To Stop The World For You || Steampunk RP

[SurrealSanity]

"Adjust valves 4 and 9." The commands echoed over grinding engines and the hiss of vents. Clamoring boots tromped over metal walkways between levers and dials, valves and knobs.

"Valves adjusted to 70%, Sir." answered the engineer after a crewman had turned the valve. "Pressure is stabilizing."

"Good. Keep an eye on the gauges down there. I imagine that it will only get colder. We don't want to end up stuck in this frozen wasteland." General Vell’s black eyes remained focused only forward, fixated on the way ahead. "Captain, make certain that all hands are accountable. We do not have the luxury of error on this particular assignment, but regardless of that… I will not allow ineptitude. You are very well aware of the consequences of such traits, I assume?”

Finally the general turned, his sleek raven hair fastened tightly back at the base of his skull, the lines perfect, no hair out of place as he looked pointedly at the elder figure. The cold collection of this man’s demeanor only sent shivers down the captain’s spine, though he was practiced enough not to show it.
“Of course, General.” He answered, though only after a short hesitation at the recollection of one who paid a heavy price after proving his ineffectiveness within the ranks of the air fleet. “My crew is, without a doubt, capable and I put my life in their hands witho—“

The reassurance was cut short by a brilliant flash of light that engulfed the entire bridge for what was only a split-second. Out of the corners of their eyes the captain and General Vell could see the beginning of the visual serenade that had been only legend and myth passed down through centuries of stories and song taking form only leagues away. The bridge was silenced with awe as all looked out the starboard side of the panoramic glass, watching as the ghostly lights seeped into the navy skies. It was true that no recount of this spectacle would ever prepare a man for the sight they would be faced with. For many of the crew aboard the airship able to catch sight, it was a most touching vision; a true blessing to be in the presence of The Awakening and many knew that they were a highly privileged few in the world to behold it.

The general’s onyx eyes narrowed as the process continued, in an instant the Gateway had descended and the vortex began to spiral. “Helmsman.” The man started out of his reverie and looked timidly over to the general, “Rectify our heading. We will make birth in the closest possible area to the Gateway.” The helmsman nodded and immediately veered the ship starboard and headed straight for the Gateway as General Vell turned back to the captain, “I suggest you have every capable hand you can spare off the ship prepare for a bit of a chilly excursion, Captain… It’s time your crew proved their worth to the regime.”

After nearly half an hour of scrambling, the expedition was ready to head off the ship. Men were wrapped tightly in thick coats and furs and equipped with ropes and grapples. It was clear this was not going to be a simple outing. The air was frigid and even the slightest caress of a breeze was unbearably painful to the skin. The cliffs were coated in thick snow and beneath the blankets were nothing but jagged ice. There was no telling where the ground was sturdy and where it would crumble away with the slightest hint of a footfall.

There was at least thirty men in the party and all of them would have much rather remained on the airship to bask in its warmth. Even the engineers that had been yanked from their searing boilers had suddenly begged for their fires of Hell, swearing under their breaths that they would never curse a day in that furnace ever again. Many of the others were not quite familiar with the burn of the boilers, but at the point where they stood, they did not mind the idea of exposing themselves to it. Luckily for the crew, the dirigible had been landed relatively close to what seemed to be a trench that seemed traversable as they looked down from the railings. It was a small flame of hope to at least be sheltered from whatever winds would tear at them on the surface, but whether or not it was a possible road once they reached it was yet to be determined.

“It looks to be at least a twenty five foot drop, Sir.” It was a rather shaken surmise from a ship hand as he glanced cautiously over the edge of the ridge. “The wall seems sturdy enough, however. With the rigging we have and the gear, we should be able to make the decent.”
“And the ridge…?” asked the General.
“Seems just wide enough for two men, Sir.”
“We will keep single file lest it be less sturdy than we are led to believe.”

With that, the decent began. It was a slow and careful process as they began, but once foundation and rig integrity had been checked, the rhythm had quickened and soon the ground entire crew had made it into the crag. The Gateway was still very visible even more than twenty feet below the ice and, with careful steps, they trekked their way in that direction.

What they came across was a great spectacle that no man alive would have guessed to exist in such a place. It was certainly a sight to behold, but the general would have no dallying and set their minds straight. They were to continue without fail and find the item they sought. Any man who would disobey his orders was dealt with swiftly and without remorse. After what seemed like hours of wandering through strange and such unfamiliar territory they came across a chamber that Vell believed housed the very treasure they ventured for.

“General Vell…” spoke the captain softly as they looked on before them, some gazing questioningly and others still in amazement, “Are… Are you certain this is what it is we have come for?”
“There is no mistake, Captain.” Vell spoke sternly in his icy tones, “Have the men extract it very carefully and be sure that it is transported with great care. Your livelihoods are not what lay on the line if the item were to be damaged, sir… It is your lives you hold in the balance.”

