Like Clockwork - A Steampunk Interlude.

Okay guys, these past few days I've been busy ferreting away on a new fiction project which, to be quite honest, I'm having a whale of a time writing and might actually see if I can go the whole way with this thing and chapterise it and maybe get a novel or at least a novella out of it. So, here's a brief snippet to wet your appetites for the project that I am currently calling, in case the title hadn't given it away, "Like Clockwork.":

A golem, that’s what they called it; Franklin recalled this as the clouds in his mind cleared, just in time for him to duck the colossal fist that hammered into the wall where he had previously been slumped. He rolled to the side and fumbled for his sidearm. Standing, Franklin took a moment to aim at the behemoth before him. This ‘golem’ was the culmination of Professor Ivan Meldvasser’s research into biomechanical adaptive construction. He’d created a humanoid figure standing at close to eight feet in height and combined a mixture of actual preserved tissue and muscle with flexible copper cabling and brass plating to create synthetic muscle mass and limbs and powered by a gyroscopic dynamo linked to preserved brain matter to process, regulate and transmit the electrical signals throughout the body. The whir of gears could be heard through the beast’s body as it stood upright once more and turned to face Franklin, its eyes glistening with the white-blue crackle of the residual electricity within its skull. Franklin pulled his trigger; the faint hiss of compressed gas being released from the vent at the side of his pistol whistled as he loosed three bolts from his sidearm.

Two of the bolts pattered harmlessly off the golem’s chest plating, but the third lodged in the flexible material joint that linked its neck to its clavicle. The golem gave an inhuman howl as it staggered back. This was Franklin’s chance; he knew he had to lure the beast away from the museum. Whether this creature was here by accident or had been sent here for some ulterior motive was irrelevant to Franklin, he just had to distract it, and that bolt in the neck finalised the monster’s attention, securing it firmly on Franklin. This was both good and bad, he mused as he reloaded his hydraulic crossbow pistol; good in the sense that he could reduce the amount of collateral damage from the golem, but bad because this thing hit hard; he’d already experienced a right hook from the golem that had left him seeing stars.

After reloading the drum of his pistol with eight fresh bolts, he flipped down a small microphone from his bowler hat and clipped an earpiece into place, “Kro, are you listening? Kro! Get off your arse and help me out here. This thing hits harder than you and is tougher than your mother’s suet dumplings...” He ducked behind a pillar and peered out to see if the golem was pursuing. It was. He span out from the pillar and fired off two more quick shots accompanied by the familiar whistle of escaping gas and the cycling click and thud of his ammunition drum rotating around. Again, the bolts seemed to have little effect other than frustrating the golem further. It paused and picked up a bust of someone; Franklin didn’t have time to notice who as he ducked to avoid said bust as the golem threw it at him. “Bollocks. That’ll probably get charged to me somehow. Doesn’t this thing have any idea how valuable these art pieces are?” Franklin continued to run and mentally paused to ponder why he was talking to himself, putting it down to the adrenalin and anxiety of the situation.

“Kro, I swear, if you’re not here to help me out then I’m going to have to-“ Franklin never got to finish that threat as a door crashed off its hinges and slammed into the golem’s side. Through the dust stepped a large, muscular framed man with jet black hair, startling emerald eyes, torn leather trousers and heavily worn boots. Upon the man’s broad chest was a heavy iron chain bound around it like a vest of mail and in his hands was a shaft, also iron, roughly five feet in length and tipped with a machete blade at one end and the other was crowned with a double head, one being a wickedly heavy sledgehammer and the other, a large crescent axe blade. “Well, you took your bloody time Kro. Look at this mess! You’ve done nearly as much damage to this place as the bloody golem!” Kro looked to him and grunted before advancing towards the golem as it recovered from the confusion of being blindsided by a flying door. Kro roared and swung his weapon in a wild overhead arc, slamming the hammerhead firmly into the golem’s chest and leaving an immense dent in its wake. With a twist and an upward thrust, Kro proceeded to slash through the copper tendons at the golem’s left hip before then spiralling on the spot, twisting his weapon once more and following through with a vicious axe swing that collided in precisely the same point as the machete blade, tearing through the tendons and material joint casing, sheering off the whole leg of the golem. It crashed to the floor and scrabbled around, gears and pistons whirring and whining, sparks flaring from the wound and its eyes as it tried to figure out a way to right itself.

