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

strength to hold it up. Gone is the confidence in her voice, and memories of
a dying world mists in her eyes, "And what, pray tell, is it that you hear when
you speak to the city of Sigil?"
A flash of intrigue lights Ileron's eyes for a moment. His lips purse, and a
smile begins to quirk at his lips, spreading into a milk-toothed grin.
"The Nameless One," he continues cheerfully, "slid beneath the skin of the
city, crawled through the contours of its flesh like a surgeon's probe. Finally,
he had reached its bones, and pulling himself up by its sinews he followed
the flow of its pulse, towards the heart of what was the diseased town of
Curst..."
Chapter 96
They say there are two great forces in life that make the multiverse go
'round: love, with all its devoted, enveloping pleasures; and hate, the
all-consuming obsession. A good philosopher could give a good argument
that all action in life is built around one of these two forces in some way.
Creation and Destruction. Life and Death. Ying and Yang. Eros and Thanatos.
Personally, I think there's a third option that cleaves between the two.
Cold, directed purpose.
I mean, let's have an earnest conversation here. Even with my feelings for
Annah at one side and Morte's jabbering on the other, the axis becomes less
of a principle of contemplation and more like something you grab at a
moment's need so you can impale a critter with the pointy end (probably
the "hate" part of it). It isn't love that I feel when the resonance of the
multiverse is flowing through me, nor is it hate that causes me to turn a
trelon into a bubbling smear spread across ten square feet of masonry. It's
just the annoying fact that I need to get from point A to point B and these
damn things are blocking my view of the destination.
Though if we're on the subject of trelons, might as well say this:
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