The Songbird's Song
A man, a lighthouse and a dock,
A shepherd and his pious flock,
A girl, her cage, a ferrous lock,
A universe of shifting forms.
Above the island in the sky,
There sounds the copper songbird's cry
And brings the dawn, the time is nigh
Of judgment and of leaden storms.
The revolution's under way,
Inside the streets begins the fray
And in this place and on this day
The timelines bend and patterns clash.
Columbia is coming down
And everywhere throughout the town,
The hosts of heaven frown and drown
As soldiers die and airships crash.
And the people shout,
The Vox is loud
And debts are getting paid.
The girl, the man, the endless grains
Of multiverses, hidden plains,
Are breaking the translucent chains
As knowledge of the world is seen.
This is but one of many fates,
Behind the jetties are the gates
To floating creeks and sunken states,
Infinity lies in between.
The unheard songs of unseen spheres,
The freedom cries, the screams and cheers
Are floating through a million ye
Mature contentOf Thieves and Pirates - Chapter 3 Marquite 0 0 The Gates of Dawn - 3 - A Hero's Welcome ZachValkyrie 4 3
A Monstrous Romance - Prelude
Fragment of a letter from “The Lesser Man” to “My Brother Galfridus”
Date estimated early 12th Century
Translated as accurately as possible from the original faulty Latin
Three days hence we shall arrive in the lands of our sister Columba. I shall write again at our arrival, but this I shall send ahead, because much of what we came to see, we have seen already, and because the farther we go, the greater becomes my fear that these missives will be intercepted.
Brother, I do believe that our sister Columba and all of her household must be dead. A kingdom of blasphemers has risen here, and its blight can be easily seen. I do not know how this could have happened without our hearing of it. The people live in such great fear that they have no hospitality for strangers. Our party sleeps in the open, and in the night, we have heard such cries and howls that I am convinced that Demiourgos has made his h
By the time Arthur finally came to, he was being dragged out of the station by two police officers, a sea of faces met them outside, all whispering and chattering like a flock of birds, looking sternly and in disgust at Arthur.
As they passed through the crowd, a large projector screen nearby flickered to life, revealing the shadowy image of the father. Whose silhouetted profile stood in a mass of smoke and mist, there were no real distinguishing features to the Father, only that he was a thin man with combed back hair. His face could not be seen, nor could his mouth as he spoke with a cold, grating voice.
'Citizens of New Albion' he said, his voice reverberating through everyone's mind 'On this day, another individual has been brought to justice'.
Everyone turned to Arthur, who was sti
It was a gloomy Tuesday morning in Winchester, the greying sky showed little signs of sunlight, as blackened clouds passed in grim motion across the sky like the Large Airships below them. As the morning progressed, people began their toils for the day, passing through crowded streets filled with sputtering motorcars and large sluggish busses, Their engines rumbling and roaring like feral beasts. Up above the street, long serpentine, monorails darted across their slim tracks, carrying their tired passengers to their places of work. Elsewhere many citizens made way for the morning constabulary patrol, who thundered through the streets in large, iron clad mechanical suits, smoke billowing from their bulbous engines mounted on their backs.
On the high street, a small Bookshop was preparing to open up for another day, It's small ornate windows displaying latest publications and several upcoming novels. Inside a young man was busying himself stacking books
Este símbolo é usado por Technogestalt para se identificar como uma sociedade,
denotando a importância do conceito de Panoptischen
Scarnost é o continente ao extremo norte de Ghara. Fora a crença de que foi o refúgio buscado por Niemand, era quase desconhecido até a invasão neftuliana de 700 anos atrás. Dela resultaram consequências que ainda moldam o presente de Ghara. Da perspectiva do império a mais notável é a existência de Technogestalt. Uma nação sem igual em todo o planeta, e em guerra desde sua fundação após o apocalipse necromântico trazido por Neftul. Os países, culturas e raças de Scarnost foram dizimados por infindáveis mortos-vivos. Os poderes necromânticos de Arcantos e seus asseclas, assim como outras habilidades arca
The King's Son: A Netheron Short Story
“The one thing you should remember Otto… is that ladies are not who they appear to be.”
These were the words of Otto's uncle, who presumed himself to be a successful leader of the Drenatharian throne. Otto knew the next words… he said them everyday: taught them accordingly. Woman were just a tool… just a weapon to get to the top. He knew what came next.
“You must never fall in love with a lady. For they are deceitful. They act like they own the place, but they own nothing. You must never trust them.”
He wanted to ask why, but figured it was best not to. His father, his uncle, his grandfather, all said the same thing. They always told stories about what happens when woman become dominant; when they forget their place. They never talked with their wives, and their wives never talked with them. Even the queen of Drethathon was a quiet individual, always filing the paperwork for the king. He never knew if she had any feelings of love for him, becau
The Will of the Way: A Netheron Short Story
I was never a good liar. I was never a good friend. I couldn't help her… no matter how hard I tried. I wanted to help her, I really did. But I couldn't… and that was that.
