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They moored the ill proportioned craft. Slowly climbing the jagged rocks, I'll-spaced for an ascent, razor sharp in places. A fraught, stressful climber.
A throbbing nausea as the sky seemed to swirl against the sweat-sickness throb in the temples seemingly keeping all at the verge of vomitting and fainting
The church atop the fill looming at the summit, a dull-blue light emitting from the doorway, again pulsing in a time against the nausea-throb and oppresive internal cooking of the swirling sky.
The wholly scene an atonal, chaotic mess as jazz poorly interpreted by by an opiated-drunk choir of the damned that have been tortured into sub-normalcy.
