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One day started gloomier than the other recent days. Just everything seemed more dank and depressing, and outside things looked even less colourful than the drab nothing there had been before.
By the second day it was worse.
By the third day there was a horrible stench of some sort of acrid smoke that seemed to have no source, but where it passed, everything seemed just a little more dreary.
By the fourth day even the graffiti had lost its bright lurid colours.
And by the fifth day, if anyone was unfortunate enough to pass through the intermittent smoke they would find their own clothes leached of colour.
By the midpoint of the event, what plants they had managed to grow would be drooping. Even the vine walls seemed to droop a little. Not enough to deal with them easily though, and it would b beyond difficult for anyone to rally themselves to want to go to the effort.
For with the lack of color gloom spread like a malaise. No one could shake themselves out of it, however... with effort those on the Isle could perk each other up. It would not restore their colours, but they could help each other re-find some small joy or energy to beat back the lethargy. What they cannot do for themselves they can do only for each other.
At its peak gloominess at mid-event, they might hear shuffled footsteps and hushed voices now that so few people are actually stirring at all.
"Just think," one voice would hiss whisper, "one day all the lands will be as dark and gloomy as this!" he gave a quiet gleeful cackle.
"It's all dark and gloomy, there aren't any pretty flowers, Murky." That voice was a little louder and sounded like the owner had a stuffed up nose.
"That's the point, and keep it down, chowder for brains! I think I saw a closed door, help me get it open so we can see if there are any..." you could almost here the shudder "colours."
"Oh goodie! Maybe we'll find a yellow hat. I always wanted a yellow hat!"
"Just open the door would you?"
"Okay, Murky!"
Whose door did they open, one wonders. And was anyone inside to see the dreadful pair?
Either way they would go in, weird grey steampunk looking gun at the ready.
Two days before the end of the event, those sensitive to the magical shield around the Isle would feel it take a hit or two, but not falter. Those outside would be able to make out through the clouds a flash of colours so bright that it seems almost painful after the dullness the Isle has decended into, but it won't last long. An hour at most.
At the end of the event, the pair, having either been dealt with or ignored, will have vanished and slowly over the next few weeks what little colour the Isle once had will slowly come back, and moods once lifted will not immediately descend once more.
Whatever it was seems to have passed.
For now.
By the second day it was worse.
By the third day there was a horrible stench of some sort of acrid smoke that seemed to have no source, but where it passed, everything seemed just a little more dreary.
By the fourth day even the graffiti had lost its bright lurid colours.
And by the fifth day, if anyone was unfortunate enough to pass through the intermittent smoke they would find their own clothes leached of colour.
By the midpoint of the event, what plants they had managed to grow would be drooping. Even the vine walls seemed to droop a little. Not enough to deal with them easily though, and it would b beyond difficult for anyone to rally themselves to want to go to the effort.
For with the lack of color gloom spread like a malaise. No one could shake themselves out of it, however... with effort those on the Isle could perk each other up. It would not restore their colours, but they could help each other re-find some small joy or energy to beat back the lethargy. What they cannot do for themselves they can do only for each other.
At its peak gloominess at mid-event, they might hear shuffled footsteps and hushed voices now that so few people are actually stirring at all.
"Just think," one voice would hiss whisper, "one day all the lands will be as dark and gloomy as this!" he gave a quiet gleeful cackle.
"It's all dark and gloomy, there aren't any pretty flowers, Murky." That voice was a little louder and sounded like the owner had a stuffed up nose.
"That's the point, and keep it down, chowder for brains! I think I saw a closed door, help me get it open so we can see if there are any..." you could almost here the shudder "colours."
"Oh goodie! Maybe we'll find a yellow hat. I always wanted a yellow hat!"
"Just open the door would you?"
"Okay, Murky!"
Whose door did they open, one wonders. And was anyone inside to see the dreadful pair?
Either way they would go in, weird grey steampunk looking gun at the ready.
Two days before the end of the event, those sensitive to the magical shield around the Isle would feel it take a hit or two, but not falter. Those outside would be able to make out through the clouds a flash of colours so bright that it seems almost painful after the dullness the Isle has decended into, but it won't last long. An hour at most.
At the end of the event, the pair, having either been dealt with or ignored, will have vanished and slowly over the next few weeks what little colour the Isle once had will slowly come back, and moods once lifted will not immediately descend once more.
Whatever it was seems to have passed.
For now.
