No Tomb for Me

Here's where the adventure in Tamriel ended for my Pijandura--dancing to some old man's flute next to a half naked woman in front of some tear in the fabric of reality by a tomb. You see, this is where a crucial quest broke at the end of the Daggerfall Covenant faction starter area. A certain monster who was meant to spawn simply will not. Players gradually, impotently accumulate and wait. And wait. Wait for the demon who will never come. So people get bored and start figuring out what emotes they can use.

It's frustrating because I really want to get to level ten before the beta's over so I can see the game's main content. I made a Nord called Sichilde but haven't had much time to play with her yet. There was a chess tournament to-day and after that I simply had to get out of the apartment--there's been a thunderstorm going on almost continuously since Friday morning. It seemed to have quieted down this afternoon so I took some stale bread to the seagulls--I took some pictures but I can't put any on my computer until the battery on the camera recharges. Unfortunately, the battery died before I saw the most interesting thing I saw to-day.

The storm had left the beach sand wet and flat, a lot easier to walk on with shoes. An extraordinary amount of seaweed and kelp and various human debris--a lighter, a Coke can, a bicycle--had washed ashore. Nearer the water was some lump of animal flesh, I have no idea what it was. My best guess was a big sea slug, about twice the size of my shoe and I wear a size 13. But I'm not sure what it was. Something white on the top almost looked like a human ear and a small, curled appendage had a carapace that resembled a pill bug. This was around an eighth the size of the main, bare, fleshy body, but who knows how much the thing was bloated and distorted. It had four stalks at the other end which is what made me think of a slug but they were hollowed like the arteries on a model of a heart. The seagulls didn't seem to want to go near it.

Twitter Sonnet #601

The eyes watch moon drawings burned at the edge.
Bathroom mirror spectacles crack the star.
Dewdrop alarms give way the hiding hedge.
Grass blades whistle for a string police car.
Yarn mistakes wander in the needle room.
Bloodless proletariat peaches ring.
Glass bonnet spaceships smell like plastic doom.
Meiosis decides if Dragons take wing.
Bottle nosed bats climb pallid liberty.
Organic trumpets grow in a mute field.
The squeaky chassis looks to John Fogerty.
Platinum banjos are what heroes wield.
A lump of questions sucked the camera light.
The sea and thunder made a shapeless wight.