Onions Are Like Worms

Quote from TheFriendlyArchfey >>

nestling itself into the foundations of a village. Or, a many-legged thing from the far realm slipped through the folds of reality into ours, hiding beneath a city’s sewers and pupating into something more. Or perhaps, it gained life and breath by drinking the blood of those who were felled within its cobbled streets. Nobody knows quite where Fidelir came from, and it’s probably better that way.

A parasite disguised as a Utopia, Fidelir, Gailen’s gate, the Marching City, is a marble metropolis of stone and wood. But it lives. The chimneys of it’s houses are Fidelir’s lungs, it’s streets are it’s arteries and it’s alleyways are its capillaries. It’s skin are the titanic walls that guard its inner depths, the keep at the center of the city is Fidelir’s head, the throne room is their mind, the bell tower above the keep is the creature’s voice, and deep, deep, deep below the city is the creature’s pulsing, beating heart. The city, on the surface, is made of pristine materials, chiseled marble and the strongest of woods, but just a few inches beneath that outer layer is flesh. Flesh and veins and muscles.

Fidelir is always growing. Its citizens build new homes and taverns, shops and inns, out of materials harvested from nearby, and the parasitic tendrils of Fidelir take over the homes and spread, growing larger and larger. The city moves, slowly, drifting across the land a few thousand feet a day. Eventually, it comes across another city. Fidelir eats cities.

The citizens of Fidelir are mostly former residents of cities Fidelir has merged with, or travelers seeking refuge. As Fidelir’s size grew, so did its power. Fidelir has an influence on the minds of those within it. When Fidelir was but a fraction of a fraction of its current size, this simply allowed it to sway people into staying. But with its current strength, more than a month inside Fidelir could possibly put you under its sway completely, as you forget your previous life and refuse to leave the marching city.

Fidelir can rearrange itself completely in the span of hours, seamlessly shifting streets and houses to whatever arrangement most suits it. The city can repair itself and cannot be destroyed permanently unless you pierce its heart. If the city is razed but the heart is not destroyed, then Fidelir’s heart may slink away to safety- until it finds another structure, even just a house or barn, to infect, and starting the process all over again.

 

 Oooooooo that’s really cool

Quote from AnnoyedCecaelia >>

Quote from TheFriendlyArchfey >>

nestling itself into the foundations of a village. Or, a many-legged thing from the far realm slipped through the folds of reality into ours, hiding beneath a city’s sewers and pupating into something more. Or perhaps, it gained life and breath by drinking the blood of those who were felled within its cobbled streets. Nobody knows quite where Fidelir came from, and it’s probably better that way.

A parasite disguised as a Utopia, Fidelir, Gailen’s gate, the Marching City, is a marble metropolis of stone and wood. But it lives. The chimneys of it’s houses are Fidelir’s lungs, it’s streets are it’s arteries and it’s alleyways are its capillaries. It’s skin are the titanic walls that guard its inner depths, the keep at the center of the city is Fidelir’s head, the throne room is their mind, the bell tower above the keep is the creature’s voice, and deep, deep, deep below the city is the creature’s pulsing, beating heart. The city, on the surface, is made of pristine materials, chiseled marble and the strongest of woods, but just a few inches beneath that outer layer is flesh. Flesh and veins and muscles.

Fidelir is always growing. Its citizens build new homes and taverns, shops and inns, out of materials harvested from nearby, and the parasitic tendrils of Fidelir take over the homes and spread, growing larger and larger. The city moves, slowly, drifting across the land a few thousand feet a day. Eventually, it comes across another city. Fidelir eats cities.

The citizens of Fidelir are mostly former residents of cities Fidelir has merged with, or travelers seeking refuge. As Fidelir’s size grew, so did its power. Fidelir has an influence on the minds of those within it. When Fidelir was but a fraction of a fraction of its current size, this simply allowed it to sway people into staying. But with its current strength, more than a month inside Fidelir could possibly put you under its sway completely, as you forget your previous life and refuse to leave the marching city.

Fidelir can rearrange itself completely in the span of hours, seamlessly shifting streets and houses to whatever arrangement most suits it. The city can repair itself and cannot be destroyed permanently unless you pierce its heart. If the city is razed but the heart is not destroyed, then Fidelir’s heart may slink away to safety- until it finds another structure, even just a house or barn, to infect, and starting the process all over again.

