Somewhere deep in the castle, there is the sound of loud smashing. Something heavy is being pounded on something that crunches and splatters. Inbetween the frequent blows there is the faint sound of wings flapping.
Helianth, having visited the Keep of Painted Leaves for one last look-around, hears the commotion and searches the halls for its source.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Former Spider Queen of the Spider Guild, and friendly neighborhood scheming creature.
"Made by spiders, for spiders, of spiders."
My pronouns are she/her.
Web Weaver of Everlasting Narrative! (title bestowed by Drummer)
Somewhere deep in the castle, there is the sound of loud smashing. Something heavy is being pounded on something that crunches and splatters. Inbetween the frequent blows there is the faint sound of wings flapping.
Helianth, having visited the Keep of Painted Leaves for one last look-around, hears the commotion and searches the halls for its source.
You follow the sound through the halls, tracing the growing echo up into a massive clocktower. As you open the door into the clock tower's mechanisms, you are greeted by a bizarre scene. A finely crafted automaton rabbit is hopping about amongst the cogs and pistons, wielding an oversized mallet above his head. Every time he lands, he swings it down with enormous force upon clusters of large eggs that lay all around the room. Thick yolk and bits of grey egg shell are splattered across his intricately shaped, metal form. His antics have stirred up a swarm of large bats that are frantically flapping about near the ceiling.
He notices you and stops for a moment, straightening up some. "Er, hello." He looks around him and then back at you. "I'm not the Easter Bunny."
Somewhere deep in the castle, there is the sound of loud smashing. Something heavy is being pounded on something that crunches and splatters. Inbetween the frequent blows there is the faint sound of wings flapping.
Helianth, having visited the Keep of Painted Leaves for one last look-around, hears the commotion and searches the halls for its source.
You follow the sound through the halls, tracing the growing echo up into a massive clocktower. As you open the door into the clock tower's mechanisms, you are greeted by a bizarre scene. A finely crafted automaton rabbit is hopping about amongst the cogs and pistons, wielding an oversized mallet above his head. Every time he lands, he swings it down with enormous force upon clusters of large eggs that lay all around the room. Thick yolk and bits of grey egg shell are splattered across his intricately shaped, metal form. His antics have stirred up a swarm of large bats that are frantically flapping about near the ceiling.
He notices you and stops for a moment, straightening up some. "Er, hello." He looks around him and then back at you. "I'm not the Easter Bunny."
The crooked sunflower looks around the room as well, shambling the rest of the way into the chamber proper. "Hello. May I ask what you're doing?" Its flower heads look between their mallet and the eggshells. "Aside from the obvious, I mean."
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Former Spider Queen of the Spider Guild, and friendly neighborhood scheming creature.
"Made by spiders, for spiders, of spiders."
My pronouns are she/her.
Web Weaver of Everlasting Narrative! (title bestowed by Drummer)
You follow the sound through the halls, tracing the growing echo up into a massive clocktower. As you open the door into the clock tower's mechanisms, you are greeted by a bizarre scene. A finely crafted automaton rabbit is hopping about amongst the cogs and pistons, wielding an oversized mallet above his head. Every time he lands, he swings it down with enormous force upon clusters of large eggs that lay all around the room. Thick yolk and bits of grey egg shell are splattered across his intricately shaped, metal form. His antics have stirred up a swarm of large bats that are frantically flapping about near the ceiling.
He notices you and stops for a moment, straightening up some. "Er, hello." He looks around him and then back at you. "I'm not the Easter Bunny."
The crooked sunflower looks around the room as well, shambling the rest of the way into the chamber proper. "Hello. May I ask what you're doing?" Its flower heads look between their mallet and the eggshells. "Aside from the obvious, I mean."
