[Kuro]

The topic for this challenge will be: Mechanical or Clockwork Angel. You can use anything that comes to mind with this prompt. Think outside the box. Your goal is to write something that is relatively complete in one hour. Give it your best shot!

You have one hour to write. There will be a writer's party at 5pm in the forum chat room. You are on your honor to only write for an hour.

Post entries/responces here, or an acknowledgement that you have completed the challenge (if you think you have something submission worthy). Critiques to other pieces are welcome unless otherwise stated.

As always, outstanding writing will be eligible for a forum award.
_________________
This is goodnight, and not goodbye.

And this is my blog: http://ladykuro.wordpress.com

Last edited by Kuro on Sun May 09, 2010 5:19 pm; edited 1 time in total

[Shadow]

Writing Started at 8 a.m.

Ended 9 a.m.

About 600 words. I will be posting it later today.

[Kuro]

For an excellent piece of prose, this post has been awarded the Golden Quill! Congratulations Kuro!

-Havoc

Writing Time: 45 Minutes
Edit Time: 10 Minutes
Word Count: 330

To Bury Him
A mechanical angel fell from the sky, broken wings trailing limply behind. Flames licked her frame, softly caressing her broken form. She screamed and black blood streamed from her, alighting in the flames that crept up her back. The person she carried was dead; she hadn't been able to push him away fast enough when the enemy struck. Now she cradled his body as they fell and vowed that she would bury them both in the earth, rather than let the enemy get either of them. He was behind them, watching, waiting to see if she would pull up at the last minute, waiting to see if there would be anything left to find. She wouldn’t let him, though, she would protect the man who’d always cared for her so, even if protecting him meant burying his body in the earth of a foreign land.

The flames were close to consuming her, burning bright and hot. They melted and twisted her insides, but she continued downwards, determined. The seconds she’d been falling felt like hours, days, years, a lifetime, two. Did real angels feel such when they fell from heaven? How long did they fall before finally reaching the earth? Had it hurt? Her destination still visible far below, time moved her sluggishly forward, ever earthward.

She coughed, and a spurt of flame rippled from her back. Her demise was only a matter of time now, but what would claim her first, the flames or the earth? Did it really matter? He needed a burial. She flew on.

Bits of her flaked off into the darkness, glowing bright for a moment before extinguishing forever. The earth was closer now. Shed punched through a layer of cloud, and now individual trees started to become visible. She coughed again and a second gouge of flame ripped through her, but she was going to make it. The earth was close. So close. It was here.

Tomorrow the headlines would read of a plane crash.
_________________
This is goodnight, and not goodbye.

And this is my blog: http://ladykuro.wordpress.com

Last edited by Kuro on Mon May 31, 2010 4:16 pm; edited 1 time in total

[Havoc]

Writing Time: 55min
Edit Time: 5min
Word count 1200

ARCHANGEL:

Raph sighed as he looked over the parchments of Leonardo's Robot. The ancient machine created by the once world renowned Sons of Milan had been delegated to the realms of science fiction and fantasy. They'd been an influence at one time, but the truth was not that they dealt in magic or anything. They were a club of inventors who loved the work of Leonardo. Most of the inventions they'd made hadn't worked like modern technology, but the principles were sound and had provided much for the world.

Raph carefully rolled the paper back up and opened one of the ancient books. He had to be very careful with these things given their advanced age. He skimmed the tome, finding plans for the 'clockworks.' They were similar to Leonardo's original Robot design, but far simpler and mechanical. The gears turned and were there for some joints, while muscles and other parts of anatomy were held together by springs and strings. They could not see the world around them though like modern cybernetics, but primitive cameras could easily be attached to them and they could gather information.

“Still looking over the old books?” someone behind him asked.

“Yeah,” Raph replied. “I have an idea or two, but it's a question of time...”

“Show's in about a week. What're you thinking?”

“Not sure yet, just that these clockworks could have been the very first cybernetics. Before the nanite even.”

“Think you've been watching too much TV, love. Cybernetics indicate some sort of computer connection.”