There was no deaf ear to Vell’s proclamation and the message was heavily received, after which they were quick to begin the task. Once they managed to pack the item to Vell’s approval, they began to retrace their steps to the airship that waited for their return.

“Your men are certainly more dependable than they look, Captain.” Vell’s words were still seeped with condescension, but he was a man to admit when others showed competence.
“I am glad that you approve of them, General. But I wish that you hadn’t have taken my hand’s life in such a cruel way.”
“Good Captain, I gave my orders and issued my warning. I will not be disobeyed and I will not hesitate to make an example for others to follow. Besides, I did say that your men were quite capable, and it was your choice to carry the body home.”

The General made his way to fall behind the line of men and leaving the captain to follow behind him with a heavy heart. The journey back was naturally much quicker and easier than the blind walk forward and the airship was airborne and heading home with its prize on board. But unbeknownst to the interlopers, they had set a massive cataclysm into motion. As this missing piece of the puzzle slipped further and further away from its home, the Gateway began to fade and the dance of lights quickly dissipated. The phenomenon had ended and the signs of end began to unfold.

[Aleister Black]

He could still feel the drizzle on his worn face. Just a few hours ago, yet another part of his life had been buried under a few feet of wet, dark earth. The slap of the shovelfull of earth on the lid of the coffin had sounded like thunder in his ears. The funeral had not been well-attended. People were starting to forget the wars and battles of the old days, and the heroes that fought in them with it. And who could blame them? Stories get old fast and the horror and frought emotions become meaningless if the listener was not there to live it.

No, there had not been many people at the funeral. Those who had been able to remember had been the centre of attention in this place before today. Their numbers were dwindling, and August found himself waiting for the day he would no longer wake up from his dreams. He was in the dockside pub he usually frequented, sipping from a large glass of the stale beer he preferred. Some of his former brothers in arms were with him; their number barely took up 2 tables. He wondered if he would outlive all of them. If so, who would come to his funeral? How would people remember him? Would he be a part of the story that would soon be no more than a footnote in history? Would he be nothing but a "hey, remember that old man..."?

He finished the last of his beer, stood up, shook hands with all his old friends and excused himself. Of course, they would all meet soon. August knew that was a half lie. They would only meet for the next funeral, and there would be one less person sitting at a table, drinking and thinking of the past. Once outside, August pulled his coat tighter around him. The wind from the sea was cold and salty. He was used to it; he even loved it. He gave his hand and his face to protect it. Looking back, that was a rediculous notion. The sea breeze would have been the same under any regime. Still, if you asked any of the Long Rifle Marines why they had fought so fiercely to protect Galvorough, many of them would have answered "to protect the sea and the coast, the cold and the rain, and our city."

And even though those reasons were as stupid as they came, August still felt they were justified as he stood on the pier and looked out over the sea.

[Ryvius]

The docks were quieter than usual. The salty breeze blew, but softly. A few funeral attendees slowly trickled out of the bar, exchanging the kind of awkward goodbyes you get when everyone seems about ready for their own funeral. Vivian was glad she wouldn’t have a stuffy funeral like that. No point in dragging out a goodbye. She’d be lying if she said she didn’t hope their would be someone to mourn her passing though. Probably not, but who knows what the future holds?

The salty wind blew straight into Vivian’s face, making her eyes water. She pulled up her lucky goggles and snapped them over her eyes. Vivian smiled. There was something about the ocean. She loved just looking out at the endless water. There was a mysticism in not knowing what was out there. Like maybe if you took a boat and started sailing, you’d end up somewhere wonderful. Like all the shitty places she’d been were just the shittiest part of the world, a corner of shit province in the shitty country. She’d sail over the ocean and arrive in paradise, and they’d all ask her why she stayed in the shitty lands so long. Vivian wanted to commandeer a boat. That was a bad idea though, as great as it sounded. She needed to keep her low profile. She had bigger plans than being a pirate after all. Better to be a stowaway for now. She did need to get to a new city. Law enforcement was starting to step up their cautiousness. Everyone knew about Galvorough’s mysterious master thief by now. Not even a young boy would be safe from scrutiny.

So, in the middle of the quiet docks, a lone “young man” staring daydreamingly at the ocean. He wasn’t very tall, but even with his baggy clothes you could tell he was skinny. His clothes seemed a little ratty, his pants and jacket worn by time and his tattered scarf waving gently behind him when the breeze picked up. Unkempt blond hair fell around his face, trying to hide his shining blue eyes. He let out a sigh, and turned around to start walking about just as a large man was walking quickly by. Unable to stop in time, he crashed into Vivian, sending her falling straight down on her rear. “I-I’m sorry sir!” The gruff young man looked to be close to thirty, but he was probably closer to twenty. Living by the sea made people age quickly. “Aye, you’d best start looking where you’re walking boy! These are busy docks!” The man hurried off without helping the boy he’d just knocked flat on his ass up. Vivian got up, brushing herself off. When the man was gone, the meekness disappeared and a smile spread across her face as she opened her hand to reveal the pocket watch she had taken off the man when they collided. She had gotten the chain as well; it and the watch appeared to be made of silver. A nice catch, she’d examine it in more detail when she got a chance. She stuffed the clock into a pocket on the inside of her jacket and began walking away.

