In working on the story begun w/ my previous entry's brainstorming I started thinking about theme, mood, and setting. Following through w/ that I thought that I'd try some scene painting as it were w/out fleshing out any characters, so that's what this exercise is about.
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The great, black locomotive rocketed forward on it's inexorable trajectory along the tracks. The explosive force that had removed an expansive section of the support trestle had previously steered the train around the adamantine edifice of the towering donjon. Without the guidance of the rails the train's momentum dictated it's direction... straight into the wall of the keep.
Across the city citizens struggled to keep their feet while those in the nearby blocks closest to the catastrophe suffered from temporary hearing loss. A jet black smoke rose from the wreckage obscuring the street below and the paths along the crenelations above.

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She stepped through the steaming manhole beneath the subway tunnel, the meager light cast by her dim lamp creating many channels of shadow. There was enough light to reveal the holes of grating circling down into the darkness supported by curved, studded girders. Taking a broken pencil out of her pocket she deliberately dropped it into the darkness below. It clanged against the supportwork for some time.
(Note: I'm concerned that this image might be cliche, however it also seems like an obvious metaphor for my theme. Thoughts?)
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The sandhog came to the end of the street and stood before the wall. The stones used to built it were too massive for any one man to have moved by himself, nay a small team would need mechanical assistance. He looked up to see the top of the barrier only to see clouds brushing the stonework before viewing the pinnacle of the wall. How was he supposed to get up there?