Pencil & Photoshop
They could all see them now, nightmares in the teeth of storm, riding the waves with a horribly ponderous lurching, their lanthorns sometimes completely submerged by the waves, before rising again in a surge of spray. Relentlessly they gained on the stricken ship. "What were they?" Youssa-Ney shivered, clutching a lanyard. "Creature or machine?" None knew. She saw one of the stormjaegers couch its lance and plunge toward the stern of the Eole. She cried out, her voice lost in the tumult.
From the Kingdom of Brass, by J. Frank-Lynne
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