"Extermination. If these eggs hatch, they could destroy this entire clock and we can't have that now, can we?" He sets down the mallet and picks up an egg. "They were lain by a bejeweled monitor. Beautiful lizards but they feed on metal and this is not their larder."
outside, in the forest, something slumbers beneath the earth. it is as old as the forest. a presence that always was and always shall be. it rolls over in its sleep, causing the bed of lichen and moss and leaves to shift. an October wind blows through the grove of The Rotman.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Pronouns: Any/All
About Me: Godless monster in human form bent on extending their natural life to unnatural extremes /general of the goose horde /Moderator of Vinstreb School for the Gifted /holder of the evil storyteller badge of no honor /king of madness /The FBI/ The Archmage of I CAST...!
Alignment: Lawful Evil
Fun Fact: i gain more power the more you post on my forum threads. MUAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!
Helianth is at the Spelljammer, running diagnostics on the ship's myriad mechanisms and enchantments to make sure everything is in working condition before they leave for the stars. It's been waiting centuries for its dream to be this close, and now the glory of the cosmos lay mere moments away- it wants everything to be perfect.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Former Spider Queen of the Spider Guild, and friendly neighborhood scheming creature.
"Made by spiders, for spiders, of spiders."
My pronouns are she/her.
Web Weaver of Everlasting Narrative! (title bestowed by Drummer)
a deer runs out of the forest. it still has the velvet on its antlers. it runs for a long time before dieing on the side of the road, mushrooms and lichen already feasting on it. when passers by investigate it, its skin sloughs off, revealing clean, white, bones. a wind whispers through the trees. you think you hear something, but tell yourself you don't.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Pronouns: Any/All
About Me: Godless monster in human form bent on extending their natural life to unnatural extremes /general of the goose horde /Moderator of Vinstreb School for the Gifted /holder of the evil storyteller badge of no honor /king of madness /The FBI/ The Archmage of I CAST...!
Alignment: Lawful Evil
Fun Fact: i gain more power the more you post on my forum threads. MUAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!
You land in a pile of autumn leaves. A ring of mushrooms circle around you and beside you is the April Fish.
He pushes himself back to his feet, dusting himself off as he holds himself to a more serious standard, despite being a mime.
"You ever been here before?" says the April Fool, "This is the Autumn Country," you notice he is speaking in a sort of hushed voice, "The kingdom of the dead, the dying, and those ready for harvest. Diametrically opposed to my very nature." He steps out of the circle and begins to walk through the crooked trees towards a castle that isn't too far off.
You land in a pile of autumn leaves. A ring of mushrooms circle around you and beside you is the April Fish.
He pushes himself back to his feet, dusting himself off as he holds himself to a more serious standard, despite being a mime.
"You ever been here before?" says the April Fool, "This is the Autumn Country," you notice he is speaking in a sort of hushed voice, "The kingdom of the dead, the dying, and those ready for harvest. Diametrically opposed to my very nature." He steps out of the circle and begins to walk through the crooked trees towards a castle that isn't too far off.
He walks after them, leaves crunching underneath his feet, his eye looking around them as he speaks in his regular tone "The dead and those ready to be harvested? Magic is so very interesting indeed."
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Local Jokester, Viber, Doctor, and Therapist, I do my best to make your day better, and if I fail I'll try again tomorrow.
'Nothing is beautiful because it lasts.'
'War does not decide who was right, but only who is left.'
You land in a pile of autumn leaves. A ring of mushrooms circle around you and beside you is the April Fish.
He pushes himself back to his feet, dusting himself off as he holds himself to a more serious standard, despite being a mime.
"You ever been here before?" says the April Fool, "This is the Autumn Country," you notice he is speaking in a sort of hushed voice, "The kingdom of the dead, the dying, and those ready for harvest. Diametrically opposed to my very nature." He steps out of the circle and begins to walk through the crooked trees towards a castle that isn't too far off.
He walks after them, leaves crunching underneath his feet, his eye looking around them as he speaks in his regular tone "The dead and those ready to be harvested? Magic is so very interesting indeed."
"Magic... sure. That is one word for it." You pass many gravestones jutting like lost teeth from gums of dry dirt and overgrown grass. Reddened leaves drift down all around you. "Most folks here don't like me much so let's keep quiet." He is walking with his head held low and both arms clasped behind his back. He gazes about shiftily with each step he takes. "What exactly were you a professor of before you became a comic?"
