Post by Chaz on Jun 7, 2012 17:49:51 GMT -5
From the outside, a multi-level mansion, bricks and glass rundown and damaged, the mortar being reclaimed by the vines and wilderness. One or two chimneys still exist, held fast with brass supports and pipes. A series of vents span the roof, seemingly weakening it.
But the blacksmith wouldn't have moved in if he wasn't sure it could be...improved. Part of the mansion's floors had caved into the middle, and it was here he' d put his forge. A circle of tools and benches and the ever-present fire and clanging of machinery, lovingly assembled and cared for. The walls were rebuilt, supported with metal joists, open to the air on one side. On either side of the forge area, what remained of the floors had been reinforced, spiraling stairs and sliding poles leading to and from the uppermost floors. On the one side the engineer had placed his bed and belongings, and above him his daughter's. On the opposite side was where the musician was welcome, anytime he pleased.
It was broken, haphazard, fleetingly stable, and so much like the blacksmith himself it was strange to look at. A long time to work on the ruined building just outside town, and a long time to learn and grow with it. As his daughter grew into a young woman, the man matured himself, but not so much he lost the spark that drove his clockwork heart. A bit less awkward, a bit stronger in body and conviction, but no less utterly devoted to those near him.
Like all machines, the engineer needed drive and purpose. The Foundry fired his heart, gave him drive, and his family directed his life, gave him purpose.