anthorn
Well-Known Member
So, I am bored one day and decided to rewrite my first chapter as a steampunk esq fantasy.
Tell me what you think.
1019 year since the Great War
4019 3rd day of Fenibra Late Winter
The metal man looked sad hauling the crates across its shoulder, wheezing and groaning steam coming from holes where a nose should be as it moved past the apothecary window. Odd, she thought, that something made of inanimate substance could look so human.
“Two sachets of white leaf please.”
Broken from the realm of a daydream Nikita looked at the woman and was momentarily surprised by her appearance. Despite her stooped appearance she was tall and tendrils of white hair hung limp from beneath a hood suggesting secrets within. “I am sorry,” she said licking dry lips, “but white leaf can only be prescribed to someone with appropriate documents. Do you have the documents?”
The woman leans back and raps her fingers against the wood. “Documents? I have documents,” she said. Producing them from within the folds of her cloak, she waved them in front of her face, laughing at an unshared joke.
Nikita shrugged and took the papers, reading carefully. Satisfied she handed the papers back and brought the sachets from underneath the desk. Nodding thanks the woman left and she followed her to the door, watching as she vanished down the street. It seemed all she did was people watch from behind the counter these days, watching lovers, families, and metal men going about their daily routines. It was hardly the life she had expected when she had come to Lull, not that she’d been that keen in the first place.
The door opened and she looked up, smiling at the man as he made his way toward her. He smiled in return and it lit up his face, a smile always did brighten a person’s face she reckoned. “What can I do for you?” she asked.
He did not answer at first as he seemed more interested in what they had displayed on the walls. This was not unusual despite this shop catering more to those in the medical professions rather than the casual customer. Smiling at her again, he finally spoke. “You’re not from around here, are you?”
What an odd thing to say, she thought, but answered anyway. “No, I am from Imara. What can I do for you?”
“A lovely country that,” he said. “I went there myself once.”
Nikita tried not to show her irritation at this man seemingly intent on wasting her time. “What can I do for you?” she asked again. He was dressed in a grey greatcoat and wide brimmed hat.
“What? Oh, yes, sorry, I tend to wander off on whatever thought passes through my mind. Right, so what I want is simple, just some alcohol for cleansing wounds; and a rag.”
“Alright,” she said. “If you just wait a minute sir, I’ll need to go into the back.”
The man grinned. “I’ll be right here.”
Everyone knew it was prudent to keep the alcohol and the other substances of the like in the back away from easy reach; it was common sense really. She recalled one apothecary down toward Ritari Park had not done so and suffered for it. Like the other substances easily abused they were kept in a small windowless room. Taking two clear glass bottles fitting into the palm of her hand, she returned to find the man was gone. Curling her lip she opened the door and looked out onto the street, looking left and right for any sign of him; then slammed the door shut.
The waste of time customer was what decided it really, that it was time to go home, or the tavern to drink the days stresses away. Nikita locked the door and placed the key in the inside of her dark green overcoat. It was cold out, but having spent most of her life in Lull she had grown used to it. Still, it was hard not to miss the tropics of Imara every now and then. From the bottom of her street she turned right and headed up hill past a couple of bistros that were surprisingly empty for the time of day. Perhaps it was the weather, the cold air and icy ground that seemed to linger well after a hard winter, or maybe the taxes rising with every passing year. Whatever the reason, she was thankful for the moment of quiet this gave her, a moment ruined by the rumble of a passing Airship with black smoke billowing behind it as it vanished behind the high-rise buildings.
“For progress we sacrifice peace,” she muttered, repeating a phrase Mother Athina had often spoken. It was a phrase proven true several times over the course of her life in Lull. Was all progress bad though, or just the kind that bore away at personal freedoms? Times like these she was thankful Imara had not succumbed to this technological fetish.
Eventually the pristine streets of the Merchant District gave way to the grimier streets of Rotshold. Here the safety she’d felt before was proven false and she quickened her pace, wrapped her arms tight around herself. She wished Anthorn were here, but he had his own life too as a caravan guard. Had she the money she would have chosen a better place to live. Had she the money perhaps she wouldn’t even be here, but the fall of the Order of the Rose had seen to that, had seen to a lot of things.
Her home was a small modest building placed between two larger but similarly modest buildings. It was little more than a bedsit standing at the mouth of an area growing worse with each step. Reaching for the door she paused, hearing a scuffle off to her right. Not your business Nikita, she told herself though curiosity forced her toward it. It was a cat or a dog; it had to be a dog. Two dogs fighting that was it. Anthorn would kill her for doing this. There was no point in being a hero.
Coming to the opening of an alleyway, she peered inside and saw two figures struggling; one fat one thin. The fat one fell against the wall, gasping and clutching his chest while the thin one thrust a serrated dagger up through his chin. She gasped. A mistake that drew the killer’s attention toward her. The man tensed then raised a hand to his lips, indicating silence before running off. Stunned, she almost fainted. She had just witnessed a murder and survived.
Someone somewhere blew a whistle.
Tell me what you think.
