drunkenpandaren (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
drunkenpandaren) wrote2010-01-31 09:47 am
drunkenpandaren) wrote2010-01-31 09:47 am
Entry tags:
Totema
A short piece of Totema. I finally started working on it again.
It was a dark and stormy night.
Lightning split the skies as the roll of thunder echoed menacingly across the land far below. In a well-lit garage on the south-eastern quadrant of New Atlantis, a young man looked up, wiping his forehead free of the perspiration that had gathered during his work. “Zeus must be quarrelling again,” he mused to himself, earning another crack of thunder as if in response.
Gazing down on the invention that sat in front of him, he stooped down, wiping grimy hands on a cloth before reaching for a wrench. The young man sported messy brown hair and a ponytail that rested over his shoulder. Dressed in working overalls and a grubby white shirt and suspenders, he cleared his forehead of sweat before wrenching the bolt to the left, tightening it.
Outside, the storm raged on. Unseen in the upscale park of New Atlantis, a battle raged.
====
The scream of metal on metal could be heard as a blade tore through an outstretched arm, sending fluid raining everywhere, mingling and cooling as it struck the ground. The being was unperturbed by the assault and the loss of its hand and struck with the other. A crackle of thunder ripped through the landscape, too close and extremely loud, shattering glass everywhere for miles as the form leapt upwards to avoid the attack.
A foot came down with a resounding clang as it shoved itself deep into the larger form’s forehead. It keened shrilly before slamming to the ground, twitching and crackling with electrical discharge. The attacker landed, coughing a little as he did so and the device on his back hissed, letting out steam that washed across the battlefield.
There was a sound of metal creaking against cobblestones and the form jerked to the side as a weapon smashed into it, splintering rock and stone as he clumsily dodged, all of the impressive agility vanishing into the winds.
====
Inside however, unattended to the fight, the young man struck a blow in the heat of the forge against the sheet of metal. Several more times it struck, shaping a curved surface before it was plunged into cool water. Steam hissed from the impact of cold vs. hot and it wafted into the air, the metal sizzling as it did so. Satisfied with his work upon inspecting it, the young man cooled it more till the water did not froth. Then, setting a machine to work, it hissed and pumped till a drill was spinning. Then, he began to drill.
====
The unknown attacker lunged, its footsteps cracking the flagstones as it hurled itself towards its target. The target came down wrong and there was a whining hiss and a curse. Grasping its leg, the form with the blades could stand there helplessly as it raised the gargantuan mace over its head. Then, suddenly, a blade erupted through its skull, twisting the metal sideways as another form in the steam and smoke of the park yanked with tremendous strength.
The weapon she bore screamed out, hissing steam everywhere as it rapidly retracted the chain that attached the head to it, and the attacker was yanked off its feet, and reeled in like a fish. A swift smash of the haft to the center of the chest and fluid pooled over the ground, cooling rapidly.
“You’re getting slow, old man,” said the second person, a voice feminine to the tones.
“No, you just developed a sense of dramatic timing, that’s all,” retorted the first. The blades that seemingly were held in his hands retracted with a loud decompression noise as she helped the first man up. “Is that the last of them?”
The whine of arrows sung through the air and struck down a third assailant who had masked its heavy footsteps by gliding through the grass. “There were three,” growled the third, deep and masculine was his voice and on his arm, a bow was affixed as his backpack let out a hiss of pressure. “That was all of them.”
“So why here, why in the city of Lord Triton?” inquired the second.
“The Oracle has his reasons,” replied the first. “Even with a mission such as ours.”
“I don’t like it,” said the third. “The Oracle has always been vague, full of double-meanings. But this time, he was scarily direct. There was no prophesy, only seek out the sixth. There’s no way around it.”
“I know this isn’t very good at all. Hell, it’s a wild goose chase. But we need to keep focused.” The first fiddled with a device that beeped and clicked. Shaking his head, he said, “There’s too much interference with this storm. I can’t get a lock on him.”
“Or her,” said the second. “Let’s get back to headquarters. I’m sure the Oracle can update us. Besides, I’m worried that we got attacked by them.”
“Agreed, let’s get a move on. It’ll be light soon. And we’ve got class to get to.”