Franklin sighed, wiped his brow and strolled over to the lamed construct. He levelled his pistol and placed a bolt firmly into one of the eye sockets, rupturing the brain tissue and causing the golem to cease its functions. He exhaled with relief and looked to Kro, “Okay, fine, I admit it. Without you that would have been a little bit harder.” He recovered what few bolts he could and replaced them into the drum. Kro grunted and clipped his weapon into a harness upon his back before looking to Franklin, “You owe me. I expect extra on my cut for this.” He cracked his knuckles and gave a hearty chuckle which, from a man his size, was almost as unsettling as facing up to the golem. Franklin removed his hat to check the transistors of his communication relay, “Well, this is working fine, so you were bloody ignoring me.” Kro just smirked and adjusted the chain around his chest, “You still owe me more.” Franklin placed his hat back on his head and dusted off the lapels of his jacket before straightening his cravat, “Well I can’t bloody pay you more, because this isn’t a paid job.” He yawned and looked at the rubble around the wreckage of the golem, “Would you believe I just happened to be here to look at the paintings?” Kro gave him a disbelieving stare, “What? I like art. I am a man of a modern cultural palette. Is that so hard to believe?” Kro simply shrugged and pulled a hatchet from his belt before he hacked away at the golem’s face casing, “Consider this my cut then.” He gave a disturbing smirk at his pun as Franklin quirked a brow and watched, “What’re you doing? That’s evidence. The ol’bill’ll be here in a bit and they’ll want to know why the thing that wrecked the Royal Museum and Art Gallery is missing its ruddy face!” Kro shrugged once more as he held the brass face casing over his own face, “Trophy. Besides, this will help if goons start thinking sense and aim for my head.” Franklin chuckled, “What, thick skull like yours? You shouldn’t have anything to worry about, y’lummox.”

So that's just a small morsel of what I already have written. I'd very much love some feedback on this one as I'm hoping to properly get this project off the ground. I might even post a bit more of this in the future, if I feel like it.

But for now it's adios from me,

God bless!

Craiggy.

The Legend of Tyree: Part 5 - A Clash of Souls.

Well, like I said, it'd be a while since my next post because I've been away on holiday (Which was lovely by the way) but then this past week has been a bit manic too with my Dad going into hospital for heart surgery. He's recovering well now though, so there's no cause for concern, immediately... But enough life stuff, on to why you're here - the writing! So it's time to continue with the action in The Legend of Tyree...


The sound of steel on steel rang through the throne room as Tyree and Osterman fought viciously. Tyree's face remained stoic and focused, a fitting mask to cover the relentless rage he felt towards his foe whereas Osterman returned this expressionless exchange with a mocking sneer as he parried and feinted, baiting the young warrior into tiring himself out. Tyree winced as one of Osterman's lunges scratched across his cheek. He growled and span, swinging his own blade around in a low circle to try and sweep Osterman's legs, but the veteran hopped backwards and stamped the flat of Tyree's blade, knocking it from his hand. Left with few options, Tyree backed away from Osterman and looked wildly around him for some means of gaining the upper hand. He noticed the guards advancing on Kelni to restrain her and with a ferocious growl, he turned and charged them, forcing them bodily to the ground with a horrendous clatter of armour. With a dexterous roll, Tyree stood once more, now armed with one of the guards' spears.

Kelni blinked as Tyree rushed towards her. She hadn't realised that she was being flanked by two guards. She crouched and covered her head as Tyree rushed past her before she stood to see the two unconscious guards on the floor. She frowned and wisps of white misty energy began to form around her palms as she turned to face Osterman, but his blade had already reached her throat, the tip of it resting gently above her sternum. She blinked and whimpered, the energy fading into nothingness. She glanced back to Tyree, unable to speak for fear, but gave him a pleading stare.

