Cthulhu_Wakes
Black Sun in a White World
17th Descending Earth, RY 768, noontime.
To Rain and Scorpion
Another rainy day.
The roiling thunderheads have been grumbling and shouting at one another since daybreak and are only now letting their argument fall to the earth in the downpour you both find yourselves in. Thankfully, the gods love small favors and you were given two thickly woven cloaks of rough canvas that are keeping you mostly dry, though the pat-pat-pat of the rain is becoming thoroughly irritating. You’re passing some little Immaculate shrine on the side of the road, overgrown with kudzu, looking forlorn and neglected, a rare sight these days.
You’re on the road south from the tiny river ports that dot the inner coasts of the River of Tears some miles inland and on the Calin/Fushida side of the river. There has been no town nor inn for the past week since you left Cooper’s Point on the river, just the clouds, the wide hilly plains, the hint of small mountains on the horizon and each other. The old man in Cooper’s Point pointed you both down the road you’re on, a former trade route once popular with the Guild caravans until the silver mine in those mountains distant dried up a century ago. He told you to just follow it until you came to Ito Village.
Not to say this region is lifeless, plenty of game and wild fodder is at hand. The stars pleasant and the skies less troubled that just over a month ago when…well, whatever the hell that was happened. Best not to ponder that acute nausea you both felt that day too much lest it come again. As far as you can tell, those boundary stones you passed yesterday you’re inside of the Fushida Protectorate (capital of Kimikurhe). One of the myriad small bolthole nations smattered across the Confederation of Rivers.
The muddy roads you walk upon are not too trying on you, no clay here like across the river near the salt marshes that skirt the Plains of the Dead outside Sijan. No, this is far better country. Cresting the next hill, you’ll come upon a rather lovely view. The plains flatten out and a great lake dominates the center, with a sizeable village cluttering up its near coast, facing you. White plumes of smoke drift out of chimneys all over, the town walled off by a sturdy looking palisade even from here, only a few more miles away. Even in the rain, you can see people working in the rice paddies outside the village and a few ox-driven plows moving in fields adjacent the paddies.
It must be Ito Village. A night’s rest on a real bed is so very tempting.
To the east is a sizeable forest, seemingly stretching back and back toward the River of Tears and to the west plains breaking into hills and steppe far inland toward Marin Bay.
To Rain and Scorpion
Another rainy day.
The roiling thunderheads have been grumbling and shouting at one another since daybreak and are only now letting their argument fall to the earth in the downpour you both find yourselves in. Thankfully, the gods love small favors and you were given two thickly woven cloaks of rough canvas that are keeping you mostly dry, though the pat-pat-pat of the rain is becoming thoroughly irritating. You’re passing some little Immaculate shrine on the side of the road, overgrown with kudzu, looking forlorn and neglected, a rare sight these days.
You’re on the road south from the tiny river ports that dot the inner coasts of the River of Tears some miles inland and on the Calin/Fushida side of the river. There has been no town nor inn for the past week since you left Cooper’s Point on the river, just the clouds, the wide hilly plains, the hint of small mountains on the horizon and each other. The old man in Cooper’s Point pointed you both down the road you’re on, a former trade route once popular with the Guild caravans until the silver mine in those mountains distant dried up a century ago. He told you to just follow it until you came to Ito Village.
Not to say this region is lifeless, plenty of game and wild fodder is at hand. The stars pleasant and the skies less troubled that just over a month ago when…well, whatever the hell that was happened. Best not to ponder that acute nausea you both felt that day too much lest it come again. As far as you can tell, those boundary stones you passed yesterday you’re inside of the Fushida Protectorate (capital of Kimikurhe). One of the myriad small bolthole nations smattered across the Confederation of Rivers.
The muddy roads you walk upon are not too trying on you, no clay here like across the river near the salt marshes that skirt the Plains of the Dead outside Sijan. No, this is far better country. Cresting the next hill, you’ll come upon a rather lovely view. The plains flatten out and a great lake dominates the center, with a sizeable village cluttering up its near coast, facing you. White plumes of smoke drift out of chimneys all over, the town walled off by a sturdy looking palisade even from here, only a few more miles away. Even in the rain, you can see people working in the rice paddies outside the village and a few ox-driven plows moving in fields adjacent the paddies.
It must be Ito Village. A night’s rest on a real bed is so very tempting.
To the east is a sizeable forest, seemingly stretching back and back toward the River of Tears and to the west plains breaking into hills and steppe far inland toward Marin Bay.
