Because my typewriter ribbon is old, and my pocket computer doesn't have a great camera, and many people will browse posts on pocket or tablet devices, I transcribed this. And edited a bit.
There was a route surveyed once, between an empire and a conquered region.
The route depended on two oasis: one natural, one with a well.
The oasis with the well was called Deepwell for the clear, soft water which seemed to never cease. Gradually, over many generations of human measuring, Deepwell became something more than a trade stop protected by a mud fort: it became a bustling village, and after that a small city.
Then the well ran dry. Not all at once -first the waters became murky, then one day, after several more human generations lived their entire lives of circumscribed drama and striving near Deepwell city, the water drew no more.
That might have been the end for Deepwell city, which had already outlived the empire which founded it, however the people living on both ends of the trade route (and also the citizens of Deepwell itself) had grown to desire their shares of what foreign goods the route brought. The city persisted, though for a time it became Drywell city, before finally settling into Oldwell city for five generations of human reckoning (which in that era was, admittedly, long as far as humans are concerned).
A sound like a great moaning beast trembled the Oldwell city, though perhaps it was more like a screaming voice in a register best perceived by the shuddering in your bones.
Throughout the markets, crowd-flooded by the pilgrimage season, the people stilled for the sublime event and drifted to the windows or out the doors of whatever building they were in.
As the panic eventually began to spread, so too did the ground crumble away beneath Oldwell city, and in a jumble descended.
Thick clouds of dust and smoke now obscure the light filtering down upon you and the other survivors. Thunder still echoes in your bones. Images which will haunt your sleep for the rest of your life still flicker through your short-term memory.
Somehow you are still alive, and you see now there are other survivors coughing and stumbling over the still-settling rubble of what was, until minutes ago, a city built around a dry well in the middle of a desert.
There was a route surveyed once, between an empire and a conquered region.
The route depended on two oasis: one natural, one with a well.
The oasis with the well was called Deepwell for the clear, soft water which seemed to never cease. Gradually, over many generations of human measuring, Deepwell became something more than a trade stop protected by a mud fort: it became a bustling village, and after that a small city.
Then the well ran dry. Not all at once -first the waters became murky, then one day, after several more human generations lived their entire lives of circumscribed drama and striving near Deepwell city, the water drew no more.
That might have been the end for Deepwell city, which had already outlived the empire which founded it, however the people living on both ends of the trade route (and also the citizens of Deepwell itself) had grown to desire their shares of what foreign goods the route brought. The city persisted, though for a time it became Drywell city, before finally settling into Oldwell city for five generations of human reckoning (which in that era was, admittedly, long as far as humans are concerned).
This all ended today.
A wind came from the well, soft and stale at first then rushing and gusting out.A sound like a great moaning beast trembled the Oldwell city, though perhaps it was more like a screaming voice in a register best perceived by the shuddering in your bones.
Throughout the markets, crowd-flooded by the pilgrimage season, the people stilled for the sublime event and drifted to the windows or out the doors of whatever building they were in.
As the panic eventually began to spread, so too did the ground crumble away beneath Oldwell city, and in a jumble descended.
Thick clouds of dust and smoke now obscure the light filtering down upon you and the other survivors. Thunder still echoes in your bones. Images which will haunt your sleep for the rest of your life still flicker through your short-term memory.
Somehow you are still alive, and you see now there are other survivors coughing and stumbling over the still-settling rubble of what was, until minutes ago, a city built around a dry well in the middle of a desert.
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