 

 Oooooooo that’s really cool

 ‘llo Sel 

Quote from Bananer28046 >>

Quote from AnnoyedCecaelia >>

Quote from TheFriendlyArchfey >>

nestling itself into the foundations of a village. Or, a many-legged thing from the far realm slipped through the folds of reality into ours, hiding beneath a city’s sewers and pupating into something more. Or perhaps, it gained life and breath by drinking the blood of those who were felled within its cobbled streets. Nobody knows quite where Fidelir came from, and it’s probably better that way.

A parasite disguised as a Utopia, Fidelir, Gailen’s gate, the Marching City, is a marble metropolis of stone and wood. But it lives. The chimneys of it’s houses are Fidelir’s lungs, it’s streets are it’s arteries and it’s alleyways are its capillaries. It’s skin are the titanic walls that guard its inner depths, the keep at the center of the city is Fidelir’s head, the throne room is their mind, the bell tower above the keep is the creature’s voice, and deep, deep, deep below the city is the creature’s pulsing, beating heart. The city, on the surface, is made of pristine materials, chiseled marble and the strongest of woods, but just a few inches beneath that outer layer is flesh. Flesh and veins and muscles.

Fidelir is always growing. Its citizens build new homes and taverns, shops and inns, out of materials harvested from nearby, and the parasitic tendrils of Fidelir take over the homes and spread, growing larger and larger. The city moves, slowly, drifting across the land a few thousand feet a day. Eventually, it comes across another city. Fidelir eats cities.

The citizens of Fidelir are mostly former residents of cities Fidelir has merged with, or travelers seeking refuge. As Fidelir’s size grew, so did its power. Fidelir has an influence on the minds of those within it. When Fidelir was but a fraction of a fraction of its current size, this simply allowed it to sway people into staying. But with its current strength, more than a month inside Fidelir could possibly put you under its sway completely, as you forget your previous life and refuse to leave the marching city.

Fidelir can rearrange itself completely in the span of hours, seamlessly shifting streets and houses to whatever arrangement most suits it. The city can repair itself and cannot be destroyed permanently unless you pierce its heart. If the city is razed but the heart is not destroyed, then Fidelir’s heart may slink away to safety- until it finds another structure, even just a house or barn, to infect, and starting the process all over again.

 

 Oooooooo that’s really cool

 ‘llo Sel 

 How are you

Quote from AnnoyedCecaelia >>

Quote from Bananer28046 >>

Quote from AnnoyedCecaelia >>

Quote from TheFriendlyArchfey >>

nestling itself into the foundations of a village. Or, a many-legged thing from the far realm slipped through the folds of reality into ours, hiding beneath a city’s sewers and pupating into something more. Or perhaps, it gained life and breath by drinking the blood of those who were felled within its cobbled streets. Nobody knows quite where Fidelir came from, and it’s probably better that way.

A parasite disguised as a Utopia, Fidelir, Gailen’s gate, the Marching City, is a marble metropolis of stone and wood. But it lives. The chimneys of it’s houses are Fidelir’s lungs, it’s streets are it’s arteries and it’s alleyways are its capillaries. It’s skin are the titanic walls that guard its inner depths, the keep at the center of the city is Fidelir’s head, the throne room is their mind, the bell tower above the keep is the creature’s voice, and deep, deep, deep below the city is the creature’s pulsing, beating heart. The city, on the surface, is made of pristine materials, chiseled marble and the strongest of woods, but just a few inches beneath that outer layer is flesh. Flesh and veins and muscles.

Fidelir is always growing. Its citizens build new homes and taverns, shops and inns, out of materials harvested from nearby, and the parasitic tendrils of Fidelir take over the homes and spread, growing larger and larger. The city moves, slowly, drifting across the land a few thousand feet a day. Eventually, it comes across another city. Fidelir eats cities.

The citizens of Fidelir are mostly former residents of cities Fidelir has merged with, or travelers seeking refuge. As Fidelir’s size grew, so did its power. Fidelir has an influence on the minds of those within it. When Fidelir was but a fraction of a fraction of its current size, this simply allowed it to sway people into staying. But with its current strength, more than a month inside Fidelir could possibly put you under its sway completely, as you forget your previous life and refuse to leave the marching city.

