The ancient engine, painstakingly restored by dozens of necromechanichists, turns over with a primordial rumble that shakes sand from the great rollcage above, and sputters, to a kind of noisy unlife. Barouge's morgue sounds like an echoing machine beneath deep water.
The moat of biomass begins to flow steadily, ever moving in a circle around the white bone dais. The black sludge moves slowly, with all the physical and olfactory properties of bloody tar.
[[There’s something bubbling up in the moat.]]
There, in the black muck, are the telltale air bubbles of a drowning body. They effervesce languidly through the butterthick bile to pop on the surface with an audible “plink!”.
A hand, coated in biomass but possessing the requisite number of fingers to be conceivably strain, explodes out of the heavy waters and grasps the side of the dais with a white-knuckled fireceness.
[[But no one has died here.]]
Indeed. But regardless of that principle, the body hauls itself out of the moat one-handed and collapses onto the central dias in a tangle of tarry limbs. For a moment, it does not move.
But then it does.
It sits up, and the curve of its abdomen informs you that this person is female. She raises one bilgey hand to her face and, shaking, wipes the filth from her eyes.
[[They are as milky and white as the Lonestar Sky above the Dune Sea.]] You realize all at once that the ancient morgue of Barouge has just spit out an Unborn. And you remember all at once that the population of the ancient city was primarily Rovers and Diesel Jocks, not grave cultists.
She looks directly into the gathered crowd with those dead-zone eyes and moves to stand on bramble-legs like a newly birthed fawn.
[[And she opens her mouth to speak.]]
But what tumbles out is a language you have never heard. Her words fall like raindrops on your ears and you think that perhaps those words have not passed through the air for hundreds of years.
Regardless, you have no idea what she is saying. The clipped syllables are alien to your ears, with little grounding in your own linguistic experiences. She speaks them horsley, through a throat that has only now seen its first use.
“Barogue” you hear the Unborn say with a strong accent, amidst her otherwise opaque collection of phonemes. And you feel adrenaline surge from your toes to your hairline.
[[How could she know the name of this place?]]OOC: Okay! That’s the brief update! This story will be continued in the text RP channels and throughout the event!
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DRTX