The Mask (Excuse for Absence)

I wrote a small story and with the help of Chloe, and a bit from Teo managed to fleshed it out pretty good, and this is gonna be my excuse for Manner's absence during the weekend until Sunday, I hope it's an enjoyable read.

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The hammer smashed towards the anvil as sweat dripped from the smith's face, was it due to the warmth of his work or the barrel resting against the back of his head?
Maybe a mix, Montague thought as he cocked the pistol to increase the pace of the man's work, tapping his boot gently on the floor in stress and partial boredom.

"I've stood here for ten minutes, I thought you were one of the best around, hm?" Montague hoarsely spat out towards the smith, who flinched in fear with the barrel stroking against the back of his head like death's caress itself.
"I'll be done soon, sir! I promise! Don't do anything stupid, I've got a wife and five kids!" he nervously yelled out, feeling a sharp, burning pain on the back of his head afterward - Montague was holding an unfinished sword in it's orange glow as it just was bathed in flames, that left a mark on the bald smith's backhead.
"I told you to hurry up, the mask won't get done from you crying about a wife and kids!" Montague exclaimed, stepping his boot next to smith's foot and the hammering sped up, shaping out a metal mask depicting a grinning skull made in metal with black, soulless eyes made out of glass.
"I-I-If I may ask, what are you u-u-u-using this mask for?" the smith stuttered out, to which the former Sheriff simply patted him on the head and made a quick reply.
"There are things some should understand, me wearing a mask with a shit-eating grin larger than mine, isn't one of them."

A few minutes later the same spoken of mask laid on a table for its last adjustments - a rough outline having been painted on for the grin, depicting a perfect symmetry for a madman, the rest of the mask got purposefully blemished, a marking of imperfection and corruption of the individual man.

Montague walked up up to the smith and gave him another patronizing pat on the head.
"Great work there, Bernard, maybe there is some worth in keeping you around."
The collision of a stock to the head could be heard followed by a thud, and the sound of somebody departing through the smithy. The smith reached over to the sack of gold waiting on the floor, when voice, coming from the hall, catches up with him.
"Now go home, and be a family man."

On the table, the mask was gone.