Fidelir can rearrange itself completely in the span of hours, seamlessly shifting streets and houses to whatever arrangement most suits it. The city can repair itself and cannot be destroyed permanently unless you pierce its heart. If the city is razed but the heart is not destroyed, then Fidelir’s heart may slink away to safety- until it finds another structure, even just a house or barn, to infect, and starting the process all over again.

 

 Oooooooo that’s really cool

 ‘llo Sel 

 How are you

 Good! You? 

Quote from Bananer28046 >>

Quote from AnnoyedCecaelia >>

Quote from Bananer28046 >>

Quote from AnnoyedCecaelia >>

Quote from TheFriendlyArchfey >>

nestling itself into the foundations of a village. Or, a many-legged thing from the far realm slipped through the folds of reality into ours, hiding beneath a city’s sewers and pupating into something more. Or perhaps, it gained life and breath by drinking the blood of those who were felled within its cobbled streets. Nobody knows quite where Fidelir came from, and it’s probably better that way.

A parasite disguised as a Utopia, Fidelir, Gailen’s gate, the Marching City, is a marble metropolis of stone and wood. But it lives. The chimneys of it’s houses are Fidelir’s lungs, it’s streets are it’s arteries and it’s alleyways are its capillaries. It’s skin are the titanic walls that guard its inner depths, the keep at the center of the city is Fidelir’s head, the throne room is their mind, the bell tower above the keep is the creature’s voice, and deep, deep, deep below the city is the creature’s pulsing, beating heart. The city, on the surface, is made of pristine materials, chiseled marble and the strongest of woods, but just a few inches beneath that outer layer is flesh. Flesh and veins and muscles.

Fidelir is always growing. Its citizens build new homes and taverns, shops and inns, out of materials harvested from nearby, and the parasitic tendrils of Fidelir take over the homes and spread, growing larger and larger. The city moves, slowly, drifting across the land a few thousand feet a day. Eventually, it comes across another city. Fidelir eats cities.

The citizens of Fidelir are mostly former residents of cities Fidelir has merged with, or travelers seeking refuge. As Fidelir’s size grew, so did its power. Fidelir has an influence on the minds of those within it. When Fidelir was but a fraction of a fraction of its current size, this simply allowed it to sway people into staying. But with its current strength, more than a month inside Fidelir could possibly put you under its sway completely, as you forget your previous life and refuse to leave the marching city.

Fidelir can rearrange itself completely in the span of hours, seamlessly shifting streets and houses to whatever arrangement most suits it. The city can repair itself and cannot be destroyed permanently unless you pierce its heart. If the city is razed but the heart is not destroyed, then Fidelir’s heart may slink away to safety- until it finds another structure, even just a house or barn, to infect, and starting the process all over again.

 

 Oooooooo that’s really cool

 ‘llo Sel 

 How are you

 Good! You? 

 Confused but happy i think im not really sure

Quote from AnnoyedCecaelia >>

Quote from Bananer28046 >>

Quote from AnnoyedCecaelia >>

Quote from Bananer28046 >>

Quote from AnnoyedCecaelia >>

Quote from TheFriendlyArchfey >>

nestling itself into the foundations of a village. Or, a many-legged thing from the far realm slipped through the folds of reality into ours, hiding beneath a city’s sewers and pupating into something more. Or perhaps, it gained life and breath by drinking the blood of those who were felled within its cobbled streets. Nobody knows quite where Fidelir came from, and it’s probably better that way.

A parasite disguised as a Utopia, Fidelir, Gailen’s gate, the Marching City, is a marble metropolis of stone and wood. But it lives. The chimneys of it’s houses are Fidelir’s lungs, it’s streets are it’s arteries and it’s alleyways are its capillaries. It’s skin are the titanic walls that guard its inner depths, the keep at the center of the city is Fidelir’s head, the throne room is their mind, the bell tower above the keep is the creature’s voice, and deep, deep, deep below the city is the creature’s pulsing, beating heart. The city, on the surface, is made of pristine materials, chiseled marble and the strongest of woods, but just a few inches beneath that outer layer is flesh. Flesh and veins and muscles.

