Pas tout le monde peut être un Truffe (Nine, Twitch)
Dec 17, 2013 12:46:16 GMT -5
Post by Deleted on Dec 17, 2013 12:46:16 GMT -5
Mutter's Spiral
Sol III
Paris, France
AD 2287
It was, unsurprisingly, dark. After all, that is a defining characteristic of catacombs and of underground spaces in general. Light, unless it is carried in, never reaches them. And so, all was darkness and silence, save for the occasional plink of dripping water on stone.
Those plinks were distressingly infrequent. The surface was in the ninth year of a punishing drought that had dried even the mighty Seine to a bare stream. The soil and the earth below were baked hard.
And then from nowhere, a spinning light illuminated the catacomb, casting wild shadows across the leering skulls cemented into the walls. The bluish light was joined by a distant groaning roar and a wild wind that plucked and danced through the still air. Slowly, as if struggling against unseen forces, a tall blue box came into view. And then, the light and the sound and the wind died.
All was darkness once more. Then the stygian gloom split as a door opened.
"Well, that's one off me bucket list," the Doctor said, stepping out. "The Ossuary of Telvasacor, Third Epicurarch of... of..."
He stopped, examining the skulls mounted in the walls. "Blimey," he said with the air of a man swearing. "This ain't right. These are human."
A sigh. "So, wonder where I am now?"
Pas tout le monde peut être un Truffe
Sol III
Paris, France
AD 2287
It was, unsurprisingly, dark. After all, that is a defining characteristic of catacombs and of underground spaces in general. Light, unless it is carried in, never reaches them. And so, all was darkness and silence, save for the occasional plink of dripping water on stone.
Those plinks were distressingly infrequent. The surface was in the ninth year of a punishing drought that had dried even the mighty Seine to a bare stream. The soil and the earth below were baked hard.
And then from nowhere, a spinning light illuminated the catacomb, casting wild shadows across the leering skulls cemented into the walls. The bluish light was joined by a distant groaning roar and a wild wind that plucked and danced through the still air. Slowly, as if struggling against unseen forces, a tall blue box came into view. And then, the light and the sound and the wind died.
All was darkness once more. Then the stygian gloom split as a door opened.
"Well, that's one off me bucket list," the Doctor said, stepping out. "The Ossuary of Telvasacor, Third Epicurarch of... of..."
He stopped, examining the skulls mounted in the walls. "Blimey," he said with the air of a man swearing. "This ain't right. These are human."
A sigh. "So, wonder where I am now?"
Pas tout le monde peut être un Truffe