Post by Sire Halfblack on Jul 2, 2010 11:20:19 GMT
The personal smithy of The Forge is a great large sprawling affair taking up a whole street. The Grand Smithy is a place of terrible noises and choking heat. Hammers the height of a man crash into anvils the size of small wagons. Urchins run within immense wheels to turn belts to work the ogre bellows and chimneys reaching high into the sky belch thick black smoke that sparkles that sparks and rising embers. Heaps of spoil flow into neighbouring areas and people eager for work, however foul line the entrance to Jander’s gate each evening.
Expanded further the Grand Smithy has become the Forge's Kings Smithy. The streets taken up with the Smithy are sealed in by a wall of beaten iron and banded in dark brass. Roofs rise and join and smoke stacks rise ever higher as they seek both to expel their filth and draw air from above the already dense poison smog of the city. Oxen turns great wheels within, children scamper with buckets of fat to keep the belts oiled and a cacophony of noise surrounds the nearby streets.
Expanded further the Grand Smithy has become the Forge's Kings Smithy. The streets taken up with the Smithy are sealed in by a wall of beaten iron and banded in dark brass. Roofs rise and join and smoke stacks rise ever higher as they seek both to expel their filth and draw air from above the already dense poison smog of the city. Oxen turns great wheels within, children scamper with buckets of fat to keep the belts oiled and a cacophony of noise surrounds the nearby streets.