IndependentSoul97

The truce meeting was doomed from the start. Despite being neighbors, the Wasteland and Valley tribes had never gotten along. Wastelanders were survivalists, tight-knit yet paranoid, wispy yet resilient, and practically allergic to the dark. Valley, on the other hand, embodied the very element of shadow. Strong. Restless. Swift, sure, and underestimated. And also blinded by the sun. Needless to say, Chief Renlo and King Geoffrey had had some difficulty agreeing on a time to meet. Geoffrey watched with a skeptical brow as his counterpart, carrying a flag of truce and accompanied by two cavalrymen, rode towards the line where sands met stone

The instant I saw those enormous tentacles coming at us, I knew I made a big mistake. “Captain Nemo!” inquired Vlatt, my pilot. “What happened? Where are we?” Had the monstrous white whale not snatched the tentacles with its razor maw, no one would have had a chance to ponder his question, which grew stranger when the voice of a harsh man hollered from a rather ancient looking vessel. "There she blows!- there she blows! A hump like a snow-hill! It is Moby-Dick!" the man bellowed at the beast. A second ship erupted from the ocean at the horizon’s other side, looking more decrepit and gnarly than the first.