Thursday, July 22, 2010

The Rain, A Poem

Thursday, July 22Nd, 2:11 A.M.
Mood: Tired, Fascinated
Music: Voyager, by Daft Punk

The Rain, A Poem.

See the rain, the lovely rain,
as it goes trickling down my skin.

Let it fill you, bind you, send you,
into the memories of then.

And see the rain, the noble rain,
as it falls to cobbled streets bellow,

And watch it run beneath the feet,
of the people as they come and go.

And remember then as we walked,
together in the rainy, misty weather,
the fog as it curled about,
and clung to the hem of our cloaks as we walked,
on that dank morning so long ago.

We looked about and in the rain,
you whispered of the things you saw,
the life, the light.

Though all I saw was death,
and sorrow, you saw happiness.

I remember you, your gentle manner,
your smile, your whisper, your ways.

The way you could lift the gloom,
and take me from this preemptive tomb,
and banish the darkness.

Though it never truly left.
It clung to me, never leaving.
Even in the light it hid in the corners of the room.

Waiting to fill my mind with thoughts of dread and doom.

And now without you it swirls about me,
never leaving.

Never leaving.

It has become my friend, my aid,
my companion.

Like the rain.
The Cold.

They are my family now,
my only friends.

But I remember.
I remember because of the rain.

The noble rain.
The gentle rain.

And as it trickles down my face.
I lift my head up to the sky and call your name.

And feel the rain.

The rain upon my skin.

As it has always been, here with me.

In the rain.


Thursday, July 15, 2010

The Second Chapter of: The Evernight Chronicles

Thursday, July 15Th, 3:05 P.M.
Mood: Tired, Creative
Music: Let's Do The Things We Normally Do, by Dido

The Evernight Chronicles,

Book One:




Chapter 2

In Which We Learn Somewhat of Victor's Past


October 21, 1736,

London, England

Victor leaned back in his chair and began to study the letter. "It's written on vellum parchment", he thought to himself. "Most likely from one of the northern districts."

He reached over the piles of designs on his desk and retrieved a small monogrammed box, which he opened. He quickly looked over the instruments it contained. Seemingly satisfied, he extracted a scalpel and proceeded to scrape a small sample of wax off of the sealed letter. He then removed a small set of silver tweezers from the box, and using them to gently lift the scraping, deposited it into one of the large bell jars that sat next to him on his desk.

He lifted it up and shook it, smiling and singing quietly to himself as he worked, a simple tune he had learned in his boyhood.

For He was a warrior,
Away across the sea
A warrior and a tarrier,
Jean-Fran├žois Belasier!

He emptied a small vile into the jar and watched as the liquid swirled and churned, dissolving the flake of wax. It continued to swirl and as it did, it turned a dank yellow green.

"Hmmm, traces of sulfur", Victor thought to himself, "most likely not from the writing." "It must have been carried across the Thames for it to acquire such a residue." He slid his chair over to a wall that was covered in ancient maps, many of which bore ancient designs of sea serpents and castles. "There is only one place this could have come from, to meet all my discovered criteria." he said to himself, frowning as he eyed the yellowed maps "Looks like I have a bit of traveling to do, but first, the letter itself."

He slid his chair once more to his desk, and picked up the letter.

He slid one of his metallic fingers under the fold, breaking the seal, and began to read the hurried script scrawled inside. This is what the letter said:

Dear Mr. Evernight,

My name is not important, but I fear the problem that faces my organization as well as myself is most grave. Certain events that have recently come to light force me to retain the exact details of the problem that faces us until I can meet you face to face.

This catastrophe that I speak of is not one of London, nor one of Europe, but one that faces the entirety of life as we know it. It is of the utmost importance that you contact us, as we are in need of your, shall we say. "special talents."

Victor sat up in his chair, this letter was starting to get more and more curios by the second.

Yes, Mr. Evernight, we are aware of the circumstances that lead to your gift. And yes, Mr. Evernight, we know about your abilities and how you attained them. That is why we contacted you.

"Abilities." Thought Victor, "As if they knew."

"As if they could ever know..."

Victor thought back to his childhood. He thought of things that he had tried, for so long, to forget.

"I remember," he said bitterly "Those "circumstances"."

He thought back to that awful day.

The day he had received his "gift."

He remembered how the papers had put it.