Fidelir is always growing. Its citizens build new homes and taverns, shops and inns, out of materials harvested from nearby, and the parasitic tendrils of Fidelir take over the homes and spread, growing larger and larger. The city moves, slowly, drifting across the land a few thousand feet a day. Eventually, it comes across another city. Fidelir eats cities.

The citizens of Fidelir are mostly former residents of cities Fidelir has merged with, or travelers seeking refuge. As Fidelir’s size grew, so did its power. Fidelir has an influence on the minds of those within it. When Fidelir was but a fraction of a fraction of its current size, this simply allowed it to sway people into staying. But with its current strength, more than a month inside Fidelir could possibly put you under its sway completely, as you forget your previous life and refuse to leave the marching city.

Fidelir can rearrange itself completely in the span of hours, seamlessly shifting streets and houses to whatever arrangement most suits it. The city can repair itself and cannot be destroyed permanently unless you pierce its heart. If the city is razed but the heart is not destroyed, then Fidelir’s heart may slink away to safety- until it finds another structure, even just a house or barn, to infect, and starting the process all over again.

 

 Oooooooo that’s really cool

 ‘llo Sel 

 How are you

 Good! You? 

 Confused but happy i think im not really sure

 Confused? 

Quote from Bananer28046 >>

Quote from AnnoyedCecaelia >>

Quote from Bananer28046 >>

Quote from AnnoyedCecaelia >>

Quote from Bananer28046 >>

Quote from AnnoyedCecaelia >>

Quote from TheFriendlyArchfey >>

nestling itself into the foundations of a village. Or, a many-legged thing from the far realm slipped through the folds of reality into ours, hiding beneath a city’s sewers and pupating into something more. Or perhaps, it gained life and breath by drinking the blood of those who were felled within its cobbled streets. Nobody knows quite where Fidelir came from, and it’s probably better that way.

A parasite disguised as a Utopia, Fidelir, Gailen’s gate, the Marching City, is a marble metropolis of stone and wood. But it lives. The chimneys of it’s houses are Fidelir’s lungs, it’s streets are it’s arteries and it’s alleyways are its capillaries. It’s skin are the titanic walls that guard its inner depths, the keep at the center of the city is Fidelir’s head, the throne room is their mind, the bell tower above the keep is the creature’s voice, and deep, deep, deep below the city is the creature’s pulsing, beating heart. The city, on the surface, is made of pristine materials, chiseled marble and the strongest of woods, but just a few inches beneath that outer layer is flesh. Flesh and veins and muscles.

Fidelir is always growing. Its citizens build new homes and taverns, shops and inns, out of materials harvested from nearby, and the parasitic tendrils of Fidelir take over the homes and spread, growing larger and larger. The city moves, slowly, drifting across the land a few thousand feet a day. Eventually, it comes across another city. Fidelir eats cities.

The citizens of Fidelir are mostly former residents of cities Fidelir has merged with, or travelers seeking refuge. As Fidelir’s size grew, so did its power. Fidelir has an influence on the minds of those within it. When Fidelir was but a fraction of a fraction of its current size, this simply allowed it to sway people into staying. But with its current strength, more than a month inside Fidelir could possibly put you under its sway completely, as you forget your previous life and refuse to leave the marching city.

Fidelir can rearrange itself completely in the span of hours, seamlessly shifting streets and houses to whatever arrangement most suits it. The city can repair itself and cannot be destroyed permanently unless you pierce its heart. If the city is razed but the heart is not destroyed, then Fidelir’s heart may slink away to safety- until it finds another structure, even just a house or barn, to infect, and starting the process all over again.

 

 Oooooooo that’s really cool

 ‘llo Sel 

 How are you

 Good! You? 

 Confused but happy i think im not really sure

 Confused? 

 Yeaaaaaaah

Quote from AnnoyedCecaelia >>

Quote from Bananer28046 >>

Quote from AnnoyedCecaelia >>

Quote from Bananer28046 >>

Quote from AnnoyedCecaelia >>

Quote from Bananer28046 >>

Quote from AnnoyedCecaelia >>

Quote from TheFriendlyArchfey >>

nestling itself into the foundations of a village. Or, a many-legged thing from the far realm slipped through the folds of reality into ours, hiding beneath a city’s sewers and pupating into something more. Or perhaps, it gained life and breath by drinking the blood of those who were felled within its cobbled streets. Nobody knows quite where Fidelir came from, and it’s probably better that way.