"Magic... sure. That is one word for it." You pass many gravestones jutting like lost teeth from gums of dry dirt and overgrown grass. Reddened leaves drift down all around you. "Most folks here don't like me much so let's keep quiet." He is walking with his head held low and both arms clasped behind his back. He gazes about shiftily with each step he takes. "What exactly were you a professor of before you became a comic?"
He makes sure to silence his still heavy footsteps, unable to control the robotic and heavy joints "I... was closer to being a doctor, I taught others how to operate and worked on patients with my fellow doctors, until they..." He shakes to keep himself from screaming out in rage.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Local Jokester, Viber, Doctor, and Therapist, I do my best to make your day better, and if I fail I'll try again tomorrow.
'Nothing is beautiful because it lasts.'
'War does not decide who was right, but only who is left.'
*Ah, the Autumn Country. It fills my heart with joy to see it make an at the very least partial return. Now, let's bring back an old friend, shall we?*
There is a quiet humming throughout the land of eternal autumn- one that is more so felt than heard. It grows in volume, in intensity, seemingly coming from above and in every direction at once. The sound grows louder, louder, like a dragon's roar that does not end, only ever getting louder, getting closer. The trees shudder. The swaying fields hiss. The wind screams. Even the very light of the ever-setting sun seems to cower in fear of what it knows is returning. Something wicked this way comes. Just when it seems the sound cannot possibly get any louder, the quaking cannot possibly grow more intense without rending the earth...
There is a crash. A cacophony of shattered space and torn reality as a hole is punched in the sky above, and a dark shape descends from it. The hole in reality quickly patches itself up behind the descending vessel. A modified nautiloid Spelljammer, an amalgam of flesh and metal and bone, innumerable arcane symbols carved along its shell's whorl that glow with the warm light of a rising sun. The monstrous ship descends, landing within an already flattened patch in the middle of a valley of hissing corn. The same place that ship lied before it found it.
It is here. And now, none are safe.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Former Spider Queen of the Spider Guild, and friendly neighborhood scheming creature.
"Made by spiders, for spiders, of spiders."
My pronouns are she/her.
Web Weaver of Everlasting Narrative! (title bestowed by Drummer)
"Magic... sure. That is one word for it." You pass many gravestones jutting like lost teeth from gums of dry dirt and overgrown grass. Reddened leaves drift down all around you. "Most folks here don't like me much so let's keep quiet." He is walking with his head held low and both arms clasped behind his back. He gazes about shiftily with each step he takes. "What exactly were you a professor of before you became a comic?"
He makes sure to silence his still heavy footsteps, unable to control the robotic and heavy joints "I... was closer to being a doctor, I taught others how to operate and worked on patients with my fellow doctors, until they..." He shakes to keep himself from screaming out in rage.
"I see. What caused them to do this thing to you?" Soon you are at the castle wall, but not the front gate. "Let's use this side door. Less people watching." A worn tombstone leans up against the wall of the Keep of Painted Leaves. He pries it off the wall to reveal a small, black hole. The April Fish gets down on his hands and knees and crawls into the hole.
"Magic... sure. That is one word for it." You pass many gravestones jutting like lost teeth from gums of dry dirt and overgrown grass. Reddened leaves drift down all around you. "Most folks here don't like me much so let's keep quiet." He is walking with his head held low and both arms clasped behind his back. He gazes about shiftily with each step he takes. "What exactly were you a professor of before you became a comic?"
He makes sure to silence his still heavy footsteps, unable to control the robotic and heavy joints "I... was closer to being a doctor, I taught others how to operate and worked on patients with my fellow doctors, until they..." He shakes to keep himself from screaming out in rage.
"I see. What caused them to do this thing to you?" Soon you are at the castle wall, but not the front gate. "Let's use this side door. Less people watching." A worn tombstone leans up against the wall of the Keep of Painted Leaves. He pries it off the wall to reveal a small, black hole. The April Fish gets down on his hands and knees and crawls into the hole.
