Inside the Blackforge
Little to no social life these past couple of years. I’ve been locked inside a studio, doing everything in my power to never go back to a job I’m not built for. Every day feels like hammering steel that refuses to take shape. But for once, the metal is bending.
The guitars don’t scream like power drills anymore — they command neck-breaking attention. Still not Joey Sturgis production, but there’s weight. The mixes don’t collapse into cardboard now; they wobble, like a twig heroically holding a piano above its head, but at least still standing. I’ll take it. This no longer sounds like amateur hour.
Strange how it feels now. I twist a knob, and sometimes, miraculously, something improves. Cubase still crashes, but now I know why — most of the time. Progress measured in fewer swear words per night. I can even play a mix next to Lamb of God or a recent Metallica track without wanting to crawl into my shell.
The games breathe louder too. Mist Rushers is mostly mapped out. Peachey’s bosses all have new designs (personally approved by Peachey herself). City of Blades has its gameplay document done; now it just needs art.
I’m still in the Blackforge. Still burning, still pounding. But the hammer rings back with a different sound. For the first time in years, it doesn’t feel like stalling — it feels like the project is slowly taking form. I needed a portfolio, and now the work in front of me will soon fill that void.