The Sun below, the Ground above.
Prologue 3:
It was Early-hor'ep-aer'ep, Morep started their morning schedule right on time. First, they did some stretching to make sure nothing was blocking any of their joints, one of Morep's gepatr'eps had one time spilled their favorite frukt'ep, kivi'ep, because of such a problem. Then, with a mirror, Morep put their hair into shape. Just like their gepatr'eps, Morep had opted for lign'ep hair, mixed with a bit of fajr'ep, resulting in an orange undertone. Finally, after pricking an opening in a kivi'ep with their little finger, Morep unrolled their trump mouth and quenched their thirst. Just like their gepatr'eps, kivi'ep was Morep's favorite frukt'ep.
Ready to go to work, Morep, with yesterday's journal in hand, took off towards Sinjorin'ep Pelotin's Mansion. Exiting their house with the left foot, Morep felt like it was going to be a great day. There was no particular reason to depart with the left foot first, but it was part of the knowledge their gepatr'eps had given Morep, being a good omen for generations now.
"Good morning Morep, hope you will have a nice Pe'lbas day." Greeted the old Sorep, Morep's neighbor, from their rocking chair at the other side of the street.
"Morning Peros, may the wind blow in our back today." Morep didn't really know why having the wind in your back would be great, it would just blow their hair out of shape, but it was one of the greetings Morep's gepatr'eps always used. The origin of the saying was sadly lost within the fractured knowledge of Morep's older gepatrep's; memories more then 5 generations away were really hard to access.
"Thanks Morep, but please call me Sorep, you know I prefer it," came Sorep's replay. Not that the old im'ep had ever looked at Morep. To be precise, if the Murlok'ep bird that was making a nest on Sorep's head was anything to go by, they hadn't moved at all.
"I will try to remember, see you at Hor'ep-sabl'ep, Sorep." Without waiting for an answer, Morep walked down the street, or else they might be late at work. It wasn't like Morep had been impolite anyway, the poor Sorep was getting really old, and after totally freezing 2 seasons ago, they hadn't moved from their chair anymore. And now,since a couple of days, Sorep kept on using the same sentences when spoken to. As such, Morep had tailored their discussion in a way it looked normal, how could they ever forget someone's naming preferences under standard circumstances. Not that Morep found it that much of a problem actually, it was great to have a well defined morning routine.
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Slowly walking towards the main street, Morep knocked on the doors they passed by. The current season being Pe'lbas, the air would stay really still even during Hor'ep-aer'ep. So, just like their gepatr'eps, Morep decided to help the Im'eps living in this street by knocking on their door every morning, now at least they wouldn't oversleep. Just like in the memories Morep had inherited, some of the neighbors yelled at Morep at first, but soon those people realized Morep was just being helpful and they let them be. Morep just found it strange the Im'eps didn't come outside at all lately, or was it just Mor'ep mistaking their gepatr'eps memories as their own?... Indeed, if the register in Morep's office was to be believed, except for Sorep, no one else lived in this street anymore. But not following the morning routine was stressful, hating that feeling, Morep made sure to keep to it.
The main street was as desolated as always, it wasn't like there was no one at all, no, Morep saw some good working Im'eps opening up their shops. The problem being that 30 citizens just couldn't make a 15 im'eps wide and 780 im'eps long street lively. As for how this came to be? The capital had passed the threshold of being 6.000.000 im'eps away 26 jar'eps ago, you could also say it was 4 pe'raj or 6.000 pe'mi away. With the capital far from close enough for trade, no one living in Pelombis could buy Pe'kor'ep anymore, leaving only the rare finds of the miners. And with almost no new essence in the form of the next generation, the city was slowly dying. Leaving what was once a bustling city with more than 10.000 inhabitants, not even counting the many travelers, as a soon to be ruin.
You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.
The current head count was a total of 287 Im'ep, if you added Sorep.
Reaching the marketplace in front of Sinjorin'ep Pelotin's mansion, Morep cheered up like usual, it made them content to see that the heart of the city was still active at least - just like it should be. Not everyone was here, of course, that would only happen during an Eklips'ep, but those selling things that didn't need the infrastructure of the buildings in the main street, had built simple shops here. Morep was mostly happy to be able to greet more people, greeting less than 40 citizens before starting the day was just wrong. To prevent this, Morep zigzagged towards the Mansion, saying hello to all the Im'eps present, which made Morep meet the minimum quota luckily.
