy goods that came his way. It was, unfortunately, he who was the first the three would be assassins came across. They had made their way over the iron fence that stood firmly between the alley way and the delivery area behind the smithy, and were now approaching the unsuspecting Orc.

Luckily for him Oprik was a swift worker and turned, iron ore filled sack in hand, to see their blades brandished. Instinctively he threw the sack forward with all his might onto the closest combatant, the immense weight buckling their comparatively frail body to the stone ground. Just as quickly as this happened he reached to his wide hip and took his Orcish bone mace from its holster.

They were wary to approach his hulking and now armed form, and so two circled one, or perhaps  the one circled two, it would be hard to tell for any onlooker - a fluid dance of death. With a growl Oprik crashed his mace on the ground and roared with every ounce of breath he had, sending an almost visible ripple into the air as the deep thump and booming threat sounded over the roofs. He wasn't to fight alone against these cowardly hires.

Craning his thick neck to the door, one pale eye wavering on the grey clad blades, he shouted ferociously back into the smithy smoke hoping for assistance. 

[color=f7976a][b]"TROUBLE!"[/b][/color]