Mastov was a powerful man in the community. Boisterous and full of life. His six foot frame and charisma was what made him so popular. A light in any room. His energy would open up even the darkest of hearts. He worked as a mason who herald from the nearby coastal city of Gloucester. Though subtle, his Scottish roots were still evident in his accent. He owned a shop where he worked with iron and helped craft items for everyday livelihood. He was simple. A kind, caring, curious and compassionate man. He was a man that appeared to have no regrets or, if he had ,he had long since forgotten them. He enjoyed life and he enjoyed people.
One could often hear the song of his hammer singing. It's resonance weaving through the air into the early night as he shaped, and sharpened various tools mostly for local farmers, and craftsman out of iron in a small cottage by the sound. A private workspace he built a decade past originally to store his materials and hardware. It had since been expanded into a cauldron of inspired creation. Each night, as the sun set, the glow of the coals lit the house like a lantern reflecting off of the water while the iron chimed. For late night fishermen coming in from the day's catch, a beacon showing them the way home as it reverberated over the water across the sound.
A warm and consistent sextant for all those who where ever lost.
He worked passionately. Always from his heart and always curious as he let the divine play through him. Revealing each creation one note at a time through the inspired action of his arm as his heart bled into the hammer out into the metal.
Over time the same inspiration turned his cottage into a work of progressive living art. An expression of the divine that was a story unto itself still being written and read as the pages of carved plaster, mud, stone, and crystals continued to be written, molded, cut and carved into the walls with intricate designs and spaces. Spaces that over lapped with the natural environment as roots and branches caressed in, under through and over this cauldron like a lover reminding all that saw it that we are not separate. Each expression divinely deliberate. Each one crafted with multiple purposes in mind constantly stirring the imagination and shifting into new expressions as more pages were written into the architecture. Half of the iron work that he thought he was creating for others he discover were for him as they ended up on and in the walls strewn about in random ways that over time, they would discover, weren't so random.