This plague above, it must end. Their poison litters the upper waters, where the light shines. It sinks down to assault our senses. It cannot be suffered to continue.
It will take much doing, but we have time. The power of the vents can be captured, it has been done before, long ago. Weapons must be forged. Vast armies must be bred. The young males delight at the prospect of ending their self-imposed celibacy. The females – though they will not admit to it – do as well.
We will burn them and salt the ground. The air-breathers must perish.
***
Title by: Fitz
Story by: David
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Asalt and battered cod! Oh my!
love it! so surreal it could be real!