September 13, 2019, 06:42 PM
bwp phase one: rough dawn
dawn breaks across the skyline in a myriad of colors: blues and pinks of candyfloss, pastel citrine orange, warding off the waning shadows of night. the sky looks calm, though he is no nightkeeper and does not have the knowledge to read the sky ...but he knows that there is something unnatural and far too eerie about the silence that hangs heavy in the air as if this place has is a barren lushland. those two things should contradict themselves and yet ...and yet ...drüskelle hears no birds, no crickets, no cicadas, no rustling of small woodland critters and they scurry to and fro under foliage.
there is only the sound of his own footfalls.
something isn't right.
the distant rumbling he hears could easily be from a gathering storm and yet there doesn't appear to be a cloud in sight. a shiver slithers its way down his spine but he ignores the warnings his bones are screaming at him and trudges on, following the twisting freshwater stream to where it empties into the lake and pauses to lap at the crisp water with a bow of his head.
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