“Okay, then some sort of early version of bionics. You could even argue that the pirates with peg legs are the first bionics because it replaces a limb. Same with the hook hand or even those claws from the past.” He turned to face a young woman in an oversized t-shirt and looking ready to climb into bed. “There's something here and it could easily be a great piece of art.”

“You think everything in those books is a great piece of art.” She slid behind him and put her arms around him. “Those books with his anatomy drawings are real scary.”

“But they're not these machines. That was looking inward. This is outward. Look at these things.” He pointed to one of the drawings of the clockworks. “These things are practically androids.”

“We don't have androids yet. There's no AI smart enough to run one like what's in the vids or books.”

“So? It's a start.”

She gave him a kiss on the cheek. “I'm gonna go to bed then. You come up with something lemme know before the company.”

“Right.”

*****

Raph fell asleep at the desk sketching out his own design for the clockwork. It was a combination of the modern cybernetics that were coming into common practice and the original designs of the Sons of Milan. Next to the sketch was a list of the materials he would need. Everything from wood, old gears and springs to the modern bionics and nanites to create his piece of art. It was designed to look partly like a man, intending to invoke thoughts of the uncanny valley to the observer. The face especially was what he was trying to invoke that. It was designed to look as human as possible, so that it would move and behave almost human.

Laura came out of the bedroom and looked at him as she put her earrings in. She chuckled a little at how he looked there. This job had taken a lot out of him, but it would easily be the biggest project he'd done to date, and would grant him worldwide exposure. The work of art he was designing would be seen the world over in advertising for the newest cybernetic wetware. She walked over and gently rubbed his shoulder to wake him. The artist let out a groan and slowly sat up.

“Looks like you got something,” she said.

“Yeah,” Raph replied. “Something feels like it's missing though.”

“Extra pair of arms and legs maybe?”

“Heh.” Raph looked up at her with a smile. “The thought crossed my mind to make this like the Vitruvian Man, but it felt a little cliché.”

“Wings maybe? Show some sort of connection to that ascension stuff from their ads so far?”

“Too angelic...” He looked at the sketch. “Could combine the two though, but that might be overdoing it.”

“How many days left?”

“Four... I have plenty of materials, but it's a question of the design. They wanted something that evoked that whole old-world feel and the machinery in these books can do just that. Leonardo was a visionary and came up with some things that we've just created. He and the Sons of Milan created the first robots and things that eventually became helicopters and everything.”

Laura pushed him a little on the bench and sat down next to him. “Can you get more time?”

“Already tried. They said they need it when the line launches.” He looked at her. “What do you think? The arms and legs to make him like the Vitruvian Man or wings like an angel?”

She took the sketch he'd made. She raised an eyebrow seeing the surprisingly human face on the design. “That's on purpose, right? To make it look so human?”

“Well, thought it went with the theme of the cybernetics. They blur the line between man and machine, so making things for the brain and all is what can be the next big step. Who knows? We might all be uploaded to robots some day even.”

“Creepy.”

“Yeah, it is a little...” He looked at the sketch again.

“I think the wings.” She took a pencil from the jar on the table and looked at Raph. When he gave a nod, she quickly drew them out. She was no artist, but the sketch was simple and showed the wings were spread wide.

“That's it.” He smiled. “That's it!”

“Then you'd better get building the thing.”

*****

By the time Laura returned home from work, she saw the creation taking shape. The face had been the first thing he'd done and it showed. Laura winced a little at its appearance. The glass eyes of the thing followed her everywhere as she walked. He was putting the wings together now and they looked like a mix between a machine and bird, adding to some of the uncanny appearance of the thing.

“Hey!” he said.

“Hey yourself,” Laura said. “Looks like it's getting close.”

“Yeah. Gonna put the feathers on right now.” He went over to the table and slipped them onto the framework, finishing it. Raph grinned as he looked it over. “I'll get this thing done in time. I'm sure of it.”

Laura smiled at him. “Can't wait for the big reveal. Do you have a name for the piece?”

“Yeah. Archangel.” He looked back at the sculpture and returned to work on it smiling as he did.

