A cool summer breeze carries the smell of the coming summer storm. A low growl of thunder carries across the vast sea. The Never it is called, the endless sea. Its depth reaches into hell and its span envelopes all there is.
The land is uninhabitable for men. Only mountains claw up from out of the deep. Ranges of dark and dangerous peaks stretch up from the dark sea, gasping for breath and life. Desperate and desolate stony peaks nearly as dark as the sea. Unimaginable beasts live on these peaks. So man is resigned to existing at sea.
In the Nevers, there are seven cities. Terre Goth is the sturdiest and most fruitful. Designed as a triquetra, three steel leaf-shaped sections of the city intercept the inner circle. Thirty million souls crammed onto a barge designed to hold a third of its passengers. Seven barges are all that are left and each with a city on its back. Terre Goth stands as a beacon among the seven. Glowing in the night upon the black waters.
In the center ring of the city, the towers stand proud and tall against the night. Their lights strive against the bleakness of the dark. Helicopters patrol the streets between the swaying towers. Drones zip just above the streets. Cars bustle in from the three leaf-shaped peninsulas of Terre Goth carrying commuters to their nights' work. Men crowd the streets brushing past one another in frustration.
Welders flash their bright white light just above the cold sea, maintaining the hull's integrity. Divers drop from the sides held by lines fed from above to inspect the belly of the city beast. Fishermen boats embark with smaller boats eager to make quota before the storm drives them back to the safety of the ship.
The high elves watch from their towers out windows of thick glass, safe in climate-controlled offices. Oppulate antique furniture carefully carved from Budinga wood securely bolted to the floor. Spiced rice and steaming meats are piled high on gold-trimmed plates. Holographic servants take their commands to the men below them.
Construction workers repurpose old materials to form the next great tower at the city center overlooking the park. The elven gardens flow out around the circle center like a bloom. Musicians play stringed instruments among the crowd of hustling citizens. Cars honk and people scream out obscenities at one another from deadlocked traffic.
Sizzling sausages are served at a stand on a pile of grilled onions and peppers. The overweight peddler sprinkles slices of jalapeno over the meal and wraps it in a flatbread. The peddler sets the sizzling sausage wrap on his counter to draw in customers.
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Three boys tail a girl in a black leather cloak. Her short black hair is spiked out in every direction. Her black lips are pursed in a snarl and her cherry brown eyes lined with eyeliner and black eye shadow lock on the sausage as she storms past. She flicks out a hand and snatches one and hisses at the fat merchant. Her followers shove him back and grab one for themselves.
The crowd closes in around them and they vanish into the crowd on Main. Main Street winds its way to the rusted red wire suspended bridge leading to the Valley Wing. Houses made from sheet metal and tarps crowd together and share patchy brown yards. Small children run in hoards and exasperated mothers stand in the doorways of their hovels shouting out threats to their flock. Unemployed men lurk nearby with slicked-back hair and piercing eyes. They lick their lips and work silver tongues on desperate and lonely wives.
The smell of Valley Wing is that of sewer and sweat. It is the most impoverished of the three peninsulas. Broken-down cars and neglected homes. Trash blows through the street. There is a grayness to the very air in the Valley.
The second wing is much better than the first. Most of the cars run and some houses even have their own boats. The apartment buildings rise up high like the towers of the city center. Most homes are made of brick and the children that run the streets have fewer holes in their clothes. Middletown is home to the hard workers, the go-get-ers.
There are parks in Middletown. A theater belches out regular new musicians. Sports arenas light up so bright as to be seen from blocks away. Mothers kiss their husbands as they return home from work. There is peace and exhaustion here. Hardworking men come home covered in oil and coal dust. Yet one mother cries as her husband won’t be returning home ever again. An older widow rubs her back and comforts her with gentle words.
Uptown Penn has summer in the air. Beautiful women with multicolored hair push strollers through bright green parks illuminated by a thousand led string lights. Soft garments drape over the ladies sloping curves. Clean-shaven men polish their unique muscle cars in the driveways. A group of boys throw a frisbee as a man in a suit walks past closing a business deal on his phone and glazing at his jeweled watch. A woman with long painted nails winks at him and he fixes his tie with a smile.
Terre Goth sits undisturbed on a restless black sea. The night drones in a familiar pattern. In the morning the sun will crest the horizon and circle around the horizon never fully cresting above the Never. The seasons come and go. Life carries on in Terre Goth.
The thunder rumbles again, closer this time. Alarms sound from the towers of Circle Center. Preparations must be made. Fiberglass walls rise up from the ground ringing about the edges of the peninsulas. Fishermen begin to drag in their boats. Cars park at magnetic stations.
The clack of polished suede shoes on the marble hall floor put the pilots and operators on full alert. The crew studies their screens intently preparing their responses. Navigation studies the map and looks up at the stars to compare. All catch their breath as the door opens and an elf in a pearl-white uniform steps in. His eyes slice through the room in a cold sweep. The captain enters the bridge on the tallest tower of Circle Center. The bridge that sees all and steers the lives of its passengers. A ball of ballistic glass looking out over the city, the sea, and the stars above. An elf responsible for the souls of thirty million souls stands with his chest adorned in fifty medals in charge of it all.