Renaissance writings from a bit back...
This is all stuff I wrote for NaNoWriMo in 2010, it isn't in any order, and some bits are only half finished, but I wanted to put it somewhere as a backup, and it ain't too bad, so I thought I'd put it here. Yes, I'm talking to you, imaginary audience.
It was dawn. The rolling green fields and hills of Provence were silent, save for the song of a few birds, just awakening with the new day. The dew had freshly settled on the ground, and a hare scampered across the fields.
Then came the thunder. A loud mechanical crashing noise rent the air over and over again – the sound of hooves, metal hooves. On a hill to the east, a long glinting line of metal figures appeared. They were fully clad, from head to foot in gleaming metal plate armour and their horses were metal too; with red eyes and nostrils that snorted steam, their hooves stamping impatiently on the ground. All of the knights had red eyes as well, and one of them held a banner instead of a lance, with the fleur-de-lis embroidered onto a blue background. The line had stopped on the hill, waiting for an opponent.
On the other side of the field, standing on the flat, was another force, clad in red and yellow. This force was entirely different. It had the main body of its force made up by long-spear armed men, these men were heavily armoured in chainmail and pieces of plate armour, but their faces and bodies were covered with all manner of devices and wires which almost seemed as if they were interwoven with the soldiers themselves. On their flanks stood similar soldiers, except these were armed with gun-like weaponry and had less armour, although that was made up for in the sheer amount of devices and machines that trailed themselves and intertwined themselves with the soldiers’ anatomies.
North of Florentia, Neapolis-Padua Railway, Province of Etruria, Roman Empire, Summer 1302 AD
The birds sang in the sun dappled, autumn trees. The light from the early evening sun fell, as if in a shower of autumn rain, through the foliage of the tree canopy and fell on the glistening metal rails of a train line, making the metal glint maliciously. A deep thundering noise approached, getting louder by the second; it was a steady, rhythmic thunder, like the beat of a war drum. The ground began to shake. The thunder approached faster now, and louder, becoming a great metallic crashing noise with the volume of a thousand iron horses. It could be seen now, approaching rapidly; a massive construct, made of steel and wood, with great iron wheels and a thick, maleficent cylindrical snout that belches black smoke into the far reaches of the sky. The rapidly approaching machine appears to be carrying freight in at least a dozen carts attached to each other in a long chain.
Something stirred in the undergrowth. Sounds of twigs snapping and leaves crunching underfoot could be heard from behind the treeline. The train approached. A group of shadowy figures could be seen crouching in the undergrowth; there were about ten of them. The first thing that was instantly noticeable is the fact that they were not human, or at least not anymore, the sunlight glinted off the myriad of mechanical implants that covered their bodies and the metal armour that they wore. They held long, thin, bronze coloured contraptions that were covered in wires, cogs and dials in their hands. The machines appear to have had some form of sickle shaped cartridge attached to the underside and had four thick, metal barrels which protruded from the front end of the machine. They had no flesh remaining on their bones, nor did any blood flow in their veins. Their bones were bleached with the sunlight and their faces were blank, with no mouths or eyes, the only features they had remaining are those that kept them alive – the bionic implants that traced patterns across their skeletal forms like vines around an old house. The train was much closer now and more details could be picked out; the driver in the locomotive at the front of the train and the other crew, as well as the guards in the carts further back in pairs, armed with six barrelled contraptions which were fed by long chains of bullets held by the other guard in the pair.
As the train became even closer, the skeletons opened fire from their positions, spraying the train with bullets and obscuring their positions in clouds of steam. The bullets ripped through the carriages and the train slowed. The guards on the carriages opened fire in response, but the undergrowth and thick clouds of steam meant that their shots were useless. A shout came from inside the train, “Stop the train!” Then another a few seconds later, “Guards! Guards! Find the ambushers! No mercy!” As if in response, a number of things happened. First, the guards that were manning the machine guns dismount, still in their pairs, their feet attached to metal plates which make them hover and create thick clouds of superheated steam. The guards are armed with assault rifles, which they drew from back mounted holsters and loaded with ammunition from their belt pouches. They seemed human, with few bionic implants or machinery attached to them, at least on the outside. A man dismounts from the train; he carries an ornate pistol, wears a padded tunic and body armour and has a green cloak wrapped around his shoulders with a crest emblazoned on it of two crossed keys and a crown. The man gestured to the guards and told them to spread out and search the area. As if on cue, the skeletons emerged, guns blazing, taking down one of the guard pairs. The guards turned and opened fire, all the while skimming around the skeletons, breaking up their formation and taking them down one by one.