He watches them crawl inside, and genuinely reconsiders following them, is all of this worth his pride, before giving up and following after them, "They deemed me 'unstable', and assumed turning me into THIS would make them able to control me."
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Local Jokester, Viber, Doctor, and Therapist, I do my best to make your day better, and if I fail I'll try again tomorrow.
'Nothing is beautiful because it lasts.'
'War does not decide who was right, but only who is left.'
*Ah, the Autumn Country. It fills my heart with joy to see it make an at the very least partial return. Now, let's bring back an old friend, shall we?*
There is a quiet humming throughout the land of eternal autumn- one that is more so felt than heard. It grows in volume, in intensity, seemingly coming from above and in every direction at once. The sound grows louder, louder, like a dragon's roar that does not end, only ever getting louder, getting closer. The trees shudder. The swaying fields hiss. The wind screams. Even the very light of the ever-setting sun seems to cower in fear of what it knows is returning. Something wicked this way comes. Just when it seems the sound cannot possibly get any louder, the quaking cannot possibly grow more intense without rending the earth...
There is a crash. A cacophony of shattered space and torn reality as a hole is punched in the sky above, and a dark shape descends from it. The hole in reality quickly patches itself up behind the descending vessel. A modified nautiloid Spelljammer, an amalgam of flesh and metal and bone, innumerable arcane symbols carved along its shell's whorl that glow with the warm light of a rising sun. The monstrous ship descends, landing within an already flattened patch in the middle of a valley of hissing corn. The same place that ship lied before it found it.
It is here. And now, none are safe.
Several goblins and ghosts peek from the shadows but only one lurker has the courage (or lack of self-preservation) to approach. Out of an unfilled grave creeps a bug-eyed ghoul with two yellow teethed mouths on his face. He creeps forward on long spidery limbs and fork hangs around his neck on a loop of twine.
"Magic... sure. That is one word for it." You pass many gravestones jutting like lost teeth from gums of dry dirt and overgrown grass. Reddened leaves drift down all around you. "Most folks here don't like me much so let's keep quiet." He is walking with his head held low and both arms clasped behind his back. He gazes about shiftily with each step he takes. "What exactly were you a professor of before you became a comic?"
He makes sure to silence his still heavy footsteps, unable to control the robotic and heavy joints "I... was closer to being a doctor, I taught others how to operate and worked on patients with my fellow doctors, until they..." He shakes to keep himself from screaming out in rage.
"I see. What caused them to do this thing to you?" Soon you are at the castle wall, but not the front gate. "Let's use this side door. Less people watching." A worn tombstone leans up against the wall of the Keep of Painted Leaves. He pries it off the wall to reveal a small, black hole. The April Fish gets down on his hands and knees and crawls into the hole.
He watches them crawl inside, and genuinely reconsiders following them, is all of this worth his pride, before giving up and following after them, "They deemed me 'unstable', and assumed turning me into THIS would make them able to control me."
"And there chosen method was a mime machine? They have strange taste." The passage way is cramped, narrow, and completely lacking of any light. It slopes up and down and twists and turns at terrible degrees. A thick coating of dust coats the stones and you feel spiderwebs catch on your face and spiders skitter across your hand far too often.
"Magic... sure. That is one word for it." You pass many gravestones jutting like lost teeth from gums of dry dirt and overgrown grass. Reddened leaves drift down all around you. "Most folks here don't like me much so let's keep quiet." He is walking with his head held low and both arms clasped behind his back. He gazes about shiftily with each step he takes. "What exactly were you a professor of before you became a comic?"
He makes sure to silence his still heavy footsteps, unable to control the robotic and heavy joints "I... was closer to being a doctor, I taught others how to operate and worked on patients with my fellow doctors, until they..." He shakes to keep himself from screaming out in rage.
"I see. What caused them to do this thing to you?" Soon you are at the castle wall, but not the front gate. "Let's use this side door. Less people watching." A worn tombstone leans up against the wall of the Keep of Painted Leaves. He pries it off the wall to reveal a small, black hole. The April Fish gets down on his hands and knees and crawls into the hole.