A parasite disguised as a Utopia, Fidelir, Gailen’s gate, the Marching City, is a marble metropolis of stone and wood. But it lives. The chimneys of it’s houses are Fidelir’s lungs, it’s streets are it’s arteries and it’s alleyways are its capillaries. It’s skin are the titanic walls that guard its inner depths, the keep at the center of the city is Fidelir’s head, the throne room is their mind, the bell tower above the keep is the creature’s voice, and deep, deep, deep below the city is the creature’s pulsing, beating heart. The city, on the surface, is made of pristine materials, chiseled marble and the strongest of woods, but just a few inches beneath that outer layer is flesh. Flesh and veins and muscles.

Fidelir is always growing. Its citizens build new homes and taverns, shops and inns, out of materials harvested from nearby, and the parasitic tendrils of Fidelir take over the homes and spread, growing larger and larger. The city moves, slowly, drifting across the land a few thousand feet a day. Eventually, it comes across another city. Fidelir eats cities.

The citizens of Fidelir are mostly former residents of cities Fidelir has merged with, or travelers seeking refuge. As Fidelir’s size grew, so did its power. Fidelir has an influence on the minds of those within it. When Fidelir was but a fraction of a fraction of its current size, this simply allowed it to sway people into staying. But with its current strength, more than a month inside Fidelir could possibly put you under its sway completely, as you forget your previous life and refuse to leave the marching city.

Fidelir can rearrange itself completely in the span of hours, seamlessly shifting streets and houses to whatever arrangement most suits it. The city can repair itself and cannot be destroyed permanently unless you pierce its heart. If the city is razed but the heart is not destroyed, then Fidelir’s heart may slink away to safety- until it finds another structure, even just a house or barn, to infect, and starting the process all over again.

 

 Oooooooo that’s really cool

 ‘llo Sel 

 How are you

 Good! You? 

 Confused but happy i think im not really sure

 Confused? 

 Yeaaaaaaah

 How? 

Hola folks 

Quote from himynamesare >>

Hola folks 

 HIMY

HOW YOU BEEN

Quote from Bananer28046 >>

Quote from AnnoyedCecaelia >>

Quote from Bananer28046 >>

Quote from AnnoyedCecaelia >>

Quote from Bananer28046 >>

Quote from AnnoyedCecaelia >>

Quote from Bananer28046 >>

Quote from AnnoyedCecaelia >>

Quote from TheFriendlyArchfey >>

nestling itself into the foundations of a village. Or, a many-legged thing from the far realm slipped through the folds of reality into ours, hiding beneath a city’s sewers and pupating into something more. Or perhaps, it gained life and breath by drinking the blood of those who were felled within its cobbled streets. Nobody knows quite where Fidelir came from, and it’s probably better that way.

A parasite disguised as a Utopia, Fidelir, Gailen’s gate, the Marching City, is a marble metropolis of stone and wood. But it lives. The chimneys of it’s houses are Fidelir’s lungs, it’s streets are it’s arteries and it’s alleyways are its capillaries. It’s skin are the titanic walls that guard its inner depths, the keep at the center of the city is Fidelir’s head, the throne room is their mind, the bell tower above the keep is the creature’s voice, and deep, deep, deep below the city is the creature’s pulsing, beating heart. The city, on the surface, is made of pristine materials, chiseled marble and the strongest of woods, but just a few inches beneath that outer layer is flesh. Flesh and veins and muscles.

Fidelir is always growing. Its citizens build new homes and taverns, shops and inns, out of materials harvested from nearby, and the parasitic tendrils of Fidelir take over the homes and spread, growing larger and larger. The city moves, slowly, drifting across the land a few thousand feet a day. Eventually, it comes across another city. Fidelir eats cities.

The citizens of Fidelir are mostly former residents of cities Fidelir has merged with, or travelers seeking refuge. As Fidelir’s size grew, so did its power. Fidelir has an influence on the minds of those within it. When Fidelir was but a fraction of a fraction of its current size, this simply allowed it to sway people into staying. But with its current strength, more than a month inside Fidelir could possibly put you under its sway completely, as you forget your previous life and refuse to leave the marching city.