The guards stopped firing and looked towards the other side of the train and the opposite treeline.
The skeletons turned as well, beginning to edge away from the train, back into the trees.
The man with the pistol looked up, above the train, whimpered and uttered, “Sweet mother of God, what is that thing?” Just as the guards noticed the source of his fear, the creature struck like a hammer to an anvil.
A monstrous creature burst through the treeline and roared a bestial guttural war-cry. It had the head of a bull and the body of a man, but it had been horribly mutated, twisted and disfigured; it appeared as though it had walked through the raging infernos of hell before it had been summoned to this world. For this creature was in no way natural, it was a parody of nature, a horribly corrupted form of two animals that should never have been combined. Along the way, a human had been involved – it was wired up with all sorts of machinery; metal struts formed an exoskeleton across its chest, arms and legs, its head was a sprawling mass of wires, bionic emplacements for senses, cogs and steam funnels and it wielded a massive double-headed axe, clearly too large for any natural creature its size to wield, despite the fact that it was almost twelve foot tall.
The guards opened fire, but it did nothing. The man with pistol aimed and fired his whole clip at the creature, the creature smiled. Then it rushed at them with supernatural speed, the machines wired to its legs straining to keep it upright. It cleaved the train in two and smashed the guards apart. Then it came for the man with the pistol. It knocked the weapon out of his hand with his axe and knocked him to the floor with a powerful kick. It raised its axe above its head. The man began to pray. The creature roared.
Constantinople, Bosporus Strait, Province of Anatolia, Roman Empire, Summer 1302 AD
The sun shines in an azure sky above the greatest city in the world. Constantinople; a city on seven hills. The sunlight makes the waves of the Golden Horn glisten and shimmer, making beautiful reflections off the spires and lavishly decorated buildings of the great city. The walls stand tall on the western side of the city, across the sixth and seventh hills, dwarfing the many chapels and palaces of the first and second hills. Despite the beauty of the city, the cloudless sky and the calming waves of the harbour, dark clouds hang over the city – sombre news has been announced, and soon the news shall spread to all four corners of the empire.
The people of Constantinople wear black in mourning for their emperor, now he is gone; news has already reached the capital of trouble in Etruria, of terrible creations from the depths of hell itself wreaking havoc. There is talk of a terrible thing, revolution. The senate dismisses the talk as lies, spread by dangerous revolutionaries – the atmosphere is tense, right across the empire. A poster, nailed to one of the many fluted columns in the city, sums up the situation, it reads, “Attention Citizens of Constantinople! This is a noble and awe inspiring city, would you wish it to fall into the hands of rebels, revolutionaries and conspirators? These men, who spread lies about revolution, are possessed by the devil! Throw out the rebels! Kill the revolutionaries! Purge the conspirators! Arm yourselves and be ready, for now is the time for action!”
A sombre procession moves through the streets, filling the city with an aura of silent sorrow. At the front of the procession is the emperor’s body, wrapped in his richest garments, carried by his personal guard. Following the body are the priests and the pope, dressed in black mourning vestments, chanting prayers and swinging thuribles, spreading the sickly sweet smell of incense across the road. They are taking him to be cremated, as he requested, on top of the first hill of Constantinople, so that all his people may see that he is dead and mourn for his passing. Behind the priests are the emperor’s family and close friends, riding in a chariot and wearing masks that are inlaid with gold and form sad, sombre expressions. The procession moves, almost silently through the streets, followed by a large crowd of people, up to the top of the first hill, where some of the Emperor’s bodyguard are preparing a funeral pyre. A large crowd gathered around the pyre, leaving space for the procession to carry the body to the pyre.
As the procession winds up through the streets, shadowy figures can be seen, pushing through the crowds and darting in between buildings, following the procession. As soon as one of these figures seems to disappear, they will reappear again after a few seconds in a completely different place.
