Recent posts, stories, and updates shared by this member. Friends-only entries appear only when your account has permission to read them.
6 posts shown on this page.
The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and stale desperation, a familiar perfume of the mines. Above me, the entrance to the abandoned air shaft yawned like a hungry maw, exhaling a faint, chilling breath. I ran a gloved hand over the rough-hewn rock face, feeling the cold indifference of the mountain. Duty called, as it always did on, especially when the mountain decided to reclaim its b…
The midday sun beat down on the granary, baking the massive stone blocks we were wrestling from place. My muscles burned, a familiar, welcome ache that spoke of honest labor and purpose. "Heave, lads, heave!" I called, my voice echoing off the newly quarried stone. The air was thick with dust and the smell of sweat, a symphony of effort. We were building the new guard barracks, a formidable struc…
The sun, a lenient golden orb in the sky over Ar, cast long, benevolent shadows across the meticulously tended garden behind our home. The air, usually thick with the scents of commerce and the distant cries of vendors from the city proper, was here a symphony of rustling leaves, the gentle hum of unseen insects, and the delicate perfume of blooming Ar-flowers that Elizabeth so loved. My hand…
The late afternoon sun, a bruised orange against the grey stone of Ar’s tallest spire, was doing its best to penetrate the thick, lead-paned windows of my workshop. It mostly failed, leaving the room in a state of perpetual twilight, perfect for obscuring the truly scandalous amounts of dust that clung to every surface. I didn’t mind. Dust was merely the ghost of work completed, or work yet to…
The morning air, crisp and carrying the faint scent of stone dust and river water, was a familiar balm to my soul. I stood on the partially assembled scaffolding, high above the murmuring conduit of the Great Aqueduct of Ar, surveying the task before us. My hands, hardened by years of shaping rock and timber, now rested on the worn, moss-covered capstones that channeled Ar’s lifeblood across t…
My muscles screamed, a familiar protest after weeks of relentless toil along the Vosk. The chill night air of Ar, though still biting with the promise of dawn, was a balm compared to the humid, mosquito-ridden riverbanks I’d left behind. The great Vosk River aqueduct stood proud and strong, a testament to my craft, a marvel of stone and human will, but my thoughts were not of mortar and flow. The…