(no subject)
The Dark Tower stands near the shore, a mile out at the most. Clouds or fog curl around it, hiding some levels behind them. The sun's light casts strange colours around it, sometimes red or purple and other times pink and orange. The clouds shift, seeming far too much like that trapped within glass orbs.
The ocean has a reddish cast to it, smelling like roses for short periods of the day and rancid like a sun-bloated rotting corpse at others. During the few good times, rose petals will wash up on the beach. The lobstrosities seem particularly aggressive today, going so far as to make it up to the path that winds around the beach in search of something to tear apart with their claws.
If one studies the Dark Tower itself, they can see that there are balconies on it. On one, a figure wrapped in crimson stands. Although his or her face is covered by the hood it wears, there's a feeling of sick fear that will strike them, no matter who it is. The more 'good' a person is, the worse it will get, right up to and including physical illness for an hour or so. Instruments will be unable to be played today, and singing will come out sounding hoarse and flat.
Although there is no fog within the city today, everything seems to still, as if the world were holding its breath and waiting for something. At nightfall, the direwolves will begin their chorus of howls again, going for a full half-hour before stopping.
The ocean has a reddish cast to it, smelling like roses for short periods of the day and rancid like a sun-bloated rotting corpse at others. During the few good times, rose petals will wash up on the beach. The lobstrosities seem particularly aggressive today, going so far as to make it up to the path that winds around the beach in search of something to tear apart with their claws.
If one studies the Dark Tower itself, they can see that there are balconies on it. On one, a figure wrapped in crimson stands. Although his or her face is covered by the hood it wears, there's a feeling of sick fear that will strike them, no matter who it is. The more 'good' a person is, the worse it will get, right up to and including physical illness for an hour or so. Instruments will be unable to be played today, and singing will come out sounding hoarse and flat.
Although there is no fog within the city today, everything seems to still, as if the world were holding its breath and waiting for something. At nightfall, the direwolves will begin their chorus of howls again, going for a full half-hour before stopping.