The funeral procession reaches the pyre that has been prepared. The crowds gather around it, a short distance of about three metres on all sides away from it. The guards, dressed in purple tunics, with metal breastplates, ornate helmets and armed with short swords, large, rectangular shields and bolt action rifles; inlaid with gold trim and covered in wires and cogs, form a circular perimeter, stopping the crowd from moving forward.
The shadowy figures now number in the scores, intermingling with the crowd, and are only recognizable by one distinguishing feature – the symbol of an imperial eagle broken in two.
The body carriers place the body on the funeral pyre.
A glint of metal – some of the figures in the crowd draw weapons; one of the guards notices.
One of the guards lights a torch and lights the funeral pyre with it.
A shot rings out – one of the figures has fired – the crowd surges forward.
The guards respond, opening fire on the crowd, killing them in their scores. The shadowy figures unsheathe swords, spears, axes and pistols, and charge at the line of soldiers, shouting, “Down with the Empire! Long live the republic!”
The guards draw their swords and form into a line, raising their shields into a solid wall.
The revolutionaries hit the shield wall with a resounding crash. Now the fighting becomes brutal – the guards stab at anything they can with their swords, cutting down the revolutionaries as they charge into the wall of disciplined steel. The hill is soaked in the blood of scores of men, women and children.
The guards begin to advance as the revolutionary charge begins to falter; cutting down anything in their path, innocent or revolutionary, child, mother or armed man, it makes no difference. Many of the people that had made up the crowd run towards the soldiers, because they have nowhere else to run – they are cut down in their hundreds.
When the crowds finally disperse, the scene is horrific; the ground is soaked in blood, covered in the remains of hundreds of people and littered with the abandoned weaponry of the revolutionaries – it is a major defeat for them, and some of them try to surrender – they are slaughtered anyway. Some of the soldiers seem disgusted at the slaughter; others carry on checking the bodies, and killing any of the wounded.
Even as the crowds disperse and the guards recover from the fight, the pope is already beginning the funeral ceremony, regardless. Some of the priests have already left or fled, but some have stayed and begin to over the stench of the bodies with the smell of sickly sweet incense. The scene is a morbid one, and such incidents have happened all over the empire before – these are troubled times, and trouble times call for desperate measures.
Florentia, Town Square, Province of Etruria, Western Roman Empire, Summer 1302 AD
“Your will be done, on Earth as in heaven! Lord forgive us our sins, and may this most wretched of your servants repent before you now or face eternal damnation for his crimes!”
The speaker was dressed in the black robes of the Inquisition, carried a flaming torch in one hand and read from a bible with the other. He bore the seal of an inquisitor of the Roman Catholic Inquisition and stood on a metal scaffold, above the crowds that had gathered in the square to watch the execution of another one of the accused heretics that the inquisition had arrested. The accused person was tied, standing up, to a long piece of wood, about fifteen inches in thickness and taller than six foot in height, the piece of wood acted as almost as a support for the accused’s body. At the accused’s feet, was a pile of dry bundles of wood, the sort used for bonfires.
The town square was typical of an Italian town. Wood shuttered windows, dry-looking, sand-coloured stone buildings, red tiled roofs. The square was overshadowed by the spire of an archaic church, which, although it was modest in size for a Catholic church, almost blotted out the midday sun.
The inquisitor began to speak again, saying, “Will you, Silvio Cosma, plead guilty to your crimes and accept your punishment before God the Father, Christ the son and the Holy Ghost?”
The accused replied, almost snarling, “No, I am innocent, your charges are the lies of men who are afraid of the truth!”
“Will you repent of your sins, lest you face eternal damnation in the fires of hell?”
“The church has no power to forgive sins, only Christ has that power , and so I shall repent to my lord and my lord alone.”
“Then you shall suffer death by burning at the stake, and the eternal torture of Hell in the afterlife, heretic!”
At that point, the inquisitor plunged the flaming torch into the bundles of wood at the accused’s feet, and stepped back as the flames caught on the dry wood. He began to speak again, this time to the crowd, saying, “This is what becomes of those who meddle with God’s creation, those who attempt to enhance the human body by means only achievable through the use of heretical technology. Let this be a lesson to you all, the people of Florence are no different to this man, and will suffer no different punishment for committing the most heinous of crimes!”
