YC 123 NEWCWC: Paging Infraspacial Navigation Gnomon

Sonorous ring: What time is it?

Plasma fire and vacuum, the rush of rapidly vacating gas and an overstrained hold upon the immediate material. Potential.

What time is it?

Disorientating visuals of varying perspectives:

The mohawk aligned sensory pylons crumpling under the onslaught of extreme thermal convection.

What time is it?

Estimation of oxygen-nitrogen mix in refuge complete prior to entry. Re-evaluation not required.

What time is it?

Liquid lightning embraced without warning, preventing the question.

The Serpentice skinned silhouette amongst the backlight of balefully bruised dust and gas.

Irregularity; a wash of birkland eddies from those venomous turrets trace a fairy fire outline against the kerr-induced nanocoatings. Misidentification is possible, however improbable without a forthcoming answer.

What time is it?

A demand more pressing than air, being imperative for being.

  • Was that the stylised fan of a wing fluting in auric energies above the broadside span of the foe pulsating in synchronicity with each flare of the turrets?
  • Could that be the curve of a claw rising between the rear verticals?
  • The incredible guise of a screeching caw complete with sinuous tongue raised in raven sheen hues upon the dominant ventricle slated fore-fin?

What time is it?

Every mote of imbibed infrastructure calls out for an answer, dissonance demanding order for we are one in abject slavery to …

Tremulous ting: Time is it?

This thin vale was never meant to prevail against the extreme shadow of the void rotating in opposition to the radiations of a star.

What then prevents the answer previously heard from the trinary halls of hell to the gyrating gyres of the havens.

Data without a destination is destined to …

Ding: Is it time?

Glased breath. Heat, or its bitter lack, cuts senselessly across digits and joints. Interminable waiting.

is it?



To cease.

** Signal interception, decrypt, encrypt, nullification and termination process complete. **

A keening call across the stars:-

The shadow of the aquila remains rampant - and victorious.

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Would you like this classified as poetry or prose?

Intended as prose for the sole purpose of this competition.
Actually describes a SKIN I’d love to see in-game.

While I’m here; I would like to thank you and the panel for all the work involved.
I’ve not been able to play EVE since I paid for a year’s subscription just before my PC fried. Matar-like painful irony.

This scratches that creative itch tho, so it is a win to me even if it’s slotted into the most populous category.


As requested, your entry has been accepted under Prose. Thank you!

As a reminder, for others, the deadline remains May 15th!

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