Ocean/Strange

StrangeSea and StrangeBeach

• In perpetual night, waves sluggish and oily, shining in just that wrong way.

• Perhaps an insular, creepy little fishing village (Innsmouth, anyone?)

• A litter of wharfs and docks, monsters lurking beneath; a constant vampire whine of mosquitoes. (Aslaugh'h'ha's minions, perhaps.) Feverish salt swamps asquirm with mutant nasties. Thick water, brackish and worse. Pools and currents of silver Strangevirus seep and merge, but the black water does not always expose them until too late. In the trees, the StrangeViraled move fast and light, bodies ignoring the damage done by carnivorous plants or the lurking disease vectors. They know their territory well and they have a predator's ears. But don't worry - they'll let you know when they are hunting you. They want you to know.

• There is a time, as the cycles and seasons of Strange change, when Shell Beach is present. Perfect glittering white sand borders translucent blue depths - one will be walking, and then it will be day, the constant night of Strange held back and all the world changed. The sunlight touches the ripples and shows silver off them. Indeed, wherever illumination hits, a wash of silver strikes and arcs across it, as beautiful as any lightning storm. Unrestrained, a lovely photo, and one without human comprehension. There are no fish in the water. No trees border the sand. Should one head out to sea, all that remains is an aching indigo heaven above and below, self-similar. There are no fish down there. There is no weed. Back towards the shore, once the dunes are climbed, the sight that spreads beyond them is sand forever. This is a loveliness so serene that nothing may touch it. You may not live here. On Shell Beach, in the warmth, in the sun, one can feel so hollow, so lost and alone, that one could be tempted to soil the empty ocean with one's drowned corpse. You could walk forever and never see anyone else. You will be released once your heart eats itself.

• There is a village, that rests on the shores of the eternal evening. All those who come to it find that some local Puzzleboxian expression of physics drains the colour bands - all those in the village are expressed in sepia tones. In the evening, by gas light, this is even more evident. The people here all smile. They are all very happy people. There are no secrets here. No abuse occurs behind a pleasant facade. This is not a mockery of a coastal town in Up.

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