"Explosion rocks home, one left alive, though badly injured."

"The explosion." he thought, putting his head in his hands.

He remembered the blackness, the people shouting, the clatter of running feet on the cobblestone streets.

But most of all, he remembered the blackness.

The blackness and the pain.

The doctor said he had to lose his arm. He did not care. He could barely see anyway. He had resigned to the fact that he was going to die. He had simply lost the will to live, as the doctor said, there was nothing for him.

That is when he saw them.

The crowded around his bed, staring mournfully down, some stroking his face from time to time, some weeping. He remembered asking the doctor about them, who they were, but the doctor only shook his head sadly.

"Delusions" he said.

He thought of the woman who sat by him during the night. Though he could barely see her he knew she was there for him. He would never forget her, her sad expression, her dark hair, her kind smile. She looked so frail, from what he could see. Almost translucent.

But most of all, he remembered what she said. "Don't give up", she whispered. "Never give up."

Back in his workshop Victor looked once more to his metal hand. He lifted it and gently caressed the rim of his mirrored goggles, deep in thought.

"I never gave up." he said.

Since that day Victor had always seen them. The people, thin and frail, walking in and out of his life. It was at the orphanage that he had learned what they truly were, and why he was the only one who could see and speak to them.

He was an outcast at the orphanage, always lonely. The other children would have nothing to do with him. The tall, dark haired boy with one arm and an eye patch. Though it was not for the reasons of his deformities that the children ostracized him, indeed many of the children in the city's orphanage had been injured in one way or another.

No, it was for the fact that he was always speaking to thin air, and he did not care for the things that the other children held to be of importance.

While the other children kicked a bundle of rags around the street in the fashion of the players they adored, Victor would stand in front of the the local clock shop and watch the clocks. His one eye followed the gears as they whirred and turned as he stood, until the orphanage dame called the children in for supper.The other children mocked him. Calling him "loony", and "mad as a march hair."

Victor never cared, the other children could never know of the things he had discovered. But one day something they said caught his attention.

He was standing in front of the clock shop, as he always did, when one of the boys yelled across the road: "There's loony Victor! Always Talking to Ghosts!" That was when he knew.


Victor shook his head, trying to clear it of the memories he had tried so hard to forget.

"Gift." He whispered to himself before he continued reading.

We require your help in this most difficult matter, and hope you will contact our informant as soon as possible. The following is the address in which you can find him.

An address was listed. It was some distance from Victor's home.

"I'll have to use a cab." he thought.

Mr. Evernight, the very fabric of existence may hang in the balance.

Please respond to this letter as soon as is possible for you.


No name was given.

"Hmm" Victor thought to himself "At least these people are somewhat clever."

He glanced up at the ornate clock that sat above his desk.

"Ten O'clock." he muttered.

He got up from his desk, flinging the letter onto the desk in the process, and grabbed his gloves up off of it. He retrieved his coat and walked to the door. Glancing around the workshop once more, he flicked the switch and shut the door, locking it before he left. He walked up the stairs, pulling his long black coat about him as he did so, and put on his gloves before pausing in the front hall.

He glanced about, then patted the small object in his pocket once more before placing his top hat upon his head. He snatched up his cane and walked out the door. He bolted it, looking at the plaque that adorned it's carved face as he did, and sang to himself once more as we walked out into the dank London morning.

For He was a warrior,
Away across the sea
A warrior and a tarrier,
Jean-Fran├žois Belasier!


End of Chapter Two

Stay Posted for more chapters of :The Evernight Chronicles

Saturday, July 3, 2010

The First Chapter of: The Evernight Chronicles

Saturday, July 3Rd, 3:53 P.M.
Mood: Creative, Poetic
Music: Remains of the Day, by Danny Elfman

My dear readers, I have decided to write a book. I will be posting it one chapter at a time for the forseable future, so enjoy.

My book is the first of what I call The Evernight Chronicles.
The Evernight Chronicles follow the life of Mr. Victor Evernight.

But who is this Evernight?

I will tell you.

This is an excerpt from the early notes I took while writing the concept for the character.

"Magician, Inventor, Alchemist and Steamborg, Victor Evernight represents the quintessential steampunk inventor in the early Victorian age. "

And so now, without further ado, I present the first chapter.

