Right, everybody, first things first: no magic, no gods, no immortal beings.. :) This will be something I intended to match Iron Hearts: Except being more realistic, this will also be more specific in time. Faithful readers may know that, between some updates in Iron Hearts, over a century may have passed. In this new story, The Dynasties of Kensington, I'll try to stay in a certain time as long as the story permits. Oh, and do remind me if I stray too close to soap opera. :lol:

In the beginning..

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The greasy smog, the inevitable offspring of industrialization, hung over London. It was the year 1722 Anno Domini, the year that was being celebrated as the year of the Industrial Revolution. Through the construction of a piece of clever and intricate machinery, the steam machine, Harold Kensington had reached the very limits of fame. Twenty years ago, he had been but a worker, assigned to produce interchangeable axe heads at the Miller-Bates Engineering and Agriculture factory. Fascinated by the idea of the 'one-part-fits-all' philosophy, Harold had constructed different applications out of scrapped parts he'd taken home from work. Five years after that, he had become a great genius in matters of technology, promoted to Chief Engineer due to the logical intelligence his hardened plebe features belied. The true success had happened only a year after that, when he had finally completed a primitive steam machine. Mine companies everywhere bought the first machines at great prices, enabling Harold to retire from the labour of engineering at work and make it his hobby. As the years passed, the patented Kensington Steam Engines had earned him a great fortune, and he was constantly upgrading previous models.
Now, Harold Kensington stood in front of the railway station, awaiting a prospective client to arrive from York. Reaching inside his waistcoat, he withdrew a large golden clock, checked the time, and put it back into his pocket. He was slightly below average height, dressed in a purple silken waistcoat, pinstriped suitpants, and a black velvet coat. On his head, he wore a bowler hat, ribboned with dark red, and on his eye, a monocle. A silvery walrus moustache stretched down either side of his small, pursed lips, framing them along with his hawk-ish nose and pointy chin. He had a confident, enlightened air around him, typical of the bourgeoisie of his time.
'Mister Kensington!' A rather young chap, probably the man who had requested the business meeting, ran down the front steps with a portfolio clutched under his hand. He had reddish-brown hair and sported a small tuft of beard at the tip of his face. He wore a top hat, of similar brown colour as his coat, and was bespectacled. Reaching out his hand for Kensington to shake, he took his top hat off with the other to salute. 'I'm Charles Vincent, of Edinburgh Mining. May I propose that we remove ourselves from this chilly weather and enlist a restaurant so that we may discuss our business matters?' He smiled slightly. 'I'll admit, with this weather and the long train journey, I would not hesitate to order the largest meal of the house and a good, proper brandy.'
Kensington waved his bowler hat in response and nodded. 'Indeed, I have been busy preparing for some business negotiations tomorrow, and have not enjoyed the luxury of a meal and a drink since yesterday evening. In fact, I know a place which is perfect for business and food: A skilled French chef coupled with separate cabinettes where we shall be able to discuss in private.' As Vincent nodded his agreement and sneezed, Kensington turned towards the street and waved at an approaching carriage.