Skies of Darmonica (Working Title), Writing Project: The Restart

[morrdh]

Just a writing project I've recently started doing again, comments and feedback welcomed.

Easiest way to describe, either Pulp Era Firefly or perhaps Talespin....without the furries.

Enjoy!

~ ~ ~

Skies of Darmonica (Working Title)

Kha-Gol, The Outlands.

No matter how hard he tried, Intelligence Officer Martian Reed couldn't help but feel that his every movement was being watched. Ever since arriving at these gods-forsaken ruins, it was the same feeling throughout his waking hours as he went about the camp going about his business and overseeing the mission. The men under his command felt it as well, the feeling that they were trespassing on unholy ground and being stalked by some unknown and elusive foe. Then there were the night-time reports from wild-eyed sentries of half-glimpsed figures darting amidst the tents before vanishing into the darkness when challenged.

Of course, one must not forget the dreams either...

As if their mysterious stalkers weren't bad enough, every man had been plagued night-after-night by the same dream since they first arrived and stumbled across the dust-choked ruins. Even down the smallest details, everyone questioned related the exact same dream that troubled the sleep of each and every soldier here. The similarities did little other than to serve to reinforce the general opinion that something was very, very wrong with this cursed place. There had been some rather unfortunate....incidents as a result, incidents that Reed was sure nobody dwelt on too much.

How much longer until these blasted ruins have driven us all mad I wonder? Reed thought to himself before he spotted an NCO running in his direction. “Yes? What is it Corporal?”

“Sur!” The man saluted as he skidded to a halt. “W-we've found something in one of the lower chambers sur!”

“Show me!”

[Volzgrad]

Nice, if brief intro. I like the way you set the atmosphere and mood by mentioning their emotions and just the general creepiness of the place they're in. I must admit, you have piqued my interest in the story, impressive considering you wrote approximately 3 paragraphs worth of sentences. From what I read, I'm guessing this story will include fantasy elements, some kind of ancient evil type thing that those poor bastards unlock, and judicious amounts of gore? I'm getting a very Clive Barker feel from this.

But without furries? I must say I am disappointed .

In fact, I'm also actually writing something halfway between a short story and a novel. It's essentially a war story based in a universe that can basically be summed up as the First World War on crack. There are furries in it, but they're exactly the opposite of what most people would consider a furry (They're wolves and actually are an analogue to Nazi Germany in my novel complete with a totalitarian dictatorship, secret police, goose-stepping, and a burning hatred of Commies).

To put that into perspective, those are actually some of the good guys. The Soviet Union-esque Frenchies are much worse. I have a sick fascination in making any world I make a dystopia.

That's enough ranting about my own story though, keep up the good writing.

[morrdh]

Cool, glad you liked it....means my writing skills have vastly improved since I left school.

As for the setting and all that, think Dieselpunk Fantasy pretty much sums it up.

I'm gonna do a minor rewrite of that intro piece and hopefully get the next little bit up soon....I'm a slow writer.

[morrdh]

First post edited slightly, just a couple of words changed.

And now part two.

~ ~ ~

Much to their dismay, the expedition had discovered early on that even in the hollowed shade of the ruins that there was no escaping the oppressive heat of the wastelands. The general opinion was that within the ruins it was actually much worse, the air was stuffy, dry...and stale with the slight taste of centuries old death. Though most were thankful that the glyph inscribed walls in the upper chambers were worn and weathered down by years of dust-storms and the howling wind that moaned its way through the twisting passages. But many couldn't help be unnerved by the few lines and half-faded letters that remained, though the order for weapons to be carried at all times did go some way towards reassuring the men.

Course....the lower chambers are a different story all together.

Reed did his best to ignore the faint whisperings as the small squad of khaki-clad soldiers advanced single-file down the tunnel, the NCO on point walking with lantern raised and pistol in hand. Each soldier carried a bolt-action rifle, cradling their weapon almost like one would a newborn baby as the combination of sleep depravity, bad dreams and tormented nerves took their toll. As an Officer, and Intelligence Corps man, Reed opted to keep his weapons holstered and to only have a lantern to hand in order to maintain morale. It worked to a degree, the men knowing they had a figure of authority with them who remained in a calm manner giving them a beacon to cling to.

