>>6327210As salt and thaumites gets passed around for amenities, of food, of fish, of services, and even the occasional luxury of whale ichor or jellied fruits, life among the Children is peaceful, insomuch as can be had, dealing with natural instincts and such.
As the white falls, those that covet and horde the valuable, sometimes dancing material, are seen as pack leaders, apex predators atop a new, strange ecosystem. Only in Whitefall, can the smallest of prey contend with the mightiest of the Children, not based on strength and height, but on shrewd intellect and dulcet tones. The rise of such salt barons, as they will come to be known, is a slow, but inevitable process, like the growth of ichorous tree and its many winding, spindly branches in the tundra below.
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Darkwood, the forested glacier, where in the murky depths the ichorous roots ever bless, idle hymns of the Marines. In their pods and their playgrounds, they sing and dance in those twisted caverns and vast seas, supplying fish and whale ichor to those that inhabit the beautiful forest that they’ll never witness in bloom.
Oh, what beauty, what splendor, these blessed wooden roots! Though it’s been centuries since their Savior was last witnessed, and their faith waned, never will the imagination die of the majestic forest, the ideal, the heaven above. Though words cannot express the wondrous jealousy that fuels their budding rivalry with Whitefall, never will they forget the hym of the walking night, holding up a lantern bright, as their will bore fruit in frozen hell melting into salvation.
The Marines continue their songs merrily, unaware that in the depths nearby, a hymn dims into a growing silence.
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It is sung that a duo of strange beasts wanders the lands, their rivalry more legendary than that of the glacier tortoise and snowhare. There, a small beast enclothed in fur, wielding lantern and flute, does battle with the mightiest of marine life ever witnessed.
With tricks, wits, and a roaring hiss, dreaded foes wage war, one for predator pride, as the apex of tundra life, and the other, fighting his inner demons come alive, his watery failure enfleshed.
Though their rivalry seems petty to many, between the duo, two mismatched sprits come at loggerheads, locked in a rivalry neither truly understands.
~~~
As the Beast wanders his wastes, his attention waxes and wanes with his timber and tone. It’s been awhile since he’s ever been so alone.
Light shines, godling falls, the lantern wanes, the trail longs. But the concentrated sparks of divinity propel him forward.
It’ll be novel, interacting as an equal.
A glade approaches, an emissary seen.
As the Beast opens a lexicon rarely heard, he contemplates the prospect of the divine, and the approaching euphoria of breaking his lonely stride.
