Steven Dawson-Gray (steveowtf) wrote in bookish,
Steven Dawson-Gray

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Steam (a novel by Steven Dawson-Gray... Me =] )

Okay, so, i'm writing a novel right now, im only about half way done the first chapter, but i decided that I'd post part of what i have here, on this lovely community where people enjoy reading and books and other such things.

Please let me know what you think, I'll be including the Synopsis, or the introduction, as part of chapter one.

and remember, positive feedback is always welcome! =D

    Here starts the epic of Steam, the tale of an ordinary man, an airship pirate and a traveling band whose fates are inevitably intertwined. Their choices could affect more than just themselves, and they will most likely be at risk and putting other people at risk more times than one. The setting to this fantastic tale is a future where electricity no longer exists. Overused and run down, the world has turned to the power of steam for salvation. The damage, however, is already done. The heroes in this story must face a series of challenges in an attempt to beat the corruption that lies behind every door. Though they may stray from the beaten path of heroes as we know them, it will be their final decisions that make or break everything. Will they give into corruption, or will they persevere over it and deliver the world?
    It is the year 3092 AD; the setting is in a town completely changed over the last 1000 years into a massive steam powered city called Niagara Falls. The town is old and worn, but still expanding. It thrives due to the new technique of producing steam power, using the falls themselves to generate power for the entire surrounding area. The story starts on a bridge connecting the old American border to former Canada. This land, now a days known as Nimbus, is the whole of former North America, with the seas and sky around it making up its borders. The bridge is old, and all around it are airships, steam-powered blimp type vehicles that were the breakthrough of the millennium. The railing is missing in areas from close encounters with these vapour-spouting giants, and is deemed a restricted area. This has no effect on the young man, however, who stands alone, leaning on one of the few remaining pieces of rail, staring out over the falls and airships.

* * * * *
    His goggles, perched atop his head, gleam gold in the fading pale sunlight. On the side of these goggles is the symbol of a bird, a creature not seen in over a hundred years, embossed in silver. His hair spills messily around them and hangs limp to his chin, looking nothing more than fine brown sting. His face holds a hint of beauty, long lost behind years of hard work and hard living. His nose turns up a little, nostrils flaring angrily up. His lips, thin and sinuous, curled in a tight smile contradict the warmth that emanates from his eyes. His rigid jaw-line adds to the intensity of his appearance. He is dressed rather nicely, even if his clothes appear to be old and worn. He dons a deep violet Victorian style shirt, half tucked in, spilling out one side down his leg, with a vest, worn gray with age and use, layered over top. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbow, revealing strong arms and scars. Upon both of his wrists are gold bracers, engraved with the same birds as his goggles. He wears heavy leather gloves on his hands, the only thing that appears to be well kept on his persona. His pants, faded black, also Victorian style, taper down and go to the inside of his iron-clasped boots. Over all he has a rugged, well-worn look to him.
    The man looks up, his green eyes flashing from airship to airship, as if searching for something. He continues like this until the light is almost gone from the sky, where he then proceeds to cross back to the mainland to make his way home among the mazes that make up the streets.
    Making it back to the building line, he takes a second to glance over the edge at the street hundreds of stories below him. “Why do I bother coming all the way up here everyday, just to have to climb back down…”
He remembers hearing about how in the old days, everything was based around the main ground, with wheeled vehicles to transport civilians from destination to destination, or for them to walk on flat pieces of stone on the street. Those days were far gone by the time he was born, Now everything has extended far above the ground as the populations grew, cities expanded to mini-frontiers, often connecting with the surrounding communities. Niagara Falls now had a population of 13.5 million people, having joined with the entire Niagara Region, now known as the “Clockwork Frontier”.
    As the buildings grew in height, four-wheeled transport became more of a nuisance rather than a solution, and as the oil fields died, so did the automobile. Those modes of transportation were replaced by steam-powered aircrafts known as airships, and sidewalks were replaced with mass amounts of interconnecting stairways and bridges miles above the ground.
    “Might as well start my way back down… it will be night soon and this place will be crawling with all the wrong types of people…” he mutters to himself, walking to a nearby locker to grab his steam-pistol. While the borders may not exist anymore, to be anywhere near where he was with a weapon was an invitation to be harassed by the authorities. Especially his model of steam-pistol, a highly advanced piece of technology, with a 32 shot clip coupled with a working adaptable 6 shot revolver clip. It was made out of mostly copper and iron, as the steel resources of the world were dwindling due to the high demand of luxury airships. The 32 shot clip was inserted into the handle, while the 6 shot revolving clip took on the form of a traditional revolver, with a hammer and individual chambers for different types of bullets. This gun had set him back over half a years pay, but was well worth it considering how dangerous the frontier was becoming as of late.
    Strapping it into the holster at his waist, he made his way over to the nearest stairwell and began his descent. After only traveling 2 stories down, it was already becoming extremely gloomy. The daylight replaced by dim lamps expelling steam at regular intervals. Looking up, the man can barely make out the sky above him, that’s how thick with steam everything has become. Sunlight no longer pierces the deep darkness that is everywhere below the top of the buildings, all we rely on for light is these steam-lamps, which really only add to the gloom.
    Making his way quickly down the stories, taking shortcuts where he could, he finally arrives at his destination. He stands in front of a red oak door, one of very few that still remain in the frontier, with the words “Lost Forest” engraved on the front. Opening the door, the strong smell of perfume and cigarette smoke fill his lungs. He takes a moment to bask in the scene before him, like he does every time he comes here.
    In front of him was a giant bar, made of solid oak, with oak barstools fastened with maroon cushions lined up along the front. The top of the bar was polished to a shine. The bar completely surrounded a massive stage on the far wall. The walls of the tavern were made of copper and iron, just like every other building in this area. The ceiling and walls, stained with cigarette smoke, have a warn, authentic feel to them. The walls all have numerous old Victorian style paintings, and all on the floor at the base of the walls are Victorian style Chesterfields and Loveseats. Every two or three seats there lies an old carved table, with more seats arrayed around them for larger groups of people. Almost every seat in the place was filled tonight. In the very center of the bar there is a raised section of floor, about waist high, with stairs leading up on either side. This platform served only one purpose, and that was to be used to host duals that took place here everyday. That was the reason he was here tonight. He used to dual every night, but he rapidly climbed to the top. Now it’s only once a week, taking on challengers for the title.
    On the stage a band was just finishing their routine. The curtains were closing and they were quickly packing up all their instruments to make way for the next band. The traveling band that would be playing for the dual tonight is a world acclaimed Steampunk band.
    He walks to the tables reserved for the night’s dualists, and sits down to wait for his match.

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