[Doaj]

Saigon stood on the docks as he often did when he wasn't forging anything. He was wearing the black tunic he always did, meaning the only visible burns on his body was the one wrapping around his neck and under his chin. Saigon felt relief when watching the sea- it was so different from anything else. A foreign and bizarre concept, but it was comforting. Saigon had first traveled by water when he'd left home for Kelpurth, and since then it had been one of the few loves in his life. At sea you always solved your disagreements- because there was nowhere to run to. This kind of closure was what Saigon aimed for, not caring to drag out unnecessary skirmishes.

The docks were busy today. The nearby bar was decently crowded, but it seemed to be the destination of a group of local war veterans coming from a funeral. Saigon thought, it must be a nice town to die in. To die for. And then, a young girl was knocked to the ground by an older (but still young) man. He seemed more upset than she, and as he walked away Saigon saw her pull out a new watch. A small grin spread across his face, reminding him of the days when he was her age back in Lai. Despite having successfully snatched the watch, she stuck around. While Saigon loved watching the ocean, he was curious what she'd get into next.

[Casanova]

The steam boat huffed and chugged its way along, hugging the shore all the while. Sailing from Kelpurth to Galvorough didn't usually take longer than a few days, and the barge made good time, docking a few hours past sunrise on the third day. Tsata stayed hidden below deck for hours, waiting and listening to the sounds of the trading vessel unloading all its cargoes. After fourty minutes the upper deck was still.

Now!

Moving nimbly and without a sound, he managed to make his way past the kitchen and crew quarters without a hiccup. He rushed past more doors, catching only fleetingly the sounds of conversation and general ruckus from the few remaining crew members that hadn't gone directly to the nearest tavern. He turned the corner at the same time as the dog, but it was coming the other way. Tsata skidded to a halt, landing flat on his rear. The dog moved closer, only expressing a mild curiosity, but Tsata was deathly afraid of them. Frantically, he tore open the satchel at his waist and groped for his slingshot.

It can't be helped!

The dog's yelping could surely be heard even above the deck. Doors were being crashed open and heads stuck out of them. The damn dog was the captain's, all the crew would pet it and feed it any chance they got, it was a pet to them all. Tsata couldn't hang around.

"Oi, you! What have you done to Rupert!? Who the hell are you!?"

Tsata ran as fast as he could, feet falling on the path he had memorized during his night-time excursions, the quickest path to the deck. He bounded thoughtlessly whilst passing even more doors, but the remaining crew weren't far behind. Tsata hoped that the captain wasn't still on board, for he was a fearsome man. Very tall and very muscular, Tsata had seen him only a few times, but he noted that a lot of the crew that he did see sported fresh bruises and bloodied lips from time to time, all without Tsata ever hearing the tell-tale signs of a fight.

Thankfully the captain was not to be seen when Tsata reached the upper deck, but still the crew were hot on his tail. He chanced a glance and counted six of them, all middle-aged. Tsata smiled and launched his slender form overboard, landing hard on the shore of Galvorough, clearing the water below by three feet. He did it! He was in another city for the first time in his life! He glanced again to witness a few of the men stop short of the edge of the vessel, only to be inadvertently pushed over board by those bringing up the rear. Tsata ran for it down a side-alley, laughing all the while. He made a few more corners and didn't stop until he was certain that his pursuers were long gone.

*

Resting on a large bench near a market stall, he watched the people of this new land walk on by. He drank in the sights, sounds and smells and smiled broadly, thinking of all the adventures to come, and wondering if cats might be preferred to dogs in this part of the world.

[Aleister Black]

Laurelle had breathed a sigh of relief when she saw the coast of Galvorough at the horizon. The voyage from Ken Sanctum to Galvorough was a long one, and after almost a week at sea, she was getting oh so tired of the ship. The limited space was getting to her, she just needed to be able to walk around without running into some scruffy sailor, or Duncan. The silty sea air got old after a few days. She longer for solid ground beneath her feet, if only for a day.