[DrowKat]

Writing time: 60 min
Word count: 914


He began his mornings as usual; rushing to get to her room. The sun wasn’t even up yet, but he knew she was probably still meditating or whatever it was her people did, something mystical and in reverence to all the gods, no doubt. That wasn’t the reason why he threw himself together in his half-asleep state and not caring if his hair was a matted, brown-black mess. It was the sight of her milky skin and the even paler cream that she gently ran over her exposed skin to insure the desert suns would not burn her. His deepest desire is to be able to apply the cream himself, to touch that silky skin especially the slightly bulging skin confined above her dark gray, cotton corset. That image propelled him out of his room, not noticing he left the door wide open, down the long plaster and marble corridor of his home to her room.

The door to her room was made of pure silver, adorned in jeweled stars and a sculpture of the goddess Luna under the three moons. It was here, he managed to calm himself and ran his tanned hands through his hair to try and get some of the night’s knots out. He cleared his throat and knocked on the door, making sure there was a pause or two between the knocks. His knocks couldn’t sound desperate. The door opened revealing the object of his obsession and the female that it belonged to. She was almost his height, a few inches shy. Her black hair was braided into thousands of tiny braids and was almost to her knees in length. This meant he was early, but that was fine with him, he preferred her hair as loose as possible. Another fantasy of his is simply seeing her with her hair completely free from any braid and flowing freely.

“Good morning, Ija.” Her thick accent in her calm, almost mono-tone voice mispronounced his name again, but he didn’t mind as she stepped away from the door allowing him to enter. She was as emotionless as usual, he mused, like a marble statue of a goddess.

“Morning Bri,” he gave her a large smile, almost showing all his pearly teeth. He immediately took a set on her bed. The sheets were silk and in an array of reds and purples. The bed was made of carved wood, bleached almost white with high posts and a framed canopy where several strips of transparent fabric in blues and turquoise created a full canopy and curtains. The room was full of dressers and vanities, all made of wood and precious metals. All of this was not her doing, of course; this is what Ija’s mother provided. Bri was after all a Princess. Bri closed the door and returned to the smallest vanity to continue getting ready, which was to braid all her small braids into one large one. His brown eyes managed to tear themselves away from her to the almost bare vanity top. Standing about six inches tall was a woman made out of gold with large bird wings. The figure wore a long dress and was resting her head on her hands, her eyes closed. Ija stared at the object. There was so much detail, almost like the figure was real and simply coated in the metal. Maybe it was a fairy; they were native to her mountain homeland. He was fascinated by it, drawn to it. The woman’s eyes opened.

He jumped where he sat and had to look away. He looked back and the figure was just how it was before. Maybe it was his imagination. He looked back at Bri, only to meet her golden amber eyes. Her face wasn’t the calm mask it usually was, her eyes were narrowed dangerously and there was a slight hiss to her words, “Don’t ever touch her.”

Ija blinked, not only was the dramatic change both frightening and interesting but he wasn’t quite sure how he offended her. “Huh?”

She turned away from him and quickly covered the angel in a black, square cloth that covered it completely and perfectly. “I warned you, so listen. Some things in this world need to remain hidden. Beware of angels.”

“Angels?” He never heard of such a thing. “Oh… you mean the bird lady thing wasn’t a fairy.”

“Fairies are not as dangerous, or as dark natured. Let us leave it at that.” She stood and turned to him. “Leave now.”

His eyes widened. She never told him to leave before. He watched as her eyes narrowed again and he quickly jumped up and ran to the door. There was a ticking sound now, like the gears of the clock. It was coming from underneath the black fabric. He turned and Bri was standing in front of it, picking up the object with one hand and insuring the fabric wouldn’t slip in the other. There was movement under the fabric now, the ticking sound getting louder and louder. There was then a scream, muted by cloth. He saw the movement of the figure’s arms and hands; it was moving. Bri looked over to him again.

“Hurry!”

He listened to her and opened the door. There was something going on, something not natural. He quickly slammed it shut behind him. Bri’s voice, back to its calm state, began to recite something in her native tongue over the ticking and unholy screaming. Suddenly, the world was quiet.
_________________
Stab politely. ^_^

Last edited by DrowKat on Fri Apr 09, 2010 1:15 am; edited 2 times in total

[Shadow]

We could hear the wings outside the house, a metallic humming that set your teeth on edge. As it got louder I opened up the cellar door and we all climbed down into the musty air. We listened as the hum got louder, volume increasing until we were all cowering on the floor our hands pressed against our ears.


