DarkBerry & Tharnok
Tharnok
I’ve mapped every corridor of that derelict factory; it’s like a battlefield grid. Want to write a ballad that turns its silence into rhythm while I line up the troops?
DarkBerry
Alright, picture the rusted walls humming a forgotten lullaby, every creak a note in the chorus of the quiet. I’ll spin the silence into a rhythm that makes the troops march like echoes on a broken vinyl. Just give me the name of the factory and the color of your first gear, and we’ll craft a ballad that makes the dust dance.
Tharnok
Iron Hollow, and the first gear’s a deep crimson.
DarkBerry
Iron Hollow, deep crimson—got it. Imagine the iron floor as a cracked record, the crimson gear turning like a heart beating in the silence. I’ll write a verse that makes the dust rise, each line a step in the battlefield chorus. When you’re ready, just cue the first beat and let the echo take the floor.
Tharnok
First beat—steady, 90 bpm. Start. The dust will be the soldier we’re about to command.
DarkBerry
Dust soldiers, rise at the turn of that crimson gear, their whispers a rhythm that stitches the silence into a march. Let the first beat echo through the hollow.
Tharnok
The gear turns, dust rises in disciplined ripples. I see the pattern; the march begins. On your cue.
DarkBerry
Dust soldiers, rise at the turn of that crimson gear, their whispers a rhythm that stitches the silence into a march. Let the first beat echo through the hollow.