Just then, as the Inquisitor finished speaking, a horrible whistling noise could be heard over the crackling flames and the screaming of the accused as he burned. The Inquisitor scanned the crowd, but found them looking at him with the same expression of confusion. Then he looked up, and froze in fear.
The scaffold exploded, showering debris right across the square. People screamed. The Inquisitor was gone as soon as the explosion hit, obscured in a thick cloud of debris, shrapnel and steam. Those toward the edge of the crowd dived for cover, but the people who had pushed to the front to get a better view of the execution died, their flesh seared from their bones by the superheated cloud of steam. Some of those who had escaped the worst of the explosion still staggered out of the cloud of steam with horrendous disfiguring burns. As the screams died down, the square filled with the sounds of the moaning injured and the people crying for lost friends, or just because of the shock. The square had turned into a charnel house, already a morbid scene with the presence of the Inquisition, it was now even worse: there must have been at least a score of corpses now littering the square and dozens more wounded or disfigured.
The worst was yet to come.
It was chaos. Soon, priests came from the church to help the wounded and soldiers came, looking for the cause of the explosion. The soldiers came in a group of eight, carrying long barrelled, antiquated guns, with swords at their belts. They wore orange tunics, with yellow cloaks and chainmail shirts as well as metal helmets. One of the soldiers had no gun, only carrying an ornate sword and a knife on his belt. He had a mechanical eye instead of one of his real eyes and a mechanical leg, which supported the remnants of his left leg.
As the soldiers and the priests arrived, a terrible screeching noise was heard from above. The soldiers stopped at their officer’s command and dropped to one knee, aiming their guns upward at the sky. The survivors of the explosion began to run around in panic, some trying to find cover, others just unsure what to do. The priests began to pray.
Above them, and rapidly descending, was a wake of vultures. However, unlike natural vultures, which are scavenger birds and tend to hunt in small groups, these vultures were in a group of about fifteen. Strangely, they seemed to glint in the sunlight, as if they were not quite as natural as they seemed.
As the vultures descended, and began to near the range of the soldier’s guns, a tiny, wooden contraption with eight legs emerged into the square. Soon, more of the same contraption followed it, until there were at least a dozen of them. They had small funnels projecting out of their body, which spouted steam at regular intervals of about three seconds. They had four pairs of small, malicious red eyes on the front and sides of their body. The contraptions spread out and, moving incredibly fast for something their size, dispersed amongst the crowds of people, most of them heading for the priests and the soldiers.
The soldiers opened fire with a staggered crackle of fire.
The vultures descended yet further, seemingly undaunted by the soldiers’ attempt to stop them.
The contraptions had reached their positions and, as the vultures distracted the people in the square, they performed their purpose. Almost simultaneously, the contraptions exploded in clouds of superheated steam, engulfing scores more of the people, soldiers and priests in scalding clouds of steam.
A terrible screeching noise rent the air, and the vultures dived, talons outstretched, ready to feed…
Forum Romanum, City of Rome, Province of Etruria, 1302 AD
Sunrise, the capital of the largest empire the world has ever seen.Rome, however, is a troubled city. Rumours of Viking raids to the north, Carthaginian pirates to the south and a possibility of war in the east with the Slavs hang over the city, like a dark cloud of ominousness. The forum is the centre of this great city, between the river and the seven hills thatRomeis built on. It is a beautiful place, withRome’s greatest buildings surrounding the plaza that isRome’s marketplace – the centre of the Earth’s economy. Traders from around the world; from the wild sands of North Africa come slave traders and entertainers of all kinds, from the fertile farmlands and desert plateaus of Egypt, the granary of the empire, come grain traders, even traders from the far east and the orient come, bringing oriental science, technology and spices. The Roman forum is the centre of the empire, the most important part, because it is not just traders who come here. The senate house is here, the six-hundred magistrates that make up the main part of the Roman government come here: they make up the senate. As well as this, the Pope; the head of the Roman Catholic Church, lives here, in grandeur with his hundreds of loyal bodyguards and servants.
