"Good luck with the old coot, we barely could get him to talk", and after a short pregnant pause, "rich people, you know? Have fun!"
The call dropped harder than a ton of bricks. Impulse after impulse, the dead signal drummed alongside the Moros' heartbeat across the stillness of the room.
Another flash of static, and a timid notification peeps up anew. The indecipherable markings of non-standard Unicode. It's a new email, from... the future, 10 days from now.
o̢̡̠̙̊͐̓͘ ͇͈͉̙̈̓̄̓ȉ͎̪̣̱̄̚͝n̤̭͇̭̒̾̍͌v͉̹̺͕̽̌̇̌o̢̘͍̞̔̽́̏k͙͌̑̋̊ ̠̠̳ē̬̠̫̮͌̊̿ ̢̲̬̾̏̀͒͜ț͉̻̲̉̒̎̚ḩ̡̪̞̒̒̋́e̲̭̼͕̊̑̓̕ ͚̲͕̭́͆̇͠S͔̗͎͉͂̐̒́ȅ̞͎̦̝͒̑̅e̠̯̗̖͆̊̊͋k̳̠̥̬͌̎̒̈́e͎̓͒̀͘ ̰̫̪r̛̲̤͚̜͛̂͝ ̝̭̟͍̎̍͆͒ȍ̫͖̗̑̽̊͜f͔̣̣͈̽̓̃͠ ͍̺̭̝̂̉̊͝t̮̘̬̲͛̀̒͝ȟ̭̤̻͘͠͝ͅȅ̡̫̙̠̎̕̕ ̜͎̺͓̓͊̽͠Ț̡͈͕̏̊͗͘r̢̛̭̪̤̈́̌̇e͚̗̘̫̍͂̊̉s̬̼͕̤͗͗̈́͐h̛͙͊͊͑ ̳̹̥ő̰̞̗̪́̀̑ḷ͍͚̥̀̐̉́d͎̘̦̓̿̓͗͜
̢͓̼̱̆͑̆́s̭̳͈̭̒̀̈́͐ȇ̜̥̱̦͒́͛ẽ̪̭̖͐̀͊ͅk̜͍̭̟̇̆̆̕ ̳͉̳̘͑̀̽̚the name of S̨̻̲̼̿͂̈́̈ḩ̖̼̳̓͊̑̾ę̣̮͚̾͗̆̏ ͚̜͓̫͐̓̽͝w̡͉̭̩̒̌̇̒h̢̡̢̳̓͗̒͠ǫ̱͈̝̋͌͘̚ ͍̮̪̗̓͗̈͘W̦̟̗̰̒̅̂͐a͙͍̪̎̉͋̕͜ȉ̧̙̦̜̇͆̉t̛̻̭̰͕̾͑̇s̛̰̔̋̄ ̢̨̙ ̢̤̱̫͌́̽̊ ̞̼͖̪́́͠͝B̡̺̣̗̿͊́̃è̦͎̲̩̎̈́̇l̪͇͔̜̓̎̐̽o̪̭̮̽̒̕̕ͅw̥͒̎͂̕ ̬̭̼
͔̻͖͖̀̀̎̕h̻̱͔̖͒̓̀̔idden ḃ̡̲̙̓̑͂ͅy̪̹͔̮͂̽̈͛ ͇̹͔͗͊͒̄ͅdarkness,̻̪̯̼̀͋̍͠
ṱ̢̛͍̩̐̕͝he key is the name of the island.̞͇̯̙̈́͂̇̚
͈̫͈̼̈́̐́͠
It's a broken language, vaguely reminiscent of High Speech, but... wrong. Another picture is attached below, stunted by noise, the artefacts makes the painting unrecognizable. But where Eurydice's gaze fails, perhaps somebody more knowledgeable could succeed. It's a steganographic encoding, the Guardian is sure.
Draft this Post
