To Brico, raising a building was a simple task. All it took was a solid foundation, strong walls to support it, a little artistic flair, and a roof that would hold. Of course, there was far more to it than that, but the builder, the intricate details between those steps were second nature. People, however? Well, people were difficult. No two were ever alike and no matter how much time you spend on making a home perfect for them, they would find something to complain about. Some small detail like the wrong color of doorknob, or they would insist the poorer insulating roof tiles were better because they were ‘prettier’. However, as long as someone paid the cost of materials, Brico would find whatever supplies he needed, load up his pack, mumble to himself about how wrong they were, and would not leave the lot until the last screw was secure, and not a speck of sawdust could be found. Then he would collect his pay, gather materials for the next job, and move on.
The majority of Brico’s existence was a solitary one, something he was more than content with. To him life was one long checklist that needed to be completed, or at least the attempt should be made to check off as many things as you could. For Brico, every single check box was a new project. A new fountain needed to be built in the town square, a dock needed repairs, the barracks were falling apart, old foundations needed to be replaced. Day in and day out he would toil to see the world become perfect in his eyes. He had hoped that one day, when he finally wore down and could no longer work, what he had made would outlast him and anyone that came after.
Brico can still recall the last construction he worked on in the city. A young family had taken in several children and needed room for them all. In hindsight, they were in desperate need of shelter, and they thanked Brico profusely for all of his hard work. Something he didn’t see much value in at the time as he gave them a dismissive wave and reminded them to keep the chimney clean as he took his leave. After that, he found himself idle as fewer people sought his services. What’s more is that he noticed his old projects having become abandoned as the weeks went on. Surely it was because some of his earlier work was less than perfect. He could see all of their flaws, one had nails at such an angle that the beams would only last two decades instead of three before they needed repairs. On another he had failed to account for the flow of water in the springtime and noticed damage on the exterior stones near the ground. These imperfections couldn’t stand, and since nobody was around to complain, he took them apart one by one. Each became a pile of reclaimed materials he used to refurbish old constructions and touch up some that were still occupied.
Brico had torn apart an entire neighborhood before he realized what he was doing, looking up one day to find one massive structure that was fit for a king, his family, servants, perhaps even the royal subjects! Only there was no king to rule and nobody to call the palace home. Brico looked around him, irritated with the mismatched buildings he had put together from the scraps of others. In the moment he was proud of each one, but looking at them all together? There was no flow, no logic to their placement and nothing seemed like it belonged on the same street, let alone in the same city.
Brico decided then it was time to leave his old home behind, thinking it easier to start fresh in a new place than to salvage and fix the mismatch of homes and shops he had built. Besides, what was the point with no one around to appreciate his work? After traveling for several days, Brico finally discovered what he perceived to be the perfect building site. The nearby forest proved an abundant source of materials, and Brico filled his pack with wood, stone, clay, and everything else he would need when he laid the groundwork for a city that would stand the test of time. As he collected some exposed ore to smith nails with, he found a winding trail leading away from the clearing. It was obvious to Brico that the path was made by a novice, with grass worn away by the dragging of heavy cargo and a river crossing made from a felled log. Navigating through the trees and underbrush, he found a hut made of wild fiber, twigs, and clay bricks He stared, bewildered at the hazardous dwelling, and when the owner emerged to greet him, Brico could only ask how the thing managed to stay upright. Such an eyesore shouldn’t be allowed to remain standing, but Brico was not the type to destroy someone else’s work. Using the spare supplies from his pack he got to work, the stranger watching with keen interest, asking dozens of questions about his technique. What type of wood should he use? What not copper nails? Why did his mud bricks not hold their shape? Brico, happy to finally discuss his craft again, was more than willing to answer every last question. It had been the most talkative he’d been in his entire life.
The scenario of Brico and the stranger played itself out a hundred times over with the many other strangers he met on his quest to rebuild the world. Each interaction memorialized with a new landmark in the form of a perfectly constructed dwelling, leaving a trail of temporary homes behind him. Though this trail ceased when he came across something he hadn’t seen in what felt like ages; a city. Not just a ramshackle cluster of half broken buildings, but an honest town. Roads paved with cobblestone, greenery hanging from every building, a well, a smith, even a town hall! All of it built with his style and technique with a flair of individual flavor. It was a city he could have designed, but he was thrilled that he had not. Brico no longer felt the need to build an empire alone, anymore. In fact, he realized what an impossible goal he had set for himself. No one person can build an empire, however one person can lay the first stone.