Ebony storm-clouds multiply in the hundreds, as though they are an army searching constantly for new recruits. They continue to duplicate themselves, filling the sky. The rain is their ammunition and we are the enemy. The weather chaged quite fequently here in Endale. And where is Endale, exactly?
Here's the thing -- nobody...
more »Ebony storm-clouds multiply in the hundreds, as though they are an army searching constantly for new recruits. They continue to duplicate themselves, filling the sky. The rain is their ammunition and we are the enemy. The weather chaged quite fequently here in Endale. And where is Endale, exactly?
Here's the thing -- nobody knows.
You are born here. You grow up here. Here is where you die. We are a circle, repeating the same motions over and over, unable to break free of the constant chain of events. The circle continues to orbit around and around ad those inside are forever trapped in the time warp.
That's what Endale is: a time warp. But what IS the time? There are no years here. There are no days. There is no time. Minutes turn to hours, weeks to months; day melts to ight just as the years melt away into decades.
We are trapped in the old days. Our dress, our custom, EVERYTHING. We take traditions from the years 1820-1950. We have no televisions, no trains, no cars, no busses, no airoplanes. Only radios, carriages and horses.
The golden gates that surround the town act as a shield and a cage. They cannot be opened. Nobody can enter nobody can escape.
Hundreds of years ago, during the infamous Witch trials, this place was created. A place where nothing could change, where the real witche could hide away in peace. Every family derives from a Witch background. We are a civilization of sorcerers, magicians and enchanters.
You are born here. You spend your life here. You die here -- what you can never do is escape.
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