Hello. C J here. I’m planning out some of my upcoming steampunk setting region Eternity today and I realized I have far too many plans to fit into one region. I thought I’d try a proof of concept for having another setting or setting region using all the extra content. I have here the prologue to what I think would be a pretty good novel. It is set in a steampunk setting that faced an environmental crisis after centuries of overusing coal as fuel. This was fun to write and I’ll see where the idea goes. I’m calling the project First Sun. Here’s the prologue.
Coal.
That had once been his name. These days he wanted nothing to do with it.
Coal.
The stuff had taught them a hard lesson. It had doomed their planet to extinction. Their long wars, the human need they all had in them to burn the cities of their enemies while burning their own land for fuel, had spelled disaster. The coal smoke in the air just one day blocked out the sun.
And it was years before it came back.
Alone and desperate for warmth and food they entered an alliance. Nation united with nation and the world saw peace for the first time in its long brutal history. The Skybreak Promise it was called. And it worked. It only cost them a lot in the process.
“You remember the coal night?” The new lieutenant asked.
“I do,” he replied. His name wasn’t what it was. He was Victor now. Master Commandant Victor Gunvar, Lord of Region Nine.
That was rule number one. No one kept their names. Old rivalries were hot and no one in any military was allowed to keep their current rank, title, or name. They drew lots to see who got what. He was happy with his new moniker, Gun on the Blade. That worked out at least.
The new lieutenant didn’t smile. He didn’t emote much.
“You must have seen a lot of war then. I mean actual war, the kind with losses. It sounds like hell.”
“You’re one to speak on such matters, lieutenant.” That was Sarah Kadriss, Lord of Region Ten and Senior Advisor on the Arcane to King Archibald Cleric. “You were born the first year of the coal night.”
“I was. But that’s the thing. It was over by the time I was ten. How did it go, actual battle? What was it like?”
“Well, by your gods and mine I don’t want it back.”
“Me neither,” Gunvar said. “The long dark and silence was a thing all of us veteran channellers needed. We needed to cool down.”
“We did. I nearly died of thermal shock the first actual cold winter we had.”
“I nearly died of fatigue.”
“Well, it worked out then I guess.” His name was Lieutenant Bradeth Kinsworth. He was the most promising war channeller in a generation and he chose the military life for his own reasons. He was in for a hell of a term of service.
That was rule number two. The military would fix what they broke. Farming, food distribution, disaster aid, morale, the list of tasks was literally endless. They survived together.
Rule number three was the one that saved them. The gods must be told.
A team of their most veteran and experienced war channellers, composed of at least three from each offending nation, were assigned an impossible task. The Druids Order instructed them to seek the place where life started, in the ruins of the first empire on the other side of the continent.
The Druids Order was then recognized as a sovereign nation, joined the Skybreak Promise and sent four of their best. It was the only nation that got back everyone it sent.
The nation Gunvar was from before the coal night is to be spoken of no more. The region is now known as the Central Administration Region. They got back none of theirs.
The only eight of the two dozen who began the journey who reached the old empire climbed onto the top of the spire at its heart and sent their prayer-spell to the gods. Anything, anyone, any god from any faith was invited to send aid. Two of the messengers died of fatigue on the spot.
The answer came swiftly and without warning.
A wave of divine magic saturated with healing warmth flooded out from the city and carried the survivors back to their homeland. It healed the dried, ruined earth. It brought fresh rains and not more soot. It renewed growth and gave them the first full harvest in hundreds of years.
But the gift had a price. They all do. The magic was a mix of that of all the gods and it scrambled their races down to the genders. Animal traits mixed with once humans and ogres gained fur or scales. Dragons became a common sight on the streets of once mortal cities and winged messengers now had jobs communicating between the Regions. They were saved, but the gods played a joke on them.
Everyone now had a wolf’s senses, a cat’s reflexes and a bear’s endurance. They could smell coal and pollution like the poison it was. They were allergic to fuel, but they were alive. Hope was given and the gods then returned to being silent observers.
Kinsworth had been silent for a while. “I like the cold still,” he said quietly under his breath. “It reminds me of my childhood. It reminds me we all wear this fur proudly now.”
“Proudly?” Kadriss asked. “How are we proud of what we did?”
“We aren’t. We’re proud of each other. Each other’s fur.”
Gunvar went to speak but then fell silent. The young channeller had a point.
Yes, a point indeed.
C J Mcpherson
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