08-29-2016, 08:58 PM
Marlin Dustin lifted his blue quill from the tips of the parchment, looking over his writing, if it could be called that. Ink splotches covered the paper where the mangled words did not; it was impossible to tell if his writing was a strange form of cursive or even if it was just some odd language of the Deeps. He gave it another glance over; the message was readable, at the very least.
He looked over his shoulder, the door to his study closed and locked tight. No one could interrupt him, yet despite this, he felt the urge to make sure. After double-checking, he turned back to the parchment, setting his quill into the ink jar next to it. He stood up, picked up the parchment, and walked towards the nearby window. He opened it, whistling into the breeze.
No sooner did he do this than a raven no bigger than his clenched fist swooped down from the skies towards him. The bird perched on the windowsill, cocking its head in curiosity.
“Take this, Ratchet,” he said, placing the rolled-up parchment next to the avian creature, “make sure it gets to the Avengers. They have to know what is happening here.”
The crow did as it was told. It opened its long, slender beak, and picked up the piece of paper. The messenger then flew off into the sky, glowing gold bits of omnillium falling from its form before disappearing.
Dustin sighed, bringing his rankled hands to the pockets of his oversized overcoat. Now came phase two.
------------------------
Rando Le Terz… yes, that was its name. It was known amongst the inhabitants as just “Rando Island,” because calling it “Rando Le Terz Island” was both silly and too much wording for a single sentence. It was a solitary island, located a fair distance away from the bigger islands close to Costa Del Sol, which meant a lot less tourism for the island’s steady increase of population. And why would there be? After all, the island had one notable aspect of it that separated it from most others: the fog. The whole land-mass was covered in an almost impossible to see through haze. It stretched from the ground, all the way up to the tallest building in the city of Lando: the clock tower. Most every citizen that lived there had to contend with the dreadful humidity and the sweat that came with it, not to mention the unbearable rain that soaked the town every weekend or so. In fact, it was raining at that very moment; thundering, to be exact. A soft patter-patter of raindrops upon stone slabs was audible everywhere one went, unless they were underneath one of the many palm trees and rain-forests on the island; in which case, you’d hear the soft patter-patter of raindrops upon thick, green leaves.
The overcoat-wearing man walked through the central square of Lando, hands in his pockets and a blue feather in his brown cap. He glanced around the crowded street, studying the facial features of the people there. They were smiling, each and every one of them. He would smile too, if he didn’t know the truth. After all, the fog was only an annoyance; it could be tolerated given the right amount of incentives to stay. He passed by market-stands, selling all types of commodities: jewels from the deep, the most regal of clothing, and best of all, the prized sugarcane. He couldn’t list a single person on Rando Le Terz who didn’t want a bite of sugarcane, including himself. Demand for it was as high as the sky, and the supply for it always even higher. Anyone who got their sugarcane always walked away with a smile on their face, or their money back guaranteed.
He closed his eyes as he lowered his head, shivering in the rain. How had he never known? After years of signing documents, forging permits, and throwing the law off of his back, how had he never thought about this prior to right now? The truth was, he hadn’t. His old, bony hands yearned for the ink and feather, and his brain shut down upon landing the job. He could be as creative as he wanted, and write whatever he wanted, as long as he did what they said. For years, he did what they said, and had never considered what would happen if he did not do what they said until only a few days prior. With what he saw, rebellion was both an inviting and paranoia-inducing act.
It’s for the best, he reasoned. He had sent the message. There was no going back now.
He raised his head, looking towards “Bobby’s General Goods” store. A nice store; a pretty one, too, with the multi-colored flowers inside decorated pots on the windowsill of the shop. People poured in and out of the store, each with goods to peddle or goods that had been bought. The archaic lights inside provided a warm and welcoming sight; it provided enough heat to make even the ones with the wettest of clothing and the worst of colds snug and cozy. Right outside the door to the shop was a wooden sign, almost invisible in the sea mist, that held a silver sword in the middle.
Dustin gulped, taking a deep breath. He walked towards the shop and leaned against the walls of the building, his blue feather a beacon in the sight-screwing foam. Water dripped from his hat and his nose, so drenched was every bit of his body. But he was going to wait. No matter how long it would take, come hell or high water, from dusk to dawn.
