The equivalent of Antarctic research stations but in fantasy worlds like for example there’s an evil terrible region of rotting and nightmares but like nine miles from the edge there’s a very ugly little building optimistically called Observation Center 1 and it’s full of normal humans just vibing. for like 90% of the year they can’t leave because that’s Death Fog Season but it balances out because they can study the ghost migrations and also hear the whalesong-like calls of The Unspeakable Ones asking you to come outside for a game of checkers but thankfully the checkers set is kept locked up to slow down anyone that gets tempted
My father was a tailor of repute Commendable in form, beyond reproach Fine gentlemen paid fortunes for a suit And came from all around in horse and coach My father sank to squalor from renown He borrowed all from any who would lend Destroyed himself in every pub in town The name of Rackham reeked from end to end My father bore the burden of the blame He’d rant and rave with eyes gone red with tears While I beside him sat, consumed by shame The insults came, the laughter and the jeers My father died. I lived with his regrets Then smiling men arrived collecting debts
I couldn’t hope to pay the promised sums The business died for want of calico Merchantmen who’d never worked for crumbs Had set up tariffs, fees, an embargo The debt collectors wouldn’t call a truce To debtor’s prison they’d have me sent off They thought that I’d be put to better use In make and manufacturing of cloth If no Anne, no rescue, no recourse But to embrace whatever fate may send Then know this, let it kill you with remorse That you and I kept pace until the end And if I die, I die, yet this is true- Oh god, the ground I made up to catch you
santiagogarcia
magnetictapedatastorage
paramaline
jamesclarkross
luaran
kitsuragied
vulcannic
too-right-red
kaprosuchus
clockheartedcrocodile
c-rowlesdraws
