Post by Master Squire Hirehorn on Nov 30, 2012 2:07:34 GMT -5
Squee...thump.....Squee....Thump....Squee
A callused hand grasped the edge of the hanging sign and stilled its broken motion. One of the iron hooks having rusted away it swung awkwardly on its rusted arm. Rough, bruised and cut fingers, brushed away the build up of dirt and debris from the embossing in the metal plate. A lone anvil sitting upon a hill top shaded from the beaming sun by a leafless tree. The paint was all gone now from the sign, tarnished and black metal reflected in the sun light.
Hirehorn sighed a heavy, heartfelt sigh as he pushed open the old wooden door to his shoppe. The door made it half way open before the bolts gave way under its own weight and fell. Large chunks of wood shot across the floor, pieces of the floor itself fell away. Giant dust clouds began to dance through the old store as the stale air became disturbed. The smell of must and mildew filled his nose,making his mustache twitch, as he walked to the middle of the entry way.
It had been far to long since he had made his way into his old home and work place in so long. No longer did weapons and materials line the shelves and bins. No longer were the work orders pined to the walls or pet projects strewn about the workshop. What he had not taken with him was left for what ever creature would have them. Other then the whole building itself the only items that he could find in the whole place were the anvil and forge. Which would have been foolish and not worth the time to move for most people.
He knelled next to the anvil, placing as worn cheek on the cold steel he hugged the anvil as anyone would have greeted an old friend. Sitting back he stared at the shaped piece of metal and chuckled as he wiped away dust. "Fear prophets a man nothing" scrawled into the side of the base for the anvil. A constant reminder for him when things began to overwhelm him. A motto that had served him well in all times of his life, here and off afar.
He reached over, trailing his fingers across the etched words. Grabbing the sides of the base around the motto he jerked away the stone face. The cracking of mortar and the clicking of small stone echoed in the empty building. A small hollow in the base concealed under a blanket of cob webs. He pulled the items free of their small masters, standing he placed the parcel on the work area next to the anvil. Carefully he unwrapped the cloth from the items not knowing their condition.
Once again, in his hands, he held the tools of his trade. The hammer that had been passed down through the ages of his clan, The one thing he cherished most of all his belongings. He twirled the hammer in his hand,then his other and back and forth for a bit. He tested the handle to see if it had weakened or if the head had come loose. When he was satisfied he turned to the anvil. With all the power he could muster he stuck the top of the anvil. The sound that made his ears ring, made his spine shiver and his skin crawl and bump.
He struck multiple blows in the same way, but neither the hammer nor the anvil gave way. A small chuckle passed his lips, some things are just to stubborn to give up.He turned back to the table and re-wrapped the other tools,keeping his hammer in hand. He made one last sweep through the shop and his old home. Picking up the old sign he made his way for the door once again. When he stepped out to were the sign once hung, he swung the hammer and straightened out the remaining arm for the sign. He slid it onto the arm and bent the end up so it would hold the sign.
He and the whole place were out of place and outdated but that is what made them last so long.Hirehorn looked up at the sign once again but this time with faith and hope, not the disdain and despair of when he had left last time. It would take time but this hammer would once again rebuild the foundation he stood on and build his monument to success. This hammer would be his hope and master tool in reigniting a long lost spark, and rekindling a flame that burned as searing as the sun. This would also be its last time for his predecessor to aid him, from then on he would begin laying the stones of his own path for others to follow.
A callused hand grasped the edge of the hanging sign and stilled its broken motion. One of the iron hooks having rusted away it swung awkwardly on its rusted arm. Rough, bruised and cut fingers, brushed away the build up of dirt and debris from the embossing in the metal plate. A lone anvil sitting upon a hill top shaded from the beaming sun by a leafless tree. The paint was all gone now from the sign, tarnished and black metal reflected in the sun light.
Hirehorn sighed a heavy, heartfelt sigh as he pushed open the old wooden door to his shoppe. The door made it half way open before the bolts gave way under its own weight and fell. Large chunks of wood shot across the floor, pieces of the floor itself fell away. Giant dust clouds began to dance through the old store as the stale air became disturbed. The smell of must and mildew filled his nose,making his mustache twitch, as he walked to the middle of the entry way.
It had been far to long since he had made his way into his old home and work place in so long. No longer did weapons and materials line the shelves and bins. No longer were the work orders pined to the walls or pet projects strewn about the workshop. What he had not taken with him was left for what ever creature would have them. Other then the whole building itself the only items that he could find in the whole place were the anvil and forge. Which would have been foolish and not worth the time to move for most people.
He knelled next to the anvil, placing as worn cheek on the cold steel he hugged the anvil as anyone would have greeted an old friend. Sitting back he stared at the shaped piece of metal and chuckled as he wiped away dust. "Fear prophets a man nothing" scrawled into the side of the base for the anvil. A constant reminder for him when things began to overwhelm him. A motto that had served him well in all times of his life, here and off afar.
He reached over, trailing his fingers across the etched words. Grabbing the sides of the base around the motto he jerked away the stone face. The cracking of mortar and the clicking of small stone echoed in the empty building. A small hollow in the base concealed under a blanket of cob webs. He pulled the items free of their small masters, standing he placed the parcel on the work area next to the anvil. Carefully he unwrapped the cloth from the items not knowing their condition.
Once again, in his hands, he held the tools of his trade. The hammer that had been passed down through the ages of his clan, The one thing he cherished most of all his belongings. He twirled the hammer in his hand,then his other and back and forth for a bit. He tested the handle to see if it had weakened or if the head had come loose. When he was satisfied he turned to the anvil. With all the power he could muster he stuck the top of the anvil. The sound that made his ears ring, made his spine shiver and his skin crawl and bump.
He struck multiple blows in the same way, but neither the hammer nor the anvil gave way. A small chuckle passed his lips, some things are just to stubborn to give up.He turned back to the table and re-wrapped the other tools,keeping his hammer in hand. He made one last sweep through the shop and his old home. Picking up the old sign he made his way for the door once again. When he stepped out to were the sign once hung, he swung the hammer and straightened out the remaining arm for the sign. He slid it onto the arm and bent the end up so it would hold the sign.
He and the whole place were out of place and outdated but that is what made them last so long.Hirehorn looked up at the sign once again but this time with faith and hope, not the disdain and despair of when he had left last time. It would take time but this hammer would once again rebuild the foundation he stood on and build his monument to success. This hammer would be his hope and master tool in reigniting a long lost spark, and rekindling a flame that burned as searing as the sun. This would also be its last time for his predecessor to aid him, from then on he would begin laying the stones of his own path for others to follow.