Spring storms worsened after The Calamity. At least, that’s what’s recorded. What had been warm, refreshing showers were now black torrents that wracked the floating islands and the blasted lands below. The heavy, dark clouds blocked all sun from reaching the inhabitants of the citadels, forcing them to remain indoors or risk a misstep and the accompanying fatal plunge. If a window was left open, the pernicious clouds wormed their way into the vast halls and deposit their slick, oily precipitation on every surface they could reach. That part of the castle would remain drenched until the tempest season passed.
Thursday, April 27, 2017
The car trundled down the overgrown driveway, bringing the cabin into view.
“Well, that’s a shithole,” Greg said.
“I told you!” Mark exclaimed, slapping the seat in front of him.
“I don’t understand,” Jessica said. “The internet said it was a quaint, little cottage. Perfect for a weekend getaway.”
“I knew this was bad idea,” Mark whined. “We’ll never get back to that town before dark.”
Megan got out of the car.
“Let’s look around,” she walked towards the cabin. “Maybe there’s something we can salvage from this trip.”
“Like what?” Greg asked.
“Who knows? But beats just turning around.”
Wednesday, April 26, 2017
With a thought, Morg lowered the floating beast onto his large worktable. With another, the leather straps came to life, writhing over the thick, blue fur of the lightning cat until they found their mate from the other side of the table. Once each strip had found its pair, they intertwined and clamped down, securing the heavy feline to the table.
Morg put his hand on the unconscious cat’s head and whispered an arcane phrase. The cat gave one final exhale and was still. After sharpening his favorite knife, he made the first incision, exposing the dead cat’s warm innards.