Timestamp: Spring 514, 22nd
A faded morning left the world colorless. Murky fog cursed each a film of sticky dew on every surface. A Pulser slave slipped on the slick wood of the pier. She froze sprawled on the docks, the tufts of hair that remained after malnutrition’s blight fell around her like tears. Lenore observed from afar, could this be the creature’s breaking point? Or was her will crushed long ago? After heavy minutes the wretch crawled back to its feet and continued on. Lenore’s attention wondered.
No ships sat idle, even had they the fog was too thick. Lenore seemingly aimlessly meandered through the harbor. In truth it was looking for inspiration, what did Nuits do that could be pretty relegated to an automaton? Or even less specific the animator watched for interesting materials, though there was a dearth to be found given the lack of ships. Maybe Lenore was fooling itself, it was taking, something so inefficient as, a stroll.
Regardless when the dissonance arose on the far end of the harbor, Lenore wondered in that direction. It arrived just in time to hear two Pulsers arguing. “It were huge! Breathin’ fire an’ long rat tail an’ it had a great spikes read to stab ye! Like a sword really, an’ a stink so foul it’d most like risin’ from the grave.”
While Lenore puzzled out what message that foul combination of words added up to, the simpleton’s more educated friend replied. “It was rat Gene, just a rat. It’s your own fault for hanging your arse out to get bit.” Oddly, he sounded uncertain. Concluding then, Lenore assumed this must be the fearful lie that is so often employed against superstitious myths. So something might be about, something intriguing. Attentively, the nuit began to look for this mystical vermin, cautiously of course because what if it did breath fire?
A faded morning left the world colorless. Murky fog cursed each a film of sticky dew on every surface. A Pulser slave slipped on the slick wood of the pier. She froze sprawled on the docks, the tufts of hair that remained after malnutrition’s blight fell around her like tears. Lenore observed from afar, could this be the creature’s breaking point? Or was her will crushed long ago? After heavy minutes the wretch crawled back to its feet and continued on. Lenore’s attention wondered.
No ships sat idle, even had they the fog was too thick. Lenore seemingly aimlessly meandered through the harbor. In truth it was looking for inspiration, what did Nuits do that could be pretty relegated to an automaton? Or even less specific the animator watched for interesting materials, though there was a dearth to be found given the lack of ships. Maybe Lenore was fooling itself, it was taking, something so inefficient as, a stroll.
Regardless when the dissonance arose on the far end of the harbor, Lenore wondered in that direction. It arrived just in time to hear two Pulsers arguing. “It were huge! Breathin’ fire an’ long rat tail an’ it had a great spikes read to stab ye! Like a sword really, an’ a stink so foul it’d most like risin’ from the grave.”
While Lenore puzzled out what message that foul combination of words added up to, the simpleton’s more educated friend replied. “It was rat Gene, just a rat. It’s your own fault for hanging your arse out to get bit.” Oddly, he sounded uncertain. Concluding then, Lenore assumed this must be the fearful lie that is so often employed against superstitious myths. So something might be about, something intriguing. Attentively, the nuit began to look for this mystical vermin, cautiously of course because what if it did breath fire?
