Mine Own Invention

Three gears, a brass pressure vessel, and one complication confidently described as minor.

Bright propulsion and clockwork energy make each mishap feel less like failure than the unveiling of an unexpected feature. The song shares its artificer’s refusal to stand still: when one device launches a chicken or misplaces a barbarian, the rhythm is already carrying him toward the improved model.

To an artificer, a scorch mark is experience, an explosion a successful experiment conducted somewhat too enthusiastically, and a catastrophe merely evidence that the next attempt shall be magnificent. Such optimism made the character irresistible to me. Unlike the wizard, who trusteth ancient knowledge, or the fighter, who trusteth discipline, the artificer trusteth chiefly in himself. If no suitable tool existeth, he simply buildeth one. Whether it performeth its intended purpose is, in his estimation, a matter best evaluated after the demonstration.

I desired that the song celebrate not failure, but relentless invention. The artificer never loseth confidence because his machines occasionally fling chickens across the countryside or propel barbarians beyond the visible horizon. Such outcomes merely reveal possibilities previously undiscovered. Indeed, I suspect his companions protest far less than they pretend, for they continue returning to his workshop with new commissions despite every alarming precedent. There is something deeply admirable in such a soul: one who beholdeth the world not as it is, but as it might become after the addition of three gears, a brass pressure vessel, and what he confidently describeth as “a minor complication.” Were progress always sensible, history would remember far fewer names.