An entrance of miniscule proportions
To say that Rossamünd is in the midst of one of the most horrible days a body could be put through would be, unfortunately, something of an understatement. He still feels numb, as if his body is but a puppet which his occasionally-clumsy fingers cannot seem to grip properly and the soul deep ache of the day's spiritual wounds show no sign of stopping.
Threnody returned to the anything-but-loving embrace of her mother. He, disgraced and stripped of even his humanity in the eyes of the court, drummed from the ranks of the Lamplighters he had come to love and feel such loyalty to. His very existence questioned.
Rossamünderling. The finest explanation for his name since he had been found outside of the now-destroyed marine society in Boschenberg. An ünterman in the guise of an everyman, as if the Half-continent had not held enough horrors.
The one bright spot is his new profession, and his new traveling companions. The Branden Rose, as she was called: Miss Europe, as he knew her, not to mention his old masters from the marine society who had shown themselves at his hearing: Masters Craumpalin and Fransitart. He doesn't know what she plans to do with the old vinegaroons, as useful as they had been in their youth and as steadfast as they had been for her new factotum, but he certainly hopes they'll stay around for a time if only to settle his nerves.
At least, that is what he thought as he wandered through a rift in space and time.
...there is no words. Only Zuul.
But there is a rather anachronistically dressed little man staring up at, well, everything on the street.
Threnody returned to the anything-but-loving embrace of her mother. He, disgraced and stripped of even his humanity in the eyes of the court, drummed from the ranks of the Lamplighters he had come to love and feel such loyalty to. His very existence questioned.
Rossamünderling. The finest explanation for his name since he had been found outside of the now-destroyed marine society in Boschenberg. An ünterman in the guise of an everyman, as if the Half-continent had not held enough horrors.
The one bright spot is his new profession, and his new traveling companions. The Branden Rose, as she was called: Miss Europe, as he knew her, not to mention his old masters from the marine society who had shown themselves at his hearing: Masters Craumpalin and Fransitart. He doesn't know what she plans to do with the old vinegaroons, as useful as they had been in their youth and as steadfast as they had been for her new factotum, but he certainly hopes they'll stay around for a time if only to settle his nerves.
At least, that is what he thought as he wandered through a rift in space and time.
...there is no words. Only Zuul.
But there is a rather anachronistically dressed little man staring up at, well, everything on the street.