Progress as i promised
Only small steps in a forward like direction with this, but i’m happy with how this is beginning to look. Got the body still to do but should have something approaching finished by late tomorrow evening.
The title sort of sums up what this post is, i used to write back before university every night and just recently have missed that way of communication. So tonight i wrote a small prologue to an idea i had and thought i would post it to see what feedback i could gleen. Its not quite the form it should be and i’ve really crammed my thoughts into every sentence, so read and tell me what you think (and please don’t think of my as a pretentious ass after finishing it);
Hammer to anvil. The methodical crash of metal against metal like the constant tick of a perversely large clock. Under lying the perpetual tock of the man’s work many sounds arose to accompany the symphony of his labours. Staccato cracks of burnt wood falling into the pit of a furnace, the occasional deep baritone of blazing air funnelled and released through a chimney and the subtle ambience of the forge, which in hours past might have been falsely described as dusty silence. All these sounds painted the backdrop to the craftsman’s work.
A casual observer would have not looked twice at the man silhouetted by the fires of the forge behind him. They may have been impressed as many are by the act of a man bending something as hardy as steel to their will, a feat which never ceases to amaze. They may have noticed his large build, not uncommon amongst blacksmiths. His facial features could have possibly been described as more worn and world weary than most, but it could have also been said that everyone was living in hard times, some living through harder than most. The observer would dismiss the man as another face in the crowd, an extra in the play of life. This observer would be mistaken.
Muscles bunched and released across the blacksmith’s arm as the hammer came ringing down once again on the anvil in front of him. Clasped tightly in his other hand a blade shook and jittered under the blow, force of will keeping it steady. He was at peace, or at least as at peace as a man such as himself could be. His thoughts didn’t wander. They dared not.
The blacksmith had already taken his final bow on the stage of life, or so he hoped. He had left deep foot prints across many kingdoms, permanently marked now by his passage. The earth he had once stood upon had wrapped itself around him like a cloak its form forever altered by his presence. Like the metal in his hand the land itself had been bent to his will. And after the curtain had fallen on his last great act, his final reckoning, he had slid into the unknown. The blacksmith worked through the night, gruelling labour keeping the memories at bay. Unsuspecting that his encore was fast approaching and his greatest performance was yet to unravel.
… I work. Came home today and have started to bash out more of Joe’s body, got to tighten up some of the topology but is going well so far. Feedback is always welcome