He was going to see justice be served.
He looked over his shoulder, the door to his study closed and locked tight. No one could interrupt him, yet despite this, he felt the urge to make sure. After double-checking, he turned back to the parchment, setting his quill into the ink jar next to it. He stood up, picked up the parchment, and walked towards the nearby window. He opened it, whistling into the breeze.
No sooner did he do this than a raven no bigger than his clenched fist swooped down from the skies towards him. The bird perched on the windowsill, cocking its head in curiosity.
“Take this, Ratchet,” he said, placing the rolled-up parchment next to the avian creature, “make sure it gets to the Avengers. They have to know what is happening here.”
The crow did as it was told. It opened its long, slender beak, and picked up the piece of paper. The messenger then flew off into the sky, glowing gold bits of omnillium falling from its form before disappearing.
Dustin sighed, bringing his rankled hands to the pockets of his oversized overcoat. Now came phase two.
------------------------
Rando Le Terz… yes, that was its name. It was known amongst the inhabitants as just “Rando Island,” because calling it “Rando Le Terz Island” was both silly and too much wording for a single sentence. It was a solitary island, located a fair distance away from the bigger islands close to Costa Del Sol, which meant a lot less tourism for the island’s steady increase of population. And why would there be? After all, the island had one notable aspect of it that separated it from most others: the fog. The whole land-mass was covered in an almost impossible to see through haze. It stretched from the ground, all the way up to the tallest building in the city of Lando: the clock tower. Most every citizen that lived there had to contend with the dreadful humidity and the sweat that came with it, not to mention the unbearable rain that soaked the town every weekend or so. In fact, it was raining at that very moment; thundering, to be exact. A soft patter-patter of raindrops upon stone slabs was audible everywhere one went, unless they were underneath one of the many palm trees and rain-forests on the island; in which case, you’d hear the soft patter-patter of raindrops upon thick, green leaves.
The overcoat-wearing man walked through the central square of Lando, hands in his pockets and a blue feather in his brown cap. He glanced around the crowded street, studying the facial features of the people there. They were smiling, each and every one of them. He would smile too, if he didn’t know the truth. After all, the fog was only an annoyance; it could be tolerated given the right amount of incentives to stay. He passed by market-stands, selling all types of commodities: jewels from the deep, the most regal of clothing, and best of all, the prized sugarcane. He couldn’t list a single person on Rando Le Terz who didn’t want a bite of sugarcane, including himself. Demand for it was as high as the sky, and the supply for it always even higher. Anyone who got their sugarcane always walked away with a smile on their face, or their money back guaranteed.
He closed his eyes as he lowered his head, shivering in the rain. How had he never known? After years of signing documents, forging permits, and throwing the law off of his back, how had he never thought about this prior to right now? The truth was, he hadn’t. His old, bony hands yearned for the ink and feather, and his brain shut down upon landing the job. He could be as creative as he wanted, and write whatever he wanted, as long as he did what they said. For years, he did what they said, and had never considered what would happen if he did not do what they said until only a few days prior. With what he saw, rebellion was both an inviting and paranoia-inducing act.
It’s for the best, he reasoned. He had sent the message. There was no going back now.
He raised his head, looking towards “Bobby’s General Goods” store. A nice store; a pretty one, too, with the multi-colored flowers inside decorated pots on the windowsill of the shop. People poured in and out of the store, each with goods to peddle or goods that had been bought. The archaic lights inside provided a warm and welcoming sight; it provided enough heat to make even the ones with the wettest of clothing and the worst of colds snug and cozy. Right outside the door to the shop was a wooden sign, almost invisible in the sea mist, that held a silver sword in the middle.
Dustin gulped, taking a deep breath. He walked towards the shop and leaned against the walls of the building, his blue feather a beacon in the sight-screwing foam. Water dripped from his hat and his nose, so drenched was every bit of his body. But he was going to wait. No matter how long it would take, come hell or high water, from dusk to dawn.
He was going to see justice be served.
![[Image: sanssig.png]](https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/369919416432984079/371386052931485708/sanssig.png)
i may be all alone
but i'm here to tell ya honey
that i'm bad to the bone
B-B-B-Bad to the bone
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