The Little Smith Picture

The feel of a hammer striking glowing steel.

The smell of earl grey, laced with honey.

The warmth of a stoked fire.

The way it danced when bellowed.

And the simple sensation of progress.

Could he ask for any more than that? Than a place where he could simply work? Simply focus? As long as he kept his mind centered and his hands moving, it mattered not what was happening outside of those stone walls, beyond the gentle inferno of the forge.

"Awfully quiet over the anvil, kid." The old-timer snapped him from his trance, pounding a piece of plate metal into an acceptable barrel for yet another carbine.

Simon blinked, looking at the figure by the door. How long had he been there? How long had Simon been there? Mind constantly active yet absent nonetheless.

"Where do you go?" The old man said, raising an old, thick brow.

"...I guess I sorta...stay right here." He spread his arms, motioning to the rest of the forge.

The old man's weary eyes gazed at him for a moment, and then shrugged, shifting a bit as if to affirm a thought to himself regarding the boy. He walked across the room, opening a small drawer and pulling out a small file, newer than the tools that surrounded it

"Just stopping by for this. Claire's horns need a bit of tending."

And then he was gone.

Simon let out a silent sigh.

And then swung his hammer again.

That sound. The glorious sound.

Gods. That sound.



Hey guys.

Bastion.

Yeah.

Bastion.

This was going to be some kind of character profile for Simon. Sort of a pedestal for him to stand on that personifies who he is. But I drew an environment so large that I couldn't draw Simon with enough detail. Still, I got this nice little floating skyforge thing that's cool. Sorta. Colored it and shit.
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