As they advanced deeper and lower into the heart of what was once a citadel, even Reed found it even more difficult to keep up his false air of calm and sanity. Down here the glyphs were more or less intact, only slightly faded with age and a thin coating of dust and cobwebs. Despite the feeble glow that the oil lanterns gave off, Reed saw more than he ever wished to in an entire lifetime or even several lifetimes. The glyphs were inscribed long ago by some prehistoric lost civilization, that much was clear as a great many years were detailed including the citadel's construction amongst historic footnotes such as great military actions and major events. Yet what gave pause for concern was how the glyphs kept referring back to some foul, twisted mockery of life. Many of the larger glyphs were graced with the profile of some bloated beast with countless tentacles and a face that both sneered and laughed at the same time when you looked at it. There were figures, almost bug-like in size, arrayed round the being seemingly giving praise to the foul and wretched creature.

A God....or a Fiend?

“Sur?” Asked a worried looking rifleman who brought Reed's attention back to the present. “You were saying?”

“What? Oh sorry....” Answered Reed. “I was just thinking out loud, pay no heed.”

“Certainly sur.”

“Think we've lingered enough, wouldn't you agree Sergeant?”

“That indeed sur!” The NCO nods by way of a reply before addressing the soldiers in his section. “Right lads, you 'eard th'man....shift it.”

[morrdh]

During the first few weeks of their residence in the ruins, the expedition had found many of the chambers suitable for storage of equipment or even shelter during the ill-regular sandstorms common to the Eastern Fringe. As well as protection from the elements, the chambers also allowed the expedition to hide away equipment and other items away from the prying eyes of any would be observer or spy. The last thing the expedition needed was unwanted attention, but heavy weapons in the form of machine guns and mortars had been carefully stored along with their munitions in the lower chambers just in case.

Regardless of where they went, they still found more and more of the glyphs and, perhaps more disturbingly, discovered statuettes and figurines of the fiendish entity. Though many were thankful that their task was only to secure the site and its artefacts, crates and trucks were ready to ship the items elsewhere for study by a horde of white-coat clad boffins...or so orders from above had stated. But Reed wasn't in the position, or mood, to question the orders and task that he had been given or to protest the command he'd been detailed to oversee for a vague amount of time.

Such is a soldier's woes....He thought bitterly as the group arrived at the entrance to one of the chambers, most likely the largest one in the entire structure given the size of the double stone doors and the stone cravings that surrounded it. There were more of the glyphs and the ever present fiendish face, glaring at and mocking on those who laid eyes on it. The sense of unease was even greater down there, it showed quite clearly on the faces of the two soldiers who had been detailed to keep watch over the chamber. Coughing lightly, the sergeant spoke. “This is it sah, reckon it to be some sort of tomb.”

“A tomb?” Reed asked and frowned. “Theres bodies down here?”

“Not as such sah....” Answered the NCO with a degree of nervousness as a few of the soldiers tightened their grip in their rifles as their eyes darted left-to-right as if seeking out some unseen stalker. “Though there is a casket, but we've left it well alone.”

“Right, I want a closer look at it.” Replied Reed as he fiddled with the oil lantern so that it gave off a brighter glow. “Leave your men here please sergeant.”

“Yes sah.” The sergeant nods as Reed enters the chamber. “Wait here an' keep watch. Collins an' Merkins...you two can head up topside.”

~

Holding the lantern high, Reed glanced round at the massive chamber as he slowly walked in through the double doors and towards the casket that the sergeant had mentioned. As expected, the walls and ceiling of the fifty-foot high chamber was covered with the same glyphs and fiendish face like the rest of the structure. But in here they were much more extensive and detailed, something that befitted the grand chamber that was the final resting place for somebody clearly of great importance. Whoever they were and what their status in life what was certainly wasn't forthcoming, though it was obvious that they were held in such high enough regard to have warranted such a stately burial.

Of the casket itself, it was six foot by two resting upon a solid stone base that rose a foot high out of the floor. A thin layer of dust and sand coated the casket, its base and the floor of the chamber bespoke the centuries that the chamber and its contents had lain undisturbed for. Brushing his hand across the casket's top to wipe the dust off, Reed was surprised to feel a rusty, metallic surface as suppose to the stone he was expecting. Puzzled he wipes some more of the dust off and lowers the lantern, letting it rest on top of the casket, in order to have a closer look. What he first took for cravings Reed soon discovered to be glyphs, much like the ones decorating the chamber, inscribed into the casket. Now this is interesting.

“Sergeant!” Reed called out, picking up the lantern once more. “Detail some men to get this casket topside and loaded up onto the trucks!”

“Sah!” The sergeant replies. “We've just spotted a dust storm blowing in from the east!”

“Blast! How long until it hits?”

“Reckon a few hours at best sah, trucks won't outrun it!”

“Get on the horn and see if Command can get a plane out here.”

“Will do sah.”