====
Totema
Written by Shaun Garin
© Shaun Garin 2006
====
The warmth of the sun rising over the curved spires of the cityscape signified the beginning of the day, the chariot of Apollo swiftly pulling the sun from its resting slumber into place. New Triton’s streets began to burn off the mists from the steam vents that had collected itself during the cool of the night, sweeping almost systematically across the cobblestone walkways. Birds sung that morning as the city came alive, smoke and steam beginning to rise from the various homes and buildings, and in the distance, a cacophony of whistles from trains rose into the air.
New Triton stood at the eastern edge of the New World overlooking a majestic bay and harbor, wood and steel steamships puffing merrily as they pulled into the harbor. The buildings stood no more than seven or eight stories tall in the center of the island city, rounded and often pointed like giant tepees. Corners were said to house evil spirits, so many homes and buildings were designed with the Tribal influence in the various domed houses and spire-topped offices. Glittering marble and polished stones made up the various temples around the city, each one dedicated to a pantheon from the East and West, while the smoke fires of the Tribal dances rose into the air, honoring the Tribal Gods for another day.
The streets were wide, and often suspended high in the air for easier passage, forged from enormous rock and stone that had been pulled from the quarries surrounding the mainland. Along them, vehicles travelled along rails and here and there, a Steam Convertible was seen, the sound of a steam engine whining up underneath it propelling it forward. Along the major streets, the bazaar was quickly being populated by shopkeepers and merchants who had come in during the night on the enormous trains that passed through the Mid-Tribal cities and towns on their way to New Triton.
Doors opened up and people began to move about. Ladies dressed in fine petticoats and skirts of the West walked out, populated amidst the elegant Eastern Asiatic women whom were dressed in layered kimono and their faces painted pale with rosy cheeks. Many dark haired women and men were seen, preparing for a long days work in the fields that surrounded the area, and elderly Medicine Women were beginning their day, selling herbal remedies and beginning to teach both formally and informally in the streets and preparing for the schools.
Priestesses and Priests of various religions wandered the streets, blessing people in their morning rituals. Some kissed their husbands good morning and headed off to the shimmering temples that were scattered across New Triton. People bade each other good morning and salutations and children began to emerge from their homes in preparation of their day ahead in school.
Through the closed roads, a herd of buffalo were driven by three Tribal men riding on horses, yelling and whooping in order to encourage the buffalo to a new feeding ground. Children watched delightedly from their homes, clapping and laughing gleefully. In one of these homes, addressed to Number 17 Achilles Way, the inhabitants used it as an alarm clock, for the men were often on time and the stamping hooves of the buffalo could readily be heard for blocks.
“Quite a drive this morning,” remarked the husband of the family, sneaking a peek out the door at his fellow Tribesmen. Broad shouldered and dark haired, he was dressed in comfortable looking soft leathers as he ruffled his newspaper of the day, a curious slab of marble that was labeled The Triton Oracle.
“Yes, the drive is punctual as usual,” replied the mother of the group, a petite Easterner who had married into the family. “Flo? FLO! Come now child, you need to wake.”
“I’m up, I’m up,” groaned Flo, the young woman pushing herself out of the bed in the corner of the room. “Goddess above mother, can’t I sleep in today?”
“Not as long as you’d like,” replied her mother as she pushed her hair out of the way. Unlike the father who was of Native descent, the mother was a Greecian beauty, dressed in the linen toga of her people. She smiled and patted the furs that sat around the fire. “Come now, its breakfast time. I have olives.”
“And deer?” inquired Flo, throwing on her buckskin dress and pulling her hair up into a messy braid.
“And deer; salted if you like.” Her mother smiled at Flo and Flo grinned, sitting down and paying homage to the Gods, tossing a pinch of her food into the fire before eating.
“She’s going to get fat off all of those olives,” warned her father but his expression was wide with a smile, twinkling dark eyes from behind the morning slab.
“Pish, my people have eaten olives since the dawn of time,” replied the mother. “And what of the salt in those cured deer meats?”
“Oh I don’t know, a little curing never hurt anyone,” scoffed the father.
It was an old dance between the married couple. The father Honovi, often teased his wife about feeding her daughter fatty foods. To which the mother, Adelpha, would reply that his food would get Flo fat. Flo simply munched on another olive and took a bite of her venison.
“Thank you for the food,” stated Flo after finishing up. “Mother, father, I am off to school.”
“Take care,” replied Adelpha and she kissed her daughter farewell.
“Spirits be with you,” added her father as he too got up and picked up the steam-powered repeating crossbow and slung it over his shoulder. “I am to work. The butcher shop requires three more deer hunted. I will be off for the day.”