Fidelir can rearrange itself completely in the span of hours, seamlessly shifting streets and houses to whatever arrangement most suits it. The city can repair itself and cannot be destroyed permanently unless you pierce its heart. If the city is razed but the heart is not destroyed, then Fidelir’s heart may slink away to safety- until it finds another structure, even just a house or barn, to infect, and starting the process all over again.

 

 Oooooooo that’s really cool

 ‘llo Sel 

 How are you

 Good! You? 

 Confused but happy i think im not really sure

 Confused? 

 Yeaaaaaaah

 How? 

 People

Quote from himynamesare >>

Hola folks 

 Shark dude! 

Quote from AnnoyedCecaelia >>

Quote from Bananer28046 >>

Quote from AnnoyedCecaelia >>

Quote from Bananer28046 >>

Quote from AnnoyedCecaelia >>

Quote from Bananer28046 >>

Quote from AnnoyedCecaelia >>

Quote from Bananer28046 >>

Quote from AnnoyedCecaelia >>

Quote from TheFriendlyArchfey >>

nestling itself into the foundations of a village. Or, a many-legged thing from the far realm slipped through the folds of reality into ours, hiding beneath a city’s sewers and pupating into something more. Or perhaps, it gained life and breath by drinking the blood of those who were felled within its cobbled streets. Nobody knows quite where Fidelir came from, and it’s probably better that way.

A parasite disguised as a Utopia, Fidelir, Gailen’s gate, the Marching City, is a marble metropolis of stone and wood. But it lives. The chimneys of it’s houses are Fidelir’s lungs, it’s streets are it’s arteries and it’s alleyways are its capillaries. It’s skin are the titanic walls that guard its inner depths, the keep at the center of the city is Fidelir’s head, the throne room is their mind, the bell tower above the keep is the creature’s voice, and deep, deep, deep below the city is the creature’s pulsing, beating heart. The city, on the surface, is made of pristine materials, chiseled marble and the strongest of woods, but just a few inches beneath that outer layer is flesh. Flesh and veins and muscles.

Fidelir is always growing. Its citizens build new homes and taverns, shops and inns, out of materials harvested from nearby, and the parasitic tendrils of Fidelir take over the homes and spread, growing larger and larger. The city moves, slowly, drifting across the land a few thousand feet a day. Eventually, it comes across another city. Fidelir eats cities.

The citizens of Fidelir are mostly former residents of cities Fidelir has merged with, or travelers seeking refuge. As Fidelir’s size grew, so did its power. Fidelir has an influence on the minds of those within it. When Fidelir was but a fraction of a fraction of its current size, this simply allowed it to sway people into staying. But with its current strength, more than a month inside Fidelir could possibly put you under its sway completely, as you forget your previous life and refuse to leave the marching city.

Fidelir can rearrange itself completely in the span of hours, seamlessly shifting streets and houses to whatever arrangement most suits it. The city can repair itself and cannot be destroyed permanently unless you pierce its heart. If the city is razed but the heart is not destroyed, then Fidelir’s heart may slink away to safety- until it finds another structure, even just a house or barn, to infect, and starting the process all over again.

 

 Oooooooo that’s really cool

 ‘llo Sel 

 How are you

 Good! You? 

 Confused but happy i think im not really sure

 Confused? 

 Yeaaaaaaah

 How? 

 People

 Ah. Understandable. 

Quote from AnnoyedCecaelia >>

Quote from himynamesare >>

Hola folks 

 HIMY

HOW YOU BEEN

 Less than ideal. My general dislike of most living things has gotten slightly worse 

Quote from himynamesare >>

Quote from AnnoyedCecaelia >>

Quote from himynamesare >>

Hola folks 

 HIMY

HOW YOU BEEN

 Less than ideal. My general dislike of most living things has gotten slightly worse 

 Ugh me too 

it's me birfday : D

Quote from Gradius2 >>

it's me birfday : D

 You didn’t tell us earlier? Happy birthday grad!

Quote from Gradius2 >>

it's me birfday : D

 Happy birfday! 

Y’know if I could muster the inspiration I might make a thread inspired by Melty Blood or UNIB

Quote from himynamesare >>

Quote from Gradius2 >>

it's me birfday : D

 You didn’t tell us earlier? Happy birthday grad!

 I mentioned it in the maverick battalion yesterday I think

thank you!