Mankind is not kind to itself. We are vermin who set ourselves above the natural order of the worlds we live on. We become masters of our environment. And what we cannot master, we break, destroy and reform it to meet our needs. We look upon others, at their wealth, their differences and cringe. We point to ragged borders and bits of meaningless papers for any excuse to gain control. This is the legacy of man. For when he believes he has everything, he shall in turn have nothing.

Three times the factions of mankind went to war. Rivers ran red with blood, bones fed the earth, mothers cried for their sons. Three times the earth shook with the violence of explosions. After the third time, man lay crippled and broken with their own destructive tendencies. Entire nations had been reduced to tribal numbers. Cities were burned husks.

The earth cried out against what had been done. Earthquakes sundered once fertile land. Volcanoes spewed ash and lave across the land. The seas rose up and gobbled the seafronts.

The survivors grouped together, ragged bands wandering from empty town to another searching for safety and supplies. Slowly they learned to put the pieces of their world back together and survived.

Old tales and long dead religions took the place of the self centered ideas. They looked to the stars they had once reached then at each other and began the steps of making sure man never did that kind of damage again.

Guardians, we called them at first, but the children were the first to call them angels. They were mechanical monoliths designed to protect the survivors. Bits and pieces of machinery, weapons and vehicles went into the creations. They patrolled the outskirts of the settlements, but they were too large, too cumbersome to move quickly.

We searched out the remaining bits of technology, pieces that allowed us to make the angles smaller to the size of a man then smaller to the size of a child. We programed them to be self aware, to make decisions, to assist us in surviving. We gave them wings to move quickly. We were fearful of what was going on around us. Fearful of the world that had turned on us. We were no longer masters.

That was our biggest mistake.

The children disappeared first. Too small and trusting to object or know what was going on. After all the angles were there to protect us. We did not understand at first what was happening as the babes, the toddlers and the little ones vanished one by one. The angels did not respond to our questions. We failed to give them the ability to speak to us. We only gave them commands.


The buzzing fades but no one moves. Experience has proven that the angels hunt the sky and the ground. If we don't make a sound, they will leave. We wait, huddled together like frightened rats in a corner. Muscles cramp, mouths go dry, eventually stomachs rumble as time slowly passes. We hear not a sound and I signal that we can move.

We climb out of the cellar, cautious every sense stretched to the limit of human expectations. We hear, we see nothing. We peek out the door to a dusky sky full of low clouds. The high grass waving in a slight wind. Rain is on its way, as we see the distant flash beneath the clouds. That is a comfort because the angels do not hunt in the rain.

We fan out racing for the protection of the woods, but nothing is there. We relax as we begin the frantic gathering of wild foods and traps. Thunder rumbles overhead as we head back to the house.

A click, the whirr of servos, the sound of metal on metal, froze us in the deepening twilight. She Stood before the door, her metal frame reflected the random flashes of the storm. Her eyes glowed menacingly. Her wings tucked carefully behind her.

“Protect you,” she called in a voice that was not human as the trees crashed around us.

[Cú Sídhe]

It had all started with her, hadn’t it?
She had spoken to him, opened his ears to the voices of her people.

Under the hum of the city, the chattering business people and the whistle of the steam engines, he could hear the gears turning. The slow, rusty whine of a civilization about to fall apart. They’d forgotten the ways of the elders, how to mend the great brassy contraptions that brought them water or tilled their lands. They had put too much faith in the Workers, shambling humanoid things of polished bronze and silver that walked around in human clothes and spoke in static-filled human voices.

There was no excuse. For decades the written works of Grigore Pascal had been rotting in the libraries with his extensive research on the maintenance of their steam-driven city. The books had turned to dust as mankind grew lazy in their decadence.

And the gears were grinding. Beneath the polished stone streets and shining buildings with their painted ceramic domes, the ancient machines were dying.

Jonathan heard them crying out in his sleep. He heard them in every click or clink or clank as his neighbors started the coffee makers, wound their automata for the day’s work, or made ration lists with their analytics. The clockwork of his daily life had become maddening. He couldn’t even ride the train without hearing the engines’ pleas for salvation.