“Take care as well,” smiled Adelpha, hugging her husband. “Have a good hunt.”
“Of course. Have fun with the old medicine women.”
====
The bell rang a scant hour later as Flo picked up her books. Book learning was fun but the fun part of the day was coming; hunting and tracking practice. “Flo!” called out a young man as he jogged up, the man dressed in the furs of the Vikings. “Me and Olaf were settling a bet.”
“You mean Olaf and I,” said the other strong Norse teenager, poking his friend in the shoulder. “Sven said that he could track two deer faster than I. Who was faster last? You’re good with time.”
Flo tapped her lip and said, “Quite honestly you’re both equally fast. But you both need to work on your anatomy.”
“Ach, she knows you three best,” put in the Scottish-accented burr of Kira, a red head with her hair pulled in a ponytail. She was leaning against the wall, her bardiche leaning on the wall next to her. “Come now you two, shouldn’t you be suiting up for sparring?”
“A true Viking never goes without their armor,” replied Sven with a smirk. “Last I checked you and I were three falls out of five.”
“In MY favor,” replied Kira. “Wanna test that theory?”
“And there they go,” sighed Olaf as his brother leaped upon Kira and the pair started brawling on the floor, hurling Scottish and Norwegian curses everywhere. “They do this every morning. How do you stand it?”
“Quite honestly I ask the ancestors for mercy before I step into the room,” replied Flo with a smirk.
“Your momma was a goat!” yelled Kira, beating Sven’s head on the floor.
“Do not disrespect my momma!” replied Sven, reversing into a choke.
“Really?” replied Olaf, raising an eyebrow. “And what happens when your daily dose of mercy runs out?”
“Then I dip into my weekly allotment of violence,” said Flo, smirking. Sighing, she nocked an arrow and loosed it, the shaft burying itself between the pair. “Break it up you two!”
“So what happened to that mercy, Flo?” snickered Olaf.
“I traded it in for more violence,” replied Flo, shrugging. Sven and Kira sighed and reluctantly broke up their quarrel.
“As it stands, we’re late for tracking,” said Kira, brushing her outfit off. “Ah’ll kick your backside later.”
“You can TRY,” snorted Sven and he ducked a cuff on the head from Kira.
It was a dark and stormy night.
Lightning split the skies as the roll of thunder echoed menacingly across the land far below. In a well-lit garage on the south-eastern quadrant of New Atlantis, a young man looked up, wiping his forehead free of the perspiration that had gathered during his work. “Zeus must be quarrelling again,” he mused to himself, earning another crack of thunder as if in response.
Gazing down on the invention that sat in front of him, he stooped down, wiping grimy hands on a cloth before reaching for a wrench. The young man sported messy brown hair and a ponytail that rested over his shoulder. Dressed in working overalls and a grubby white shirt and suspenders, he cleared his forehead of sweat before wrenching the bolt to the left, tightening it.
Outside, the storm raged on. Unseen in the upscale park of New Atlantis, a battle raged.
====
The scream of metal on metal could be heard as a blade tore through an outstretched arm, sending fluid raining everywhere, mingling and cooling as it struck the ground. The being was unperturbed by the assault and the loss of its hand and struck with the other. A crackle of thunder ripped through the landscape, too close and extremely loud, shattering glass everywhere for miles as the form leapt upwards to avoid the attack.
A foot came down with a resounding clang as it shoved itself deep into the larger form’s forehead. It keened shrilly before slamming to the ground, twitching and crackling with electrical discharge. The attacker landed, coughing a little as he did so and the device on his back hissed, letting out steam that washed across the battlefield.
There was a sound of metal creaking against cobblestones and the form jerked to the side as a weapon smashed into it, splintering rock and stone as he clumsily dodged, all of the impressive agility vanishing into the winds.
====
Inside however, unattended to the fight, the young man struck a blow in the heat of the forge against the sheet of metal. Several more times it struck, shaping a curved surface before it was plunged into cool water. Steam hissed from the impact of cold vs. hot and it wafted into the air, the metal sizzling as it did so. Satisfied with his work upon inspecting it, the young man cooled it more till the water did not froth. Then, setting a machine to work, it hissed and pumped till a drill was spinning. Then, he began to drill.