Tyree glared at Osterman, "Let her go! This is our fight." He advanced three steps and braced the spear at his chest, "You've done nothing but backpedal and delay throughout, and now you hide behind a girl? You have no honour Osterman, face me!" The throne room fell deathly silent; not even the slightest of breezes passed through as Tyree and Osterman stood eye to eye less than ten paces from each other. Osterman shrugged and pushed Kelni aside. She fell to the floor and winced, looking up to Tyree once more. He gave the slightest of nods and threw his spear, immediately running behind it. He hadn't aimed to hit Osterman directly, but still the attack was true enough that Osterman had to swing his sword to deflect the point of the projectile. This was enough of a distraction for Tyree to dash past and retrieve his sword from the cold stone floor behind Osterman. He crouched, grabbed the weapon and turned on his knee, thrusting upwards. Osterman couldn't turn in time and Tyree's attack landed true. Blood began to weep from the gash on Osterman's side and he staggered backwards, moving a hand to hold his wound.

Tyree stood, a bold smirk playing upon his lips. He flicked the blood from his sword blade and held it in a point towards Osterman, "That's a deep cut, the flow of blood will continue and you'll start to slow down. I've seen it, it's how a wolf toys with their prey before killing." Tyree took a step closer. Osterman stood agape and stepped further away, his back now touching the drapes at the side of the chamber, "It's not possible! I am a trained man of the military, you are nothing but a lowly maggot, a farmhand, a peasant!" He paused and coughed, blood spattering onto his chin, "How can you best someone like me in a duel?!" Tyree sighed and stepped closer, the point of his sword pressed firmly onto Osterman's chest, "True, I'm not a soldier, or a military man like you say. I am a farmhand, also true." He glanced aside to see if Kelni had recovered; she was standing now and had dusted off her clothes, "But growing up on the plains, tending to animals taught me well. I have to defend those animals, fight off predators. That's all you are, a predator. You act tough, you prey on the weak, but you crumble when faced with true strength, with true resolve." Tyree pressed his blade into Osterman's chest, not deep enough to be fatal, but far enough for him to feel Osterman's body shudder with the pain as he twisted the point slightly, "Weakness, that's all you have in the end. You killed my mother and ransacked my home to uphold your facade of strength and superiority, but look at you know..."

Silence. Tyree held Osterman pinned to the wall as the man who murdered his mother whimpered and mewled, begging for mercy. Tyree pulled his blade from Osterman's chest. Osterman dropped to the floor, clutching his wounds and sobbing. The sobs slowly shifted, turned into a chuckle, then had been completely replaced by laughter as Osterman looked to Tyree, "You're a fool, farmhand! What I did? The people I killed, everything else, I did it for him! I did it all for my master, and he knows what you've done here; he knows who you are, what you are, why you are!" He slumped even closer to the floor and pulled a knife from his boot, he looked back to Tyree, "With my death, your fate is sealed, farmboy!" Osterman shook and rose unsteadily to his feet before tracing the blade of the knife across his own throat. Blood trickled slowly at first but then began to flow mroe freely. He coughed and spluttered, covering his teeth and lips with blood before smiling and staring into Tyree's eyes. He went to speak, but only a wordless gurgle came forth as Osterman fell face down on the floor, motionless in a pool of his own blood.

Tyree stared at the body. He'd never intended for Osterman to die, and could now only ponder as to his dying ramblings. This mention of a master confused Tyree. He shrugged and turned to face Kelni; she looked at him with a similar expression of confusion, "You okay?" he asked her. She nodded and looked to Osterman's body, crouching by it and removing a necklace from beneath his shirt. It bore the sigil of the Reldanian empire. Tyree saw this and his face fell; Osterman was in league with Reldania... Without any more words, the two of them turned and left the throne room. With their captain dead, the guards stood dumbfounded and wracked with uncertainty, leaving both Tyree and Kelni to depart whilst they hurried to tend to their former captain's corpse.




So, that's all you get for now. It's a little sketchy in parts, I know; I'm not sure I'm too happy with this post, but would love some feedback from you all... I might give Tyree a bit of a break for now and work on something else, or I might just carry on; again, feedback and opinions greatly appreciated!

Adios and God bless!
Craiggy.