Random Steampunk, RP or GoIO-inspired writing

[Andika]

Hey guys!

What is this topic?

So I started this topic because I would love to have a place in the forums where people can post any random Steampunk/dieselpunk/GoIO/airship inspired short stories, random writings, short rpgs and poems without any serious restrictions (except those that apply to posting to the forums in general, of course). This is not meant to be my own writing thread, anyone who has something to share is welcome to do so.

Rules

In order not to make this thread confusing with lots of ongoing tales, I suggest that each post has to contain a complete story or poem (so do not start sequels or really long tales here). If your story or poem contains extreme content, eg. a lot of violence or anything you feel might upset others, but you still feel like presenting it here, make sure you post a warning about it at the beginning of the post (although, again, be aware of the general community rules, and do not post here content that you would not post to other threads either.)

Why start this thread?

The other writers' threads in the forum are all either exclusively about roleplaying tales or GoI world-based stories, but this thread could be open to any random, thematically similar writing. So the idea is that anyone who has a steampunk short story or poem, either GoI-related or not, either serious or funny, can post it to this thread and offer it up for reading.

Personally, I like writing short stories and poems in my free time, and while none of them are entirely about the world of GoIO, some of them were in fact inspired by this game or by steampunk as such.

*technical note*
I was truly hesitating whether to post this topic here or to the Lounge, so if a moderator feels that this isn't the right place, feel free to move it. I voted for the Cantina in the end because this thread is meant to be a fan writing section, and I assumed that most people interested in writing steampunk stories will come here anyway; also, I was worried that the thread could easily get lost in the daily discussions of the Lounge.
*technical note*

So, to start the hopefully long line of texts, I would like to share a steampunk poem of mine (if there is such a thing as a steampunk poem at all ). I wrote it some time ago, and I think it didn't turn out that bad. I am not a native speaker of English, so I usually have problems with rhymes and words and counting syllables, but I tried to put together a more or less decent poem here.  Hope you gonna like it, the story is a bit dark, but I tend to like these kinds of stories.

Tickentock is Dead

Press a spring and set my clock
To tick those dreary times:
Among them drones the Tickentock
Sat covered all in vines.

His hat was torn, some slightly
Worn hopes hovered here and there;
All the townsfolk screamed around:
“Old fool, we no more care!”

They all yell and they all cry,
They do it every night.
The fog is trembling as machines
March through the misty light.

They have smiles with metal spikes
And one has rockets, too.
When such a sight strikes you, my friend
You’ll know not what to do.

Once he built a heart from rust,
A wicked, ticking heart.
He pulled the trigger on his dream
And blew our own apart.

He found a wife and walled her up
And then proclaimed her dead.
He called her nuts, she built a gun
And shot him down instead.

They all yelled and they all cried,
“The Tickentock is dead!”
Yet he returned with glowing eyes
And bore a monster head.

The Tickentock, he’s been to lands.
He saw the sky, the sea.
It was clear he wished to fly
With wings so light and free.

He cut some wings from paper
And he wore them every day.
He leapt just once and fell so fast
He broke a bone, they say.

Now they all yell and they all cry,
“Lord Tickentock is mad!”
They all laugh, “See, he wants to fly,”
“That man shall soon be dead!”

Filled with steam his pipes let out
A weary sigh or two.
Our Tickentock works hard on what
No one but he can do.

He shapes a doll so perfect and
So lovely made of steel:
Mechanical in every way,
This thing cannot be real!

As king he sits on wired thrones,
And blows his doll a kiss.
A blissful love like what they share
You surely should not miss.

But they all yell and they all cry,
“That doll is none of yours,”
“We’ll burn your home and kill you, sir,
And take your doll, of course!”

He built a robot army then
From shipwrecks old and new.
They had smiles with metal spikes,
And one had rockets, too.

They march the streets now and destroy
All treasures far and near;
Ruthless drones step hard upon
The plans the town held dear.

So they all yell and they all cry,
“The Tickentock should die,”
They shoot him down, they burn him
And they leave him there to lie.

Yet he moves, and puts a screw,
A loose one, on the shelf;
He fooled us all, he never lived,
He was a drone himself!

So they all yell and they all cry
“That wicked ticking must now stop!”
They take him and his drones apart,
And sit him on the rubbish top.

Years go by with nothing changed,
The days turn cold and grey.
Though he was bad, they have to note:
They miss him anyway.

Press a spring and set my clock
To tick those dreary times:
Among them drones the Tickentock
Sits covered all in vines.

[Skrimskraw]

ok decided to give an attribution.

This one is dedicated to Crafeksterty and his crew.

In the northern cities of the Baronies soldiers, aeronauts and other goodfolk would tell tales of the feared Spire "The Wizard" and it's crew.
In Firnfeld it is no secret that the raiders often with ease and ferociousness target Barony caravans and almost commonly Kingsmen.
The following were written by a trader who almost met his death at the hands of such raiders:

In firnfeld up north
Where the raiders roam
A band of kingsmen
Wished for home

Alone and abandoned
these men surrounded
fleeting away
they were being hounded

From the south
a shot flew past
the kingsmen were saved
the raiders dead at last

Praise the Lord!
bless the King!
The wizard comes
The wizard comes

[RedRoach]

You don't have to blow up ships outta the sky to make a profit you know. Hard to believe, I understand, but if you do that for a living don't forget that makes you awesome. Anyway, I scavenge for my pay. By that, I mean loot places nobody wants to loot or has looted. Kinda like that old cannon I found that could destroy a galleon in one shot.