====
The unknown attacker lunged, its footsteps cracking the flagstones as it hurled itself towards its target. The target came down wrong and there was a whining hiss and a curse. Grasping its leg, the form with the blades could stand there helplessly as it raised the gargantuan mace over its head. Then, suddenly, a blade erupted through its skull, twisting the metal sideways as another form in the steam and smoke of the park yanked with tremendous strength.
The weapon she bore screamed out, hissing steam everywhere as it rapidly retracted the chain that attached the head to it, and the attacker was yanked off its feet, and reeled in like a fish. A swift smash of the haft to the center of the chest and fluid pooled over the ground, cooling rapidly.
“You’re getting slow, old man,” said the second person, a voice feminine to the tones.
“No, you just developed a sense of dramatic timing, that’s all,” retorted the first. The blades that seemingly were held in his hands retracted with a loud decompression noise as she helped the first man up. “Is that the last of them?”
The whine of arrows sung through the air and struck down a third assailant who had masked its heavy footsteps by gliding through the grass. “There were three,” growled the third, deep and masculine was his voice and on his arm, a bow was affixed as his backpack let out a hiss of pressure. “That was all of them.”
“So why here, why in the city of Lord Triton?” inquired the second.
“The Oracle has his reasons,” replied the first. “Even with a mission such as ours.”
“I don’t like it,” said the third. “The Oracle has always been vague, full of double-meanings. But this time, he was scarily direct. There was no prophesy, only seek out the sixth. There’s no way around it.”
“I know this isn’t very good at all. Hell, it’s a wild goose chase. But we need to keep focused.” The first fiddled with a device that beeped and clicked. Shaking his head, he said, “There’s too much interference with this storm. I can’t get a lock on him.”
“Or her,” said the second. “Let’s get back to headquarters. I’m sure the Oracle can update us. Besides, I’m worried that we got attacked by them.”
“Agreed, let’s get a move on. It’ll be light soon. And we’ve got class to get to.”
====
Totema
Written by Shaun Garin
© Shaun Garin 2006
====
The warmth of the sun rising over the curved spires of the cityscape signified the beginning of the day, the chariot of Apollo swiftly pulling the sun from its resting slumber into place. New Triton’s streets began to burn off the mists from the steam vents that had collected itself during the cool of the night, sweeping almost systematically across the cobblestone walkways. Birds sung that morning as the city came alive, smoke and steam beginning to rise from the various homes and buildings, and in the distance, a cacophony of whistles from trains rose into the air.
New Triton stood at the eastern edge of the New World overlooking a majestic bay and harbor, wood and steel steamships puffing merrily as they pulled into the harbor. The buildings stood no more than seven or eight stories tall in the center of the island city, rounded and often pointed like giant tepees. Corners were said to house evil spirits, so many homes and buildings were designed with the Tribal influence in the various domed houses and spire-topped offices. Glittering marble and polished stones made up the various temples around the city, each one dedicated to a pantheon from the East and West, while the smoke fires of the Tribal dances rose into the air, honoring the Tribal Gods for another day.
The streets were wide, and often suspended high in the air for easier passage, forged from enormous rock and stone that had been pulled from the quarries surrounding the mainland. Along them, vehicles travelled along rails and here and there, a Steam Convertible was seen, the sound of a steam engine whining up underneath it propelling it forward. Along the major streets, the bazaar was quickly being populated by shopkeepers and merchants who had come in during the night on the enormous trains that passed through the Mid-Tribal cities and towns on their way to New Triton.
Doors opened up and people began to move about. Ladies dressed in fine petticoats and skirts of the West walked out, populated amidst the elegant Eastern Asiatic women whom were dressed in layered kimono and their faces painted pale with rosy cheeks. Many dark haired women and men were seen, preparing for a long days work in the fields that surrounded the area, and elderly Medicine Women were beginning their day, selling herbal remedies and beginning to teach both formally and informally in the streets and preparing for the schools.
Priestesses and Priests of various religions wandered the streets, blessing people in their morning rituals. Some kissed their husbands good morning and headed off to the shimmering temples that were scattered across New Triton. People bade each other good morning and salutations and children began to emerge from their homes in preparation of their day ahead in school.
Through the closed roads, a herd of buffalo were driven by three Tribal men riding on horses, yelling and whooping in order to encourage the buffalo to a new feeding ground. Children watched delightedly from their homes, clapping and laughing gleefully. In one of these homes, addressed to Number 17 Achilles Way, the inhabitants used it as an alarm clock, for the men were often on time and the stamping hooves of the buffalo could readily be heard for blocks.