While fulfilling their mission, Morep did their utmost to not look to much at the horrors surrounding them: The abysmal shop placements. It was so bad, that somehow a quarter of the gigantic marketplace was filled up. While walking to the front door, Morep stayed calm by repeating to themselves it had been done as such on Sinjorin'ep Pelotin's orders, who wanted to hide the ever present emptiness.
Before entering, Morep turned around to look at the sea covering the horizon. Just looking at it made them want to run away, not only because of their gepatr'eps telling them that dead itself was looming there, but also because Morep's birth instinct were screaming at them. Only Im'eps younger than 10 jar'eps couldn't fight those instincts effectively, and would in the current situation, literally just run away: Out of the city and North. To prevent this, the 3 young ones living in the city had been given special glasses to wear at all times - coloring everything green happened to be pretty effective at hiding the white, of the white sea.
Morep, by turning around, had just broken their morning routine again, they felt even worse now. But it was because of that same feeling they had ended up looking at the horizon in the first place. The sooner the migration North started, the sooner they would all move to a new city, the sooner everything would finally be normal. Morep, just refused to think about all the stress in between.
After a moment to calm themselves, Morep took out a key from their right top pocket, grown in the same place their gepatr'eps always had theirs. Not that locking the door was all that useful anymore, but Morep, just like their gepatr'eps, always closed the door before going home. Morep, as well as their gepatr'eps, had been the Sinjorin'eps secretary for generations, to be precise, generations from Morep's point of view. Sinjorin'ep Pelotin was one of the 9 people left in the city that were older then 500 jar'eps, 2826 jar'ep old to be precise. Five of them were the sorĉist'ep left in the magic tower. Not that those 5 really mattered, barely anyone really knew them, which is to expected of people that found there work more important then eating or other basic needs. Which reminded Morep it would soon be 50 jar'ep since their last visit, they should go check tomorrow if all the sorĉist'ep were still alive.
The 7th person was Sorep, who had somehow made it to 753 jar'ep old.
The 8th was Sinjorin'ep Pelotin's last knight - there used to be 10 knights protecting Pelontin in shifts, but the others had all passed away by now. During the last 956 jar'eps, Sinjorin'ep Pelotin never bothered training new guards for their personal use - just having a couple of citizens on the walls was already stretching the available im'ep power really thin. Ferdonep, the last knight, had been the head knight, that started serving under the previous Mayor - Sinjorin'ep Pelombis founder of the city. Not that you could call it serving anymore, Ferdonep was more like a last resort weapon in case of great danger. Morep knew from their memories that it had now been about 1.245 jarep that Ferdonep was basically only sleeping. When Morep's gepatr'ep had once asked about it, Sinjorin'ep Pelotin had answered that if Ferdonep did much more, they would freeze and die within a season. Not that that made Ferdonep a weak old Im'ep at all, apparently they could still show enough might to raze a third of the city to the ground. Morep, not being as curious as that one gepatr'ep, never bothered to ask more about it, they just greeted Ferdonep with the respect they deserved on the rare cases they were awake.
The 9th, and last, was Sir Petnelas, an eccentric noble that come here to become a farmer. Their first appearance had been quite bizarre, which is to be expected of someone entering the city looking like a walking corpse. Morep still had nightmares from that day... Since that same day, on Sinjorin'ep Pelotin's orders, Morep had also kept trying to get more information about Sir Petnelas every time they met, but to no avail. Morep didn't even know for sure Sir Petnelas was really a noble in the first place, they never obtained their last name. But, on Sinjorin'ep Pelotin orders, Morep keept trying, while being careful to not ever, absolutely never, anger their new farmer - the last part was an order that Sinjorin'ep Pelotin kept remembering them, like Morep would ever forget something.
Later today, Morep was taking a new shot at this information gathering mission, Sinjorin'ep Pelotin needed more fuel for the migration and their experiments. Mostly the last one.
But first, came the difficult, but usual, task of waking up the Mayor.