We were flying around in this big-ass airspace in Arashi territory. Somethin' for you guys to remember: Never fly into Arashi territory without the okay. Our gunner nearly ran outta ammunition with all the ships he had to shoot. The verdict was simple on that run, to go find some old schematics that could boost some egghead's technical capacity for the afterburner on his starboard fuses. Whatever the flak that meant. We'd heard about some cheap but hidden plans on some ship that fell to some over-protective border patrols, so we had to fly where they went, explaining said point about Arashi territory. After burning ammo, moonshine and hulls, we crash-landed right on the site.

After prying the hell outta that damn ship, we, to our expectations to our great surprise, couldn't find a blueprint for something we didn't understand. However, we were still being chased by a flak-ton of heavy Arashi ships, so we couldn't just haul anchor and ass and leave. We needed something from this crash that caused my damn near death. So, we grabbed ammo, alcohol, rags, and oh yeah, a cannon that was so absurdly and over-sized that it looked more decorative than functioning. We decided to put it on the front of our junker, mainly because I do what I want and because something had to scare the Arashi League at some point, and added to our cargo what looked like huge rocks that one would only carry for the same purpose as an anchor.

As we took off, we quickly were surrounded by galleons. (I understand, "Galleons? Quick?" but don't judge me, we had a flakkin heavy weapon on a junker.) Some idiot on our ship thought it would be fine if he loaded a "cannonball" into the "cannon". I had to yell at him for a few seconds before I purposefully accidentally hit the trigger on the cannon, discharging the round. Apparently the captain saw this coming, because the ship was already pointed at a galleon before the shot rang out, and that thing FLEW. It's balloon disconnected from the hull, not like there was much of the hull left to begin with, and the crew fell in a panicked frenzy to their death. You can imagine the sweeeet satisfaction of how it felt to have an entire armada then just run away.

We didn't get our pay that day from the egghead, but some high-n'-mighty official at Anvala thought he could tinker with the gun some more. The pay from him was double of the stupid scientist. Of course, we later found out some "stupid idiot mishandled the cannon and it went boom boom" and we solemnly pledge that we in no way whatsoever planted detonation charges inside of the firing mechanism of the cannon so that nobody else could use it. Ah... those were the days. But back on topic: You don't need big guns to get big bucks. You need people who need big guns to get big bucks. So... ah flak. What time was it again? Oh, you wanted a story, right. Well listen up. You don't have to blow things up...

[TheLostCavalier]

     Tucked away in the city of Kinforth there is a run-down bar called The Burning Rope. In that bar there is a large corner booth. Nestled in that booth is “Greasy” Stavros Orlenko. He is the eleven year captain of the independent trader Happy Dustman, an ancient Junker wanted by Chaladon and Yesha officials for several counts of theft and smuggling. Orlenko is a short, portly man with black oiled hair and a small mustache waxed to fine points. While his clothes are ornate and well made, they are so worn and fit so poorly it is a good guess they once belonged to someone else. Whenever he is in town The Burning Rope gets unusually busy. Docks and machine shops empty as people pack themselves into the dilapidated establishment to hear one of Orkenko’s stories. Everyone leaves having spent more money on drinks then they intended, but it’s worth it. Let’s go have a listen.

     “What? Don’t say you haven’t even heard of her. Here, get us another drink. No, no, none of that, the Altwood Cognac. That’s my man. Now, settle in close friends and I’ll tell you all I knows about Captain Verna Marones.  She captains the Force of Valor, as fine a Squid as was ever built. Who does this woman work for, says you? What does she do? Anything under the clouds she wants. Gun runner, bounty hunter, government agent, poetry critic, no one knows what she’s up too. During the Bastianelli Uprising she turned her ship into a floatin’ hospital. Stripped her guns and took on any poor flyer with a hole in his body. Now there’s plenty of captains in these rough times that will take advantage of charity like that. I saw what happened with these here eyes. Two ships limp in close, leakin’ smoke and cryin’ for help. Force of Valor slows and starts throwing ropes to them when both ships open up with all guns. Never seen the like of it, enough fire and shell to blind a man. Out of the smoke comes Verna, sinks the Mobula and chases off the Galleon like it were nothing. You remember the Sparrow Sneak? Cleaned out most every big house in Lord’s Leap he did. Well she nabs him, right tough to do but it don’t end there. The trip across town to the guard station makes her miss this opera, Lightning and Love. So she takes him along. Verna drags the best thief and escape artist in the fjords to four hours of singin’ fit to burst your ears. My mate Aalem, a true and honest deckhand as you ever did know, swears by all he holds dear he saw her chasin’ a bandit fleet, FLEET mind you, across the Abermar Valley the very same day she gets paid a bounty in Alleron. Air Marshal Tacitus Jiao-long his self asks her to go with him to one of them rich dinners. More fresh food in the first course than me and you seen in a month. Verna replies no, nice and kindly as you like, saying he is “not the most engaging man”. I’ve lost two cargos to that woman, and you know, Greasy Stavros don’t get caught nor fooled by no one. She’s got a collection of fine aged scotch, all put up fancy in a cellar like, and no one knows where it is. There’s a live Lumberjack round stored in the hold of her ship. “It keeps the crew sharp” says she. Ever seen a Typhoon Heavy Flak on a Squid? Nor I neither, but Verna’s got one! No, no, this won’t do shipmates. Getting downright hysterical I am, with hands shakin’ fit to fall off the stumps. Let’s talk of something else. Typhoons, or Arashi birdmen, or that one stinking fella in Chang-ning what says he owns half my ship. Ahh, another round. That will do my nerves nicely. Now where was I ..."