(Scars do not appear to be cause of death –shock ... - Bad Request

zephyr like lovers in copulation, and we shall see him knighted at last!’
And so we did, stepping through the gates of fruition.
Dak'kon is a bowl of milk, lapped up by the cats as the Lady consumes the
cats in turn, making offal out of the elements, Earth, Fire, Twelve, and Air.
They swirl in the motes and rides, hardening into four forms that becomes
the ground we float upon.
She is green.
Dak'kon is lost to us but run we must. Run or else the gates shall open. The
gates pass to the Elemental Plane of Bees, and the swarm shall descend
upon the world. And thus shall the Bees snag the children in their webs and
carry them off into the Nine Hells, to be tortured forever.
Run. Run. Run.
I am tired but we must run. For the children.
Dak'kon is a bright red candy fresh from the lips of a corpse. He melts in the
sun, laughing a laugh most odd.
For all the Profane Arches of Sanctity. SHE IS GREEN!
‘Ach, have ye seen me looky charms yeh Blarney-faced laddie?’
‘Who is John Galt?’
The light was ebbing, and the man could not distinguish my face. I had said it
simply, without expression. But from the sunset far at the end of the street,
yellow glints caught my eyes, and my eyes looked straight at the man,
mocking and still- as if the question had been addressed to the causeless
uneasiness within h-“
"Stop it! Just stoppit!" G'mir howls, and his thrashing rattles the table he is
responsible for propping up, "This is stupid! You're stupid! 'Tis absolute and
utter nonsense! Every last word!
"Aye!"
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