Boggy and black, the thin mud covering the stone beneath was composed of the decomposed. What had decomposed had taken centuries to do so. The bacteria required to break down plant and animal matter faltered in the wind bitten rockscape of Berevar's bleakest island outpost, Enklecay. In the thin layer of mud something grew, an equally anemic crop of short yellow grass clung to the end-of-the-world outpost with dour resolution. A cliff's edge set the lonesome land against a harsh horizon of yellow meeting grey. In the summer it was warm enough for the water to cling to the air like a thoroughly soaked sleeping bag, that was how the miserable clouds clung to the lost island. The low cover seeped drizzle day and night for weeks at a time. The sea had fish and so the cliffs had birds, their feathers and feces covered the island's steepest face almost entirely. Beyond that avian endeavour to devour fish by the tonne, there was little life present on Enklecay Island.thread notes
- i'm just gonna finish this jawn off as a solo since i didn't get any interest!
- if you want some music to set the mood, try this
- if you're reading this garbage thread, i apologise for stealing your time with something so terrible!
thx
A run of planks, shining wet with the delicate rain, were laid across the dampened landscape some decades prior. While untreated, the wood had not rotten, but had become worn and ugly. Continued expeditions along the grim boardwalk loosened the rusty nails and made the route precariously uneven. The pathway wound through the peaty bumps and squelchy patches in the island's limited layer of soil. Each plank was set on wooden rails below, it mirrored precisely the method used to permit tourists access to hot beaches. However, this boardwalk was not linking a hotel with a sandy beach via a gap in the sand dunes. Instead, it was the island's only lifeline. A solitary cove possessed a jetty made with the same humble lumber as the boardwalk. From the barnacle crusted posts up to the salt stained mooring, the modest structure communicated well its barely lingering presence waged against its vital importance. Row boats would dock in the cove after venturing from their larger ships anchored further out to sea.
These infrequent arrivals of supplies could be wheeled back along the path to the opposing terminus. Few people came back with the supplies, they were usually dropped off with the island's sole custodian to struggle back alone. Following the boardwalk inward consumed the few willing visitors with exponential anxiety. The path went along a slight incline. The yellow vegetation disappeared in the fog to either side, and the planked route drowned in the mist fore and aft. As though haunting its guests with sentient malice, the island's fog parted at the very point of hopelessness. What was revealed was the only humanmade building lost in the dreadful desolation. The whitewashed walls were weathered down to the red brick underneath. The structure's tin roof was home to weather vanes and lightning rods. Next to the familiar weather measuring apparatus was a curious sphere with a steel walkway mounted around it. Meanwhile, rain gauges filled the space at the foot of the building. It was a scientific research station. At the end of the boardwalk were a pair of rusted double doors ready to welcome the visitors inside. Despite it offering relief from the exposure, no visitor ever felt comfortable placing their hands on the orange oxide knobs and closing the door behind them.
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