Twenty-Three
Feb. 18th, 2013 06:13 pmI pick out west and head in that direction, swiftly finding the wall and then the gate. It stands open, though attended by guards. I touch the brim of my hat as I sweep past them. If they remember seeing me leave, they’re less likely to want a conversation when I come back in.
The well-worn footpath is easy enough to spot. I get my first real look at the local geography outside the town walls. It is indeed up on a sort of bluff. We seem to be on the edge of a hilly territory, in the foothills of some old and gentle-looking mountains that are probably not the ones that Heizer hailed from, unless this world is very small indeed.
The footpath leads down into what looks like a river valley, with no sign of the river. It’s probably still going strong underground. Some ancient cataclysm shifted things somewhere further upstream. It’s unlikely to be related to the current trouble, unless that cataclysm buried something that’s been working its way free. That’s plausible, but it doesn’t strike me as likely. The aldic dirge points to some connection with Heizer and his boxes.
The pool is easy to find, and would have made an idyllic and picturesque spot if not for the fact that the trees and plants around it seem to be in an unseasonable state of wilt. All the greenery that you would expect to spring up around a ready source of clean water is there, it’s just… not green.
Not a lily, not a cattail, not an inch of algae grows in the water itself, which only heightens the impression of being clean and fresh. It’s not just clean, it’s sterile. So clear, I can look down and see the bottom like I’m looking through a fine glass window.
Still, as I look down on the scene, I feel that same itching apprehension of dread I’d felt when I looked into the bucket. I can see nothing in the water to explain it, nothing at all.
The well-worn footpath is easy enough to spot. I get my first real look at the local geography outside the town walls. It is indeed up on a sort of bluff. We seem to be on the edge of a hilly territory, in the foothills of some old and gentle-looking mountains that are probably not the ones that Heizer hailed from, unless this world is very small indeed.
The footpath leads down into what looks like a river valley, with no sign of the river. It’s probably still going strong underground. Some ancient cataclysm shifted things somewhere further upstream. It’s unlikely to be related to the current trouble, unless that cataclysm buried something that’s been working its way free. That’s plausible, but it doesn’t strike me as likely. The aldic dirge points to some connection with Heizer and his boxes.
The pool is easy to find, and would have made an idyllic and picturesque spot if not for the fact that the trees and plants around it seem to be in an unseasonable state of wilt. All the greenery that you would expect to spring up around a ready source of clean water is there, it’s just… not green.
Not a lily, not a cattail, not an inch of algae grows in the water itself, which only heightens the impression of being clean and fresh. It’s not just clean, it’s sterile. So clear, I can look down and see the bottom like I’m looking through a fine glass window.
Still, as I look down on the scene, I feel that same itching apprehension of dread I’d felt when I looked into the bucket. I can see nothing in the water to explain it, nothing at all.