« Spill-trunnion vs. rector. | Main | Doubtless you do. However, these are not. »

March 18, 2004

A Mornington Lovecraft mystery.

There are thirty-one cities in the ancient and distant land of Henge. Eleven of them are made of tallow, and are inhabited by the population in the winter months. On the seventeenth day of Milkfloat every year, small outbuildings which have been specially constructed for the purpose are set aflame to mark the beginning of a new season.

The two oldest cities in Henge lie close to the northern border with both Rumpole and Plblblblbp. Turmut is largely abandoned, save for a nomadic tribe of meteorologists, while Brize Norton is entirely made from Bakelite and hosts a variety of sporting events in the long summers.

Another five cities are constructed from the skeletons of vast cement works. Extended families wander the echoing halls, stopping where they may, while transporting their worldly possessions on wheeled carpets of intricate design.

Blarkey, @<=>!! and eeeeEeeee were constructed millennia ago by a quasi-religious faction of boilermakers, who believed that steam-power was next to godliness. Thus these three great cities trundle hither and yon across the verdant plains that surround the inland sea of Trinklespasm. The residents of the port of Nipkow are all those born in the wandering cities with incurable travel-sickness. Wheeled transport is shunned there.

Posted by Hirez at March 18, 2004 11:05 PM

Comments

Post a comment




Remember Me?