06-21-2016, 08:19 PM
The West wing was part of a beautiful, restoreed Brownstone. What no one knew it had entrances to the labyrinth below and his own secret study down in the undercity. From the top a Well to do Captain of the "Storm Cloud", below just another lost soul.
Having moved the most promising of the scrimshaw up to his study he had them arranged in almost a perfect geological order. Synjyn had spent weeks arranging and rearranging the scrimshaw into to a story. Some pieces dated back before recorded history, a true written record not know to exist about the time before time.
Mumbling a few words could be made out: the women give chills to the men? Burning fever at the child's change, village destruction, young killed as witches, older worshiped, older dies suddenly, no trace,
The story tumbled on.
Stopping he lite a Cigar and poured a dram of stout whiskey. none of made sense. Some killed, some worshiped, some lived some died? His sister died and he lived, maybe it made more sense than he thought.
Some knew the answers but he was sure they knew not all. This is not new, it is old come new again!
Even tho he hadn't finished reading he started over. With note pad in hand he set off to add detail to his growing knowledge.
Edited by Manix, Aug 26 2016, 12:37 PM.