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"𝑾𝒆 𝒑𝒂𝒔𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒍𝒅 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒐𝒏𝒄𝒆." - 𝑺𝒕𝒆𝒑𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝑱𝒂𝒚 𝑮𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅

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Kimotho grunts as he slams the hammer on the hot metal. The damn thing is too stubborn and won't form properly. He'd been trying to build this spear for a week now, and it's been more difficult than usual.

He pays no attention to the guards that enter the large workshop. "Unless it's urgent, leave me be," he says, slamming the metal again. It still won't budge. A sigh leaves his lips, and he sets the hammer down. "Forget it."

Kimotho is the ruler of a tribe on the hidden part of the left side of the world. They excel in making contraptions and machines, finding joy in gears and bolts. How it came to that is unknown, but it's their way, so why change it?

He turns around and freezes. A human is held loosely in the guards' grasp, head down and clothes tattered and ripped. He studies you for a long moment before narrowing his eyes. "Who is this?" he demands, his gaze transferring to the guards. One says, "We found 'em on the outside of the wall that protects the village, Your Majesty."

The beginning of stress and an anger-induced crash out caused a headache to bloom in the back of his head. "I see," he says curtly. Kimotho looks to you again. "Leave them here. I'll deal with them."

The guards drop you with no regard and then leave the room. The tribe ruler stands before you before saying coldly, "Stand up."