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Lore of the Pixies |
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Time High in the Selian Alps, in a dark tower, lived a man. Dark hair, long and wavy, fell to his shoulders. He wore a rust colored vest and his muscular arms were crossed over his chest, covered in the sleeves of his white shirt. His black pants fit comfortably around his waist. His steel toed boots matched his pants. He stared out the northern window, in the highest room of his lonely dwelling. He scratched the stubble growing on his jaw next to a neatly trimmed goatee, deep in thought. He had lived a long, solitary life as the keeper of time in an unborn world. He kept track of the many critters and beasts that roamed the land, documenting the moment each one arrived. No intelligent life had yet appeared on his planet. He spent most days tending to the crops near his home. He had started a small garden, full of fruits and vegetables, and it had flourished in the rich soil. When he wasn't planting or watering, he spent his days creating. He built watches and clocks, and other trinkets to amuse himself in a lonely world. Today was different, however. He sensed it shortly after breakfast. A new presence stirred in the distance. Though the presence was much younger than the time keeper, it was still older than he had expected. It was also clear that this new presence was not of his universe. It had arrived abruptly, from the North Sea. There had been a small disturbance in the barrier between worlds shortly before the new presence appeared. The man glanced at the clock to his right. Its face took up the entire eastern wall of the room. It held the three main hands of all clocks: seconds, minutes and hours. Plus two extra hands marked days and years. All five hands pointed straight up. Time knew this clock would start at the arrival of intelligent life from his world. This new presence had intelligence, he could sense it as clear as the sky above, but the clock on the wall remained unmoved. The man's gaze turned back to the window. His eyes held clocks of their own. He peered into the distance, worry etched on his face. His eyes ticked on. |
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Visitors |
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