Sailing to Galvorough had been an impulsive decision, fuelled by Duncan's encouragements. She had realised that while Ken Sanctum had a library you could get lost in with so much information it would takes ages to compile and categorise it all, it had not held much more on the phenomenon called 'the Awakening' than everyone knew in the first place. In hindsight she should have expected that. It was said only to take place every 250 years, and there were no accounts of the phenomenon itself as far as she knew. She had spent weeks in Ken Sanctum and had quite possibly read more than anyone else had on the Awakening, and still she was none the wiser. That's when she had started toying with the idea to try and go see it herself. She had almost decided against it. After all, people had tried before and no one knew of a successful attempt. If anything, it could be dangerous. But when Duncan got wind of her decision to just pack up and go home again, he had encouraged her not to give up. "This is your dream, right?" he had said. "Surely an inquisitive woman such as you wouldn't give up just because there aren't many written records on this." He had put a hand on her shoulder, and the unfamiliar feeling had sent a shiver down her spine. Besides her husband and her father, no one would touch her like this. "We could travel to Galvorough. It's a lot closer to where it happens, and we could investigate the thing itself. According to what the sailors say, it's bound to happen again soon!"

And so she had made her decision. She would stay away from home for even longer. She couldn't even imagine how her husband would react to her letter of explanation she had sent him before they set sail to Galvorough. Surely by now he would have received it and know that she would not be home for weeks or even months to come. Even though she felt anxious and even slightly emberrassed that she was continuing on this foolis expedition, she also felt free. Odd, really. At home, she would have people attending her and seeing to whatever she required. Out here, all she had was Duncan. She had to do most chores herself. Yet she felt happier than she had in a long time.

Her thoughts were interrupted when Duncan came to stand next to her. He wasn't touching her, but he was well within what would have been a seemly distance. The man has no notion of etiquette, she told herself. He's a man of the wilderness, not a man of court. "We're almost there, Laurelle," he told her. "Captain will have our things taken to the hotel. We can have a look 'round the docks, see if a ship can take us further north."



The shouts of sailors sounded across the ship. The ship was going very slow now and was aligning to one of the piers. Two sailors jumped out of the ship and tied the ship down with heavy ropes and helped take out the gangplanks. Duncan held Laurelle's hand and helped her down it, which would have been very gentlemanly if he hadn't taken so much of her hand and held it so tightly. When they reached the pier, his dark eyes locked with hers for a second and he smiled before he looked away. She quickly lowered her eyes and pulled her hand back, but when he offered her his arm as they walked down the pier into the town of Galvorough, she gingerly put her hand on it. The docks of Galvorough weren't very busy. She saw some old people leave an inn, and a few lone figures were minding their own business on the docks. Only a few ships were moored. Laurelle wondered if any of those would be prepared to go north.

[Casanova]

Tsata did not stay stationary for long. He leapt from the bench with a huge grin plastered across his cheeks and ran past market stalls, breathing in the scent of their stocks and oggling their wares as he went. A minute down the high street Tsata put on the brakes and his mouth fell open.

There was a man, about a yard away, swallowing swords! Tsata had never seen this incredible feat. He watched time and time again as the man wiped the sword on his tartan sash, then proved it was genuine by knocking it against the nearest wall to make it sing. He then positioned the tip of the sword above his head, winked at the crowd, opened his mouth and very precisely dipped the tip of the sword into it.

Tsata was amazed at just how far the man could push the sword into himself without doing any kind of visible harm at all. Every time the man would pull out the sword to ruckus applause and he'd smile a beaming smile while showing the lack of blood on the blade.

Tsata applauded too, probably the loudest of all.

*

"So let me get this right, the secret is to do with teaching yourself not to puke!?" Tsata asked incredulously.

"That's right, sonny" said the sword swallower, smiling warmly.

*

Tsata was on a mission. A mission to find the tallest building he could and climb it, eager to try out his established climbing skills in a more built up area than the woods surrounding his family home. He walked to a hill on the outskirts of Galvorough and trekked to the top, ushered on by the thought of the view that would greet him. He was certainly not disappointed.

Galvorough was a large city, certainly not larger than Kelpurth, but decently sized all the same. There were steam boats on the horizon, and many more docked around Galvorough. The taverns stood out with their large and brightly coloured signs, and many vibrant market stalls could be made out from this vantage point. But the view that amazed Tsata the most was the sight of the horizon past the vast sea shimmering in the far distance, inviting the sun to rest for the night.

Tsata sat for a long while watching Galvorough flourish and then dwindle. The sun was setting to the West, giving the sky a marvelous pinky hue that made the clouds glow warmly and the peaking stars shine wonderfully. Tsata stretched and yawned, smacking his lips. He felt tired all of a sudden.

The crickets had begun to make themselves heard in the bushes behind him and a chill was starting to settle. Tsata stuck a finger in his mouth and raised it high, then advanced on the largest tree he could find.

Curled up beneath the branches and positioned so the bark would halt the wind, he pulled the large suit jacket tight around his body and used his pork pie hat and satchel for a pillow.