“Quite a drive this morning,” remarked the husband of the family, sneaking a peek out the door at his fellow Tribesmen. Broad shouldered and dark haired, he was dressed in comfortable looking soft leathers as he ruffled his newspaper of the day, a curious slab of marble that was labeled The Triton Oracle.
“Yes, the drive is punctual as usual,” replied the mother of the group, a petite Easterner who had married into the family. “Flo? FLO! Come now child, you need to wake.”
“I’m up, I’m up,” groaned Flo, the young woman pushing herself out of the bed in the corner of the room. “Goddess above mother, can’t I sleep in today?”
“Not as long as you’d like,” replied her mother as she pushed her hair out of the way. Unlike the father who was of Native descent, the mother was a Greecian beauty, dressed in the linen toga of her people. She smiled and patted the furs that sat around the fire. “Come now, its breakfast time. I have olives.”
“And deer?” inquired Flo, throwing on her buckskin dress and pulling her hair up into a messy braid.
“And deer; salted if you like.” Her mother smiled at Flo and Flo grinned, sitting down and paying homage to the Gods, tossing a pinch of her food into the fire before eating.
“She’s going to get fat off all of those olives,” warned her father but his expression was wide with a smile, twinkling dark eyes from behind the morning slab.
“Pish, my people have eaten olives since the dawn of time,” replied the mother. “And what of the salt in those cured deer meats?”
“Oh I don’t know, a little curing never hurt anyone,” scoffed the father.
It was an old dance between the married couple. The father Honovi, often teased his wife about feeding her daughter fatty foods. To which the mother, Adelpha, would reply that his food would get Flo fat. Flo simply munched on another olive and took a bite of her venison.
“Thank you for the food,” stated Flo after finishing up. “Mother, father, I am off to school.”
“Take care,” replied Adelpha and she kissed her daughter farewell.
“Spirits be with you,” added her father as he too got up and picked up the steam-powered repeating crossbow and slung it over his shoulder. “I am to work. The butcher shop requires three more deer hunted. I will be off for the day.”
“Take care as well,” smiled Adelpha, hugging her husband. “Have a good hunt.”
“Of course. Have fun with the old medicine women.”
====
The bell rang a scant hour later as Flo picked up her books. Book learning was fun but the fun part of the day was coming; hunting and tracking practice. “Flo!” called out a young man as he jogged up, the man dressed in the furs of the Vikings. “Me and Olaf were settling a bet.”
“You mean Olaf and I,” said the other strong Norse teenager, poking his friend in the shoulder. “Sven said that he could track two deer faster than I. Who was faster last? You’re good with time.”
Flo tapped her lip and said, “Quite honestly you’re both equally fast. But you both need to work on your anatomy.”
“Ach, she knows you three best,” put in the Scottish-accented burr of Kira, a red head with her hair pulled in a ponytail. She was leaning against the wall, her bardiche leaning on the wall next to her. “Come now you two, shouldn’t you be suiting up for sparring?”
“A true Viking never goes without their armor,” replied Sven with a smirk. “Last I checked you and I were three falls out of five.”
“In MY favor,” replied Kira. “Wanna test that theory?”
“And there they go,” sighed Olaf as his brother leaped upon Kira and the pair started brawling on the floor, hurling Scottish and Norwegian curses everywhere. “They do this every morning. How do you stand it?”
“Quite honestly I ask the ancestors for mercy before I step into the room,” replied Flo with a smirk.
“Your momma was a goat!” yelled Kira, beating Sven’s head on the floor.
“Do not disrespect my momma!” replied Sven, reversing into a choke.
“Really?” replied Olaf, raising an eyebrow. “And what happens when your daily dose of mercy runs out?”
“Then I dip into my weekly allotment of violence,” said Flo, smirking. Sighing, she nocked an arrow and loosed it, the shaft burying itself between the pair. “Break it up you two!”
“So what happened to that mercy, Flo?” snickered Olaf.
“I traded it in for more violence,” replied Flo, shrugging. Sven and Kira sighed and reluctantly broke up their quarrel.
“As it stands, we’re late for tracking,” said Kira, brushing her outfit off. “Ah’ll kick your backside later.”
“You can TRY,” snorted Sven and he ducked a cuff on the head from Kira.