the Little Dipster

The Merl-Kull on Trollip-2 rested her weary beak upon her bulbous belly. Her age and status weighed heavily on her in the twilight hour as the twin planet-moon's reflected light seeped up the color from the land and left it a stark blackishbrownish and white. sHe could hear the younglings dancing to the lutelhorns just outside the portal between rooms. They vibrated the happy, carefree nature of those that have never faced the trials of dulla-ulla-la-duh. They embodied the daylight rainbow world of Trollip-2 that they lived on. she smiled in joy at their very alive-ness.

Suddenly, and with very little circumstance, she watched what appeared to be a comet slowly fight it's way out of Trollip-1's atmosphere. Moving a snerdulls pace, it looked to be heading straight for Trollip-3. 

The Merl-Kull's heart raced at the realization that she was completely unprepared for what the prophecies had indicated could possibly maybe kinda sorta could happen and the cataclysmic events it foretold would be the consequence. The brownish had seeped completely to black; the jarring contrast seemingly stopping the color of time -- she had moved from the uncertainty of the rainbow to the edged truth of black&white.

It looked like it would take several cycles for the ghostly comet to reach Trollip-3, spending most of it's time in the cursed constellation -- the Little Dipster. She would have so much to answer for. Her people never seemed to run short of questions, of letting it all lie as it is. Preparing herself to enter the 'trance of jimes' and cross the threshold into the world of her old, familiar gods, the Merl-Kull blinked her eyes 30 times and spun in circles as fast as she possibly could before stopping rigid as a board and falling over where she lay -- 

Dropping into a comfortable dimension, she smiled as if she were home before a terrifying vision of a snivelling lizard filled her thoughts -- snot dripped from it's nose and eyes and terrible rumble of sucked spit rolled a seemingly unending crescendo upon her timbres. With a teenage rasp it tried to speak to her, clawed hand rubbing over clawed hand, "Ihhh hammmm hhthhheee hhWhizlard! hhHTHE hhWhizzzlard!" it seemed to scream. Her tentacles were held up before her warding the tiny beast off as the necrotic magic beat tiny holes into her skull. 

The Wizlard had entered into her mind. The cosmic disease known as the Wizlard had spread itself thin as a worn, cigarette-holed blanket across the universe and was now to be found in the she-holies of holy of Trollip-2. 

Doom is upon the tentacled Ooctenothoids of Trollip-2. Doom is upon the universe. 

The Wizlard has arrived again. 

the little dipster | smoked Vienna lager aged in Rum barrels | 6% abv