I wanted her to feel loved. I wanted her to feel happiness. I wanted more than anything- for the princess of Netheron to understand her fate. But I was no princess, no friend, no helper… I was a witch. And everyone knows that witches are confined into two things: spells and dark confinement.
These powers grew, and only grew to despise her. I wanted to help her. I really did- I had to. But this evil confinement, this wretched feeling I feel every time I stare at her… it's nothing but filled with envy. No one knows about the unruly pain I've been through, that has been traveling through me this futile existance. This magic confines me, makes me an unruly person. Had Estelle known about my battles, I'm positive she could never forgive what lurks within my heart.
Day by day, these abilities
Ghosts of Clockwork Gods
Horrors from the deepest sea
And big, ancient machines
Mystic spirits have been freed
By gods haunting your dreams
Ghouls and demons in the dark
And skulls which way you look
A workshop that’s alight with sparks
Forbidden lore in books
Pirates in the highest skies
Fighting cosmic beasts
Piercing are their screams and cries
As heard by hooded priests
Prophecies and daring tales
Rituals and spells
Darkened skies and flying whales
A graveyard’s tolling bells
The stars are right, the ghouls awake
The clockwork slowly turns
The air is heavy, the earth shakes
As old evils return
It’s darkness and it’s mystery
It’s ancient and yet new
It’s never-happened history
It’s gods and ghosts and screws
Marcilyn Locket: Inventor of the South
The machine struggled. It huffed and puffed and blew out steam, and with one final movement: it collapsed into the hands of the inventor. Marcilyn paused with a look of grief. She huffed with dislike, continuing to tinker with it's mechanics. The machine lit up again for a brief moment, pouring water into the cup. For a moment, Marcilyn's eyes brightened, until the machine blew off into a final blow of steam, falling forward into it's side like a lopsided umbrella. The water sprayed everywhere, the desk drenched with tea. Marcilyn pulled the machine apart, a long winded sigh errupting from her lips.
It was ruined.
It was gone.
Her machine, the 1,000 dollar invention for her customer, done for! She desperately tried to piece the gears together again, and yanked the switch to make it work. The little bugger turned on, then turned off again. The air smelled like a mixture of oil and steam. The place stunk up quickly from the smell of melting metal. If anything, her client needed t
The Battle of the Tempest (Steampunk)
We fly through the thunder and lightning,
The aether-gods crossing their arms.
Around us the streams howling frightening,
The airmen are holding their charms.
Our mighty propellers rotating,
The steam engines powering up.
The stormwinds are tearing the plating
And sparks fly from every hub.
The airship is riding the tunnel,
The nimbus clouds devious black.
Before us, we're seeing a funnel,
Above it, the sky pirates flag.
Our captain is yelling his orders,
The motors are drowning his words.
We're reaching the aether storms borders,
Followed by fast iron birds.
Their gunners are opening fire
And screeching the sirens resound.
We raise our cannons up higher
And into their broadside we pound.
Two airships with full speed colliding,
The steam-planes are dancing around.
On up-drafts the two vessels gliding,
Below us the far away ground.
We circle like harriers preying
And biding our time to attack,
Until, while their whole ship is swaying,
Our cannonballs hitting their d
Of Thieves and Pirates - Chapter 2
Will grabbed his black coat and pulled it on as he stared out the window again. The Rusty Cog was beginning to fill up, which meant that the work day was over and that the lowest members of the working society - those who worked day by day - needed their daily pint. Will turned away from the window with a sigh and grabbed his fedora, thumbing the brim as he wondered if his idea was any good.
Will then shook his head as he realized that even though it might not be a good idea, it was the only idea he had and she was the only one who would be able to help him. He put on his hat as he stepped out off the office, closing and locking the door behind him. As he started down the stairs the noise of New London filled his ears and he grimaced, feeling it as if his head was about to explode. As he stepped out on to the street he realized that he hadn't eaten anything since lunch, but he also knew that there were more important things to do than eating.
The group he had seen outside
Cody pushed the sweat from his brow into his hair and wiped his now wet hand on the left leg of his jumpsuit which he wore like trousers with the sleeves tied at his hips for a belt. The once-white tank top that was a part of his personal uniform was so covered in grease and oil and the sweat of his torso that his hand had learned not to try and remove sweat with it.
His eyes were focused on his project; his squint remained hidden behind the glass of his goggles. Having spent over three weeks working on the arms, he wasn’t about to attach them to the automatonic torso without his full attention. Not even the sparks that stung his bare arms could call him away from his task. His fingers delicately wove the wires together and needed perfect precision as he crimped the last of them.
A heavy knock came from the door to his mother’s flower shop.
“Cack!” Cody muttered while he nursed the finger he had just stuck with the