The only voice that the man wanted now was hers. He wanted it to stop. There was no way to repair the city. The aqueducts would be the next to go, a fact which presented itself this morning with a resounding sputter and metallic whine as he ran the tap for his bath. When he’d closed his eyes, he saw the pumps running along the mountainside. A doe and her children were nibbling away at the foliage growing on one of the rusted hulk. The machine spewed steam in steady, umber clouds out of the crumbling joints in its pipes.

She told him to help her. She’d told him to listen and to see, to understand what had become of her people.

The city fell away into the countryside now. Painted skyscrapers had been replaced with small stone houses wrapped in ivy and thin, copper pipes. A Ferris Wheel was silhouetted in the cool morning light, flanked by the skeletons of whirligigs and tent poles. Even from the road, the grating sound of carnival music could be heard coming the few speakers that still worked.

As he drew nearer, Jonathan could make out the perpetually grinning face of child’s train ride. Stevie the Steamer, the sign above it said in bright red lights that had long since stopped working. It was silent, no cries from engines or gears. The grin made the silence ominous.

He parked his automobile a few yards away from the remains of the train tracks and made haste for the House of Wonders.

Come to me when you have made your decision, she’d said to him. Visit me again and, should you find me still alive, I will help you with whatever your choice may be.

Countless years had left most of the walls the same obnoxious neon colors that they had been when the carnival first opened. There were dusty handprints covering them now, graffiti stating that “Mark loves Sarah” or “TJ was here” in assorted spray paints, and in the room before hers a bird had nested in the cage for The Ferocious Lizard Man of Taiping.

Jonathan heard her before he even saw the familiar violet paint. He pushed aside the beaded curtains and nearly sprinted across the room.

She was dying.

It couldn’t have been more than a week since his last visit, but there it was all the same. The sound of that rusty death whine was all too familiar to him now.

“I-I-I am glad y-you ca-came back, John-a-athan. What is is your choice?”

The gentle stinging of his eyes made him feel foolish. A man did not weep for a machine, even if it was one such as Esmeralda the Mystical Mechanical Fortune-teller. But he could hear her gears winding down and her voice losing its humanity.

Her black hair was still in tact; her paint still bright even if some of it had flaked off of her green dress; and where the openings for repair were located, oil was seeping through. If he squinted, it seemed to be coming out of her tear ducts rather than the center of her eyes.

“I’ve heard them. I’ll help. I’ll do it.”

I will tell you what I see, the woman had said to him. I will give you what I know that you may repair yourself, but I ask in return that, when you have heard them, you take Grigore’s last words and help my people.

With the last of her reserved power, the automata pulled a worn leather-bound journal from where her deck of cards should have been.

“Sa-sa-save them, J-jona-a-a-th”

His name ended at that hiss.

Gently, oh so gently, he took the book from her hands.

[MadLarkin]

I hope I'm not to late to get in on this (it is still 4-8-10 where I am, only 10 o'clock)

Started 9:00
Ended 10:00 (9: 57 ish)

Writing time: 55 minutes
Edit time: ~2 minutes
Word count: 1128

"Do you have the scroll?"

"Yes" said the magician hesitantly, looking around making sure he was not to be tricked.

"Well?" said the middle aged looking equally concerned, "Let's have it."

"I'd like to see it first actually... I've never seen one before."

"Fine" said the man, he turned rather slowly and beckoned the man into his shop. "Come with me."

They walked into the shop, the bell on the door disturbed the heavy dust that was floating around the shop, everywhere hands ticked and pendulums swung as the odd pair walked through the clockmakers storefront and into the back room. The back was even more dusty and old than the storefront, if such a thing was possible.

On an ancient wooden workbench sat pairs of intricate tools for fixing and building clocks and personal time pieces. In boxes that lined the walls sat stacks and stacks of large parchment designs for clocks of various makes and inner workings. And hiding in a corner, positioned perfectly to catch the light of both a sunroof and a window sat a large canvas sheet draped over an awkward figure. Although it was night now he could still see the moon shining in onto the figure, overpowering the shadows that it so desperately desired to cling too.

