Empire

Ironwright's Block: The Gears of Despair

In the shadow of the Great Wall of Vordenburg lies Ironwright's Block, a cramped assembly of soot-stained tenements and repurposed smithies. Here, the thrum of industrial shell-presses is never silent, vibrating through the shared brick walls and rattling the teeth of those living in the 'Sardine Boxes'—narrow apartments stacked five stories high. The air is a thick soup of coal smoke and chemical yellow smog, illuminated only by the rhythmic orange flare of the foundries and the sweeping blue searchlights of the Kaiser’s watchful Zeppelins. Tensions run high as neighbors trade whispered rumors over rationed rye bread. The local water pump, the only source for three city blocks, has begun tasting of oil and gunpowder, sparking a bitter feud between the foundry workers and the laundry-women. Every door has three locks, and every resident has an ear to the wall, listening for the heavy iron boots of the Black Eagle patrols or the scratching of sappers digging beneath the foundations.