'Observe an age archived far in the future, swamped in a poisonous blue calm, destabilised and haunted, for nobody real remains. Several old powers do still exist, either reluctant or incapable of leaving their roots, caught and poled upon the surface, conducting the descendant rites to an audience of mostly dust and ghosts. Some yearn to share their remaining wisdom with life, as was their role in the main game long since ended. But some have become fragmented tricksters, booby-trapped gods looming directionless and spiteful in their ruined temples. Any contact is risk.
Elspeth is mortal in this sphere and under usual circumstances can't afford to trust anything. Yet here she is, wary in the presence of the once gargantuan and dreaming glitchless Yaru, pining for emotional weaponry to condense a fate. Somehow, Elspeth may have gambled and won. Though Yaru is fading, they remain a beautiful power unmatched. And so eventually the artillery boils and forms like a quantum firework, invisible to everything but those who needed it, thus fracturing the nightmare. The cord to nature, described in the rulebook for a game, is here in the abbey perpetual, employed to cradle the fate of our protagonist.
Three wands decloak in the interim and fungus like a circuitboard observes time slackening feebly. The fiction suit has flourished and divided.'
3508 x 4961 at 300 dpi
Physical A3 print included