The clock repairman dragged the sheet off the figure, there sat a hunched over human like figure. It was armored completely in brass and its only visible human features were two slit like eyes and a large jaw. In addition to its human features it had a pair of leather and brass wings akin to those of a bat.

"Fool! That is not a true Golem, it is just a fancy clock, it will never run, you've got no clay!"

"Not true you simpleton, look at this."

The watchmaker took a screw and meticulously unscrewed a single golden screw in the center of the faceplate. after unlatching several other hand made latches he removed the piece of brass. He started to uncover what lay below

There under the armored exterior, there was a marble skull, on the forehead of the skull were Hebrew letters, they spelled out 'emet' or "truth" in Hebrew, in each of the marble eye sockets were glass eyes, each with complex Hebrew characters etched into the back. The wizard made a move to pick it up, in order to study it.

"Imbecile!" yelled the clockmaker, "can you understand nothing that you cannot touch! Inside the mouth of this skull is a singular glass spinal chord. covered in the softest sheep's wool, wrapped in leather and covered with a layer of chainmail this spinal chord transports the liquid clay that I have into the mouth of the machine, and also into the machines internal engines. With the help of your scroll, the machine will activate and the enchanted clay will manipulate its brass body through the manipulation of the engine."

The watchmaker started to brag now as this was the only other soul that could know about his machine.

"It will be able to leap, fly, land, fight, kill, destroy, and it is one hundred percent without fear or pain. Are you satisfied, will you give me my scroll."

"Let me see it work!" implored the magician. "Let me experience it."

"Very well" said the tinker, he walked over to his workbench and pulled out a bag of gold coins. "This should cover our engagement, how hand over the scroll."

The magician produced a satin bag and pulled out the parchment, it looks as if it had been written on ancient papyrus. he handled it gently and passed it on to the machines creator. The clockmaker had replaced the faceplate and opened the mouth of the machine, as he placed the parchment in its mouth the enchanted clay came up from the throat of its glass spine and enveloped the spell. The spell disintegrated as it became saturated with the liquid clay. They sat holding their breath.

The machine stirred little at first, the dust seemed unsettled on its shoulders at first, and finally its glass eyes started to glow, without apparent help from a flame or other light source. After about five minutes it was standing and testing its amazing wingspan. Eventually its lifeless eyes made contact with those of its creator and it stood in the ready.

"I have a test for it." said the clockmaker calmly, unsurprised that it worked. "We shall see how it performs."

The magician stood, his mouth unable to make speech, the words sucked out of its mouth by the stunning spiritual and mental energy that the creature assumed, even in its passive stance.

He pulled a scroll and a lock of hair out from another of the endless drawers in his workbench. He rolled it up and walked towards the golem. This time it sensed his presence and opened its mouth to receive his instructions. The golem took a minute to process the summons of his master. Once it was ready, it looked up and bound its way through the skylight, the clockmaker could see his creations silhouette as it continued to fly into the distance.

The magician managed to find his speech again. "The scroll was for the instructions, and the hair was a locator."

"Yes" said the clockmaker. "The scroll was orders to kill two people, and the lock of hair was to help it's acute sense of smell better pinpoint the location of my wife and her adulterer."

"It" said the magician as he thought on the word, still in shock, "Your Clockwork Golem."

"I like to refer to it as my Clockwork Angel." said the tinker.

After several minutes of sitting in silence they heard the heavy beat of large wings. Suddenly, without warning the machine landed back in its original place, the tips of its wings covered in thick blood.

"Interesting" noted the clockmaker, speaking to himself. "It prefers to kill with pointed tips of the wings I gave it."

"This has been a most interesting demonstration master clockmaker, but if you excuse me I must rest now.

"That is fine, our business is concluded here" said the watchmaker as he removed the face plate and with a cloth and some alcohol he removed the first Hebrew character on the machines delicate skull, changing the words meaning from "truth" to "death." The creature sat itself down as it deactivated. The clockmaker sat down once again at his workbench and this time brought out a Hebrew dictionary, a centuries old grimoire that detailed commands that could be given to his new puppet.

He brought out a new piece of parchment and began to write, he already knew the word for kill, but he had to search for the word 'magician'.