Tales from the DDC: Reign pon da Mountains, washing old world debris..

GM Hive,

No grog, no fog, no money, no honey.. let's fucking grow Kings! 👑

Dreamers dream and stakers stake.. we all stay swimming upstream. Seeding ancient flowers, and steady gifting way above weight. "Never sell out, we always sell up!", the Kids repeating mantras as they gather belt kits and day packs in the dawn light.

Capt. K reports to the study, "not much to see on this misty morning Mam". The trail is soaked, and slippery slopes all lead to sludge moats. We've halted all moves near the outer walls for days, rainfall was especially heavy over the weekend. And we all know how Browns flood the streets by the south gate when the wash comes out. She shakes her head in silence, unflinching from her crafts.

Our allies at Green dog were happy to be dry, and the LL's white gang are doing bankster business as usual. Old city bricks still dropping daily, and yet many gentiles and tourist/investors steadily flock in to buy up spaces for yet more masked faces. Oh and of course the pig loving DFS still run the night bazaar, overall the city is rained in.. wappin n wammin'.

City news always echoes up to the clouds, and the DDC matriarch adjusts their liquidity for the incoming storms. The old HQ was still being closely watched, even though it stood empty, overgrown and derelict. All abandoned kids had long gone, only one murial remained, a signal for the lost, still practicing freedom of mind as the third wave.

Grabs guards surrounded every street corner, sniffing for scraps, blood still thick in the air from the recent skirmishes. As DDC crew rides were still down, their ships fully grounded, and yet morale remained high with spirit and love. Her Majesty's unspoken intentions to form a new splinter group, always telepathically perculating through the homestead.

How will we survive, even thrive, the yung ones asked, "trust as the prophecies foretold, we will rise again". Ever optimistic, they close in around the fire and listen to stories of united tribes, co-creators, revelling artists, resilient hearts. "We've all wished for the lost ones to be reunited", glowing excitedly, "Soon the summoners will return and ignite the fire hearts". And yet, with no brakes, no lights, and no working pulse, their eyes fall upon the vessel of their dreams, the wounded G Dragon.

Sitting in the yard, gathering dust and growing a moss of technical papers and sketches. The Monk sits busy scrolling through the company audits, he reminds the outgoing patrol to feel/stay alive, and to fully absorb the majesty of all creation. "Sun Tzup don't be late for the mastermind boys!".

Wholeness,

OGK ☀

Happy Monday Musings Splinterlengs!