The Evernight Chronicles,

Book One:




Chapter 1

A Rather Gloomy Morning


October 21, 1736,

London, England

It was a cold morning. The chill October winds had whisked a blanket of fog from the Thames over the sleepy London streets. The lamps were still lit, as it was so early in the morning, and most of the respectable citizens of London were still asleep. Lewisham, on the other hand, was already bustling with activity as the peddlers set up their wares for the early morning market.

A door on one of the side streets opened, and a tall gentlemen stepped out. He was an unusual sight for this part of London. Nearly 6 feet tall and elegantly dressed, he looked the picture of the upper class, and yet here he was in the industrial districts of the Thames.

He strode out of the shop and began to walk down the foggy street, black ebony cane by his side. He was oddly dressed, wearing a long black coat, black leather gloves, a scarf that covered most of his face, and a tall top hat sat atop his head.

The most unusual feature of the man though, was the large circular goggles he wore, which covered his eyes. The round lenses were almost perfectly reflective, and looked like those that one might expect to see on a worker in the shipyards, almost as if they were intended for metal working.

He strode down the street, past the stalls with the shouting vendors, over the Thames on the central bridge, and into the mist, almost disappearing into the early morning fog.

He returned home, and opened a heavy oak door in the front, next to which there was a plaque that read "Dr. Victor Evernight", and strode in.

He placed his hat, scarf and cane in the front hall, and made his way to the kitchen, where he picked up a kettle and some tea, then headed for the basement. He stopped at yet another door, this time with a note scrawled in spidery script that read "Lab, Do Not Enter." Smiling to himself, he opened the door and stepped in. A large switch lay near the door and he proceeded to turn it up, thus lighting the gas lamps in the lab, and illuminating it's contents. A sigh escaped his lips, he never tired of his workshop.

The room he entered was any inventor's dream. Huge tables and bookshelves crammed the walls, bending under the weight of all kinds of mechanical odds and ends. One of the bookcases was covered with various skulls, bottles of liquids and herbs, crystals and lenses, and a large intricately inlaid sphere that sat on a stand carved to look like the claw of some mythical creature. Objects that appeared to be of ancient origin lay strewn across the room, many carved with runes and delicately rendered writing. Tools were everywhere, any type one could imagine. Wrenches, gauges, measuring devices, flasks, tongs, and some that defied classification sat in various positions around the workshop. Designs and schematics covered the walls, and the desks were laden with yet more. Half finished inventions littered the room and in the center, suspended by chains, lay a great airship.

It was a magnificent sight, huge and ominous. It's black hull looked ready to cut through the air and it's massive rotors looked imposing and powerful upon their mountings. A massive balloon was folded and lay atop the mast, as if ready for use.

Victor made his way to the corner of the room, where a small stove lay. He lit the fire in the grate, and placed the pot on to boil. He then strode over to one of the desks and sat down. He removed his right glove, revealing a thin and dexterous hand, then he removed his left glove, but what lay beneath it could hardly be called a hand, at least not by human standards.

It was entirely mechanical, made from the finest copper and was intricately laced with gears that whirred and clicked as it moved, providing it with full dexterity. Victor sighed again, out of all his inventions, this was still one of his favorites. He flexed it in the light, marveling at how it glinted off the metal, then he balled it into a fist and absentmindedly began to rub it with his right hand.

The pot began to whistle, so he walked to the stove and poured himself a cup of tea. Sitting back down he blew gently on the swirling liquid, watching with fascination at how the steam whirled and billowed forth from the cup.

"Steam", he thought to himself, "such an inane thing, and yet look at all it has done." He looked again at his left hand, which now held his teacup, and in doing so his gaze fell upon a note on his desk. It was written on clean, starched white paper, and was bound with a red ribbon.

A seal rested on the front, closing the note.

It bore a strange symbol, and one word in the center.


Picking it up, Victor thought back to memories he had not considered for a long time. Then he thought of more recent events, those that could tie in with the letter he had just received. He patted the object that rested in the inner pocket of his long black coat and smiled to himself. This mornings venture had turned out to be profitable, despite his doubts of the old shopkeeper's claims.
He then looked back at the letter resting on the table.

"It looks as if things are about to get more interesting.", he said.


End of Chapter One

Stay Posted for more chapters of :The Evernight Chronicles