Chapter One: The Streets Are Paved With Blood And ****.
Yet here I am before you, a vision undeniable.
So tell me my friend, how can I be dead?
Tomb of the Unknown Soldier
4019 3rd day of Fenibra Late Winter
The metal man looked sad hauling the crates across its shoulder, wheezing and groaning steam coming from holes where a nose should be as it moved past the apothecary window. Odd, she thought, that something made of inanimate substance could look so human.
“Two sachets of white leaf please.”
Broken from the realm of a daydream Nikita looked at the woman and was momentarily surprised by her appearance. Despite her stooped appearance she was tall and tendrils of white hair hung limp from beneath a hood suggesting secrets within. “I am sorry,” she said licking dry lips, “but white leaf can only be prescribed to someone with appropriate documents. Do you have the documents?”
The woman leans back and raps her fingers against the wood. “Documents? I have documents,” she said. Producing them from within the folds of her cloak, she waved them in front of her face, laughing at an unshared joke.
Nikita shrugged and took the papers, reading carefully. Satisfied she handed the papers back and brought the sachets from underneath the desk. Nodding thanks the woman left and she followed her to the door, watching as she vanished down the street. It seemed all she did was people watch from behind the counter these days, watching lovers, families, and metal men going about their daily routines. It was hardly the life she had expected when she had come to Lull, not that she’d been that keen in the first place.
The door opened and she looked up, smiling at the man as he made his way toward her. He smiled in return and it lit up his face, a smile always did brighten a person’s face she reckoned. “What can I do for you?” she asked.
He did not answer at first as he seemed more interested in what they had displayed on the walls. This was not unusual despite this shop catering more to those in the medical professions rather than the casual customer. Smiling at her again, he finally spoke. “You’re not from around here, are you?”
What an odd thing to say, she thought, but answered anyway. “No, I am from Imara. What can I do for you?”
“A lovely country that,” he said. “I went there myself once.”
Nikita tried not to show her irritation at this man seemingly intent on wasting her time. “What can I do for you?” she asked again. He was dressed in a grey greatcoat and wide brimmed hat.
“What? Oh, yes, sorry, I tend to wander off on whatever thought passes through my mind. Right, so what I want is simple, just some alcohol for cleansing wounds; and a rag.”
“Alright,” she said. “If you just wait a minute sir, I’ll need to go into the back.”
The man grinned. “I’ll be right here.”
Everyone knew it was prudent to keep the alcohol and the other substances of the like in the back away from easy reach; it was common sense really. She recalled one apothecary down toward Ritari Park had not done so and suffered for it. Like the other substances easily abused they were kept in a small windowless room. Taking two clear glass bottles fitting into the palm of her hand, she returned to find the man was gone. Curling her lip she opened the door and looked out onto the street, looking left and right for any sign of him; then slammed the door shut.
The waste of time customer was what decided it really, that it was time to go home, or the tavern to drink the days stresses away. Nikita locked the door and placed the key in the inside of her dark green overcoat. It was cold out, but having spent most of her life in Lull she had grown used to it. Still, it was hard not to miss the tropics of Imara every now and then. From the bottom of her street she turned right and headed up hill past a couple of bistros that were surprisingly empty for the time of day. Perhaps it was the weather, the cold air and icy ground that seemed to linger well after a hard winter, or maybe the taxes rising with every passing year. Whatever the reason, she was thankful for the moment of quiet this gave her, a moment ruined by the rumble of a passing Airship with black smoke billowing behind it as it vanished behind the high-rise buildings.
“For progress we sacrifice peace,” she muttered, repeating a phrase Mother Athina had often spoken. It was a phrase proven true several times over the course of her life in Lull. Was all progress bad though, or just the kind that bore away at personal freedoms? Times like these she was thankful Imara had not succumbed to this technological fetish.
Eventually the pristine streets of the Merchant District gave way to the grimier streets of Rotshold. Here the safety she’d felt before was proven false and she quickened her pace, wrapped her arms tight around herself. She wished Anthorn were here, but he had his own life too as a caravan guard. Had she the money she would have chosen a better place to live. Had she the money perhaps she wouldn’t even be here, but the fall of the Order of the Rose had seen to that, had seen to a lot of things.
Her home was a small modest building placed between two larger but similarly modest buildings. It was little more than a bedsit standing at the mouth of an area growing worse with each step. Reaching for the door she paused, hearing a scuffle off to her right. Not your business Nikita, she told herself though curiosity forced her toward it. It was a cat or a dog; it had to be a dog. Two dogs fighting that was it. Anthorn would kill her for doing this. There was no point in being a hero.
Coming to the opening of an alleyway, she peered inside and saw two figures struggling; one fat one thin. The fat one fell against the wall, gasping and clutching his chest while the thin one thrust a serrated dagger up through his chin. She gasped. A mistake that drew the killer’s attention toward her. The man tensed then raised a hand to his lips, indicating silence before running off. Stunned, she almost fainted. She had just witnessed a murder and survived.
Someone somewhere blew a whistle.
