Great Foundry (Planescape)

From Karriviki

Great Foundry

Clueless catching sight of the Great Foundry for the first time look like real leatherheads. Their eyes get as big as fried vrock eggs, and they swivel their heads around like they're mounted on mop sticks trying to take everything in. This Foundry ain't the village smithy.

The Godsmen make their headquarters in the heart of the Lower Ward. It's a grimy section of Sigil, with narrow, twisting streets and crookerd, soot-covered shops and houses. The sods here look pale, bent, and furtive, most of them artisans intent on hoarding craft secrets. Visitors asking locals the way to the Great Foundry will likely get no answer. Only bubbers too long on nearby Alehouse Row'd have a hard time seeing the stacks of the metalworks belching smoke above the roof line.

The Great Foundry's two 10-foot-wide main gates never fail to impress a basher. The wrought-iron frame's as tall as most neighboring inns and houses, and each gate swings on hinges as thick as a smith's thigh! The guards here look as intimidating, too. And a glance at the jagged, massive metal-works (called just the foundry) nestled in its semicircle of stacks tells a body that a powerful faction indeed runs the place.

The Great Foundry's main yard looks dismal and dirty - a gravel expanse surrounded by dingy walls and humped with piles of rubble and unsmelted ores. The roaring of fires and ringing of forges grows deafening after just a few minutes. Still, the imposing mass of the metal-works reaching toward the sky lends grandeur to its sodden surroundings. This brick edifice looms a full 10 stories tall. Huge, iron-mullioned windows flood its interior with light. Equally huge portals allow wains full of ore to roll right inside.

Spending time inside this foundry building makes a body start to think Baator'd be a nice place to cool off. Fiery-mawed furnances the size of barns seem to yawn everywhere on looks. Pulleys bigger than the bashers working them boom like giant hemlocks. Crucibles large enough for an ogre's bath brim full of molten metal. Namers scurry about in the sweltering heat, bringing drinking water to the metal men. Some don't last long - seems they decide they don't have a taste for dodging drops of boiling steel in air hotter than oven.

The sheet-works, bar-works, and mold-works are all just smaller versions of the huge and complex metal-works. Few smithies, prime or planar, can prepare a body to work the liquid metal at the Great Foundry.