He watches them crawl inside, and genuinely reconsiders following them, is all of this worth his pride, before giving up and following after them, "They deemed me 'unstable', and assumed turning me into THIS would make them able to control me."
"And there chosen method was a mime machine? They have strange taste." The passage way is cramped, narrow, and completely lacking of any light. It slopes up and down and twists and turns at terrible degrees. A thick coating of dust coats the stones and you feel spiderwebs catch on your face and spiders skitter across your hand far too often.
"They are more insane than I have ever been, turning me into a machine for their amusement." His joints seem to unnaturally collapse to make getting through the tunnel slightly easier, the spiderwebs stuck on the screen, his eye rapidly blinking as he watches the spiders, very very angry.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Local Jokester, Viber, Doctor, and Therapist, I do my best to make your day better, and if I fail I'll try again tomorrow.
'Nothing is beautiful because it lasts.'
'War does not decide who was right, but only who is left.'
Helianth, having visited the Keep of Painted Leaves for one last look-around, hears the commotion and searches the halls for its source.
Former Spider Queen of the Spider Guild, and friendly neighborhood scheming creature.
"Made by spiders, for spiders, of spiders."
My pronouns are she/her.
Web Weaver of Everlasting Narrative! (title bestowed by Drummer)
You follow the sound through the halls, tracing the growing echo up into a massive clocktower. As you open the door into the clock tower's mechanisms, you are greeted by a bizarre scene. A finely crafted automaton rabbit is hopping about amongst the cogs and pistons, wielding an oversized mallet above his head. Every time he lands, he swings it down with enormous force upon clusters of large eggs that lay all around the room. Thick yolk and bits of grey egg shell are splattered across his intricately shaped, metal form. His antics have stirred up a swarm of large bats that are frantically flapping about near the ceiling.
He notices you and stops for a moment, straightening up some. "Er, hello." He looks around him and then back at you. "I'm not the Easter Bunny."
The crooked sunflower looks around the room as well, shambling the rest of the way into the chamber proper. "Hello. May I ask what you're doing?" Its flower heads look between their mallet and the eggshells. "Aside from the obvious, I mean."
Former Spider Queen of the Spider Guild, and friendly neighborhood scheming creature.
"Made by spiders, for spiders, of spiders."
My pronouns are she/her.
Web Weaver of Everlasting Narrative! (title bestowed by Drummer)
"Extermination. If these eggs hatch, they could destroy this entire clock and we can't have that now, can we?" He sets down the mallet and picks up an egg. "They were lain by a bejeweled monitor. Beautiful lizards but they feed on metal and this is not their larder."
outside, in the forest, something slumbers beneath the earth. it is as old as the forest. a presence that always was and always shall be. it rolls over in its sleep, causing the bed of lichen and moss and leaves to shift. an October wind blows through the grove of The Rotman.
Pronouns: Any/All
About Me: Godless monster in human form bent on extending their natural life to unnatural extremes /general of the goose horde /Moderator of Vinstreb School for the Gifted /holder of the evil storyteller badge of no honor /king of madness /The FBI/ The Archmage of I CAST...!
Alignment: Lawful Evil
Fun Fact: i gain more power the more you post on my forum threads. MUAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!
Helianth is at the Spelljammer, running diagnostics on the ship's myriad mechanisms and enchantments to make sure everything is in working condition before they leave for the stars. It's been waiting centuries for its dream to be this close, and now the glory of the cosmos lay mere moments away- it wants everything to be perfect.
Former Spider Queen of the Spider Guild, and friendly neighborhood scheming creature.
"Made by spiders, for spiders, of spiders."
My pronouns are she/her.
Web Weaver of Everlasting Narrative! (title bestowed by Drummer)
a deer runs out of the forest. it still has the velvet on its antlers. it runs for a long time before dieing on the side of the road, mushrooms and lichen already feasting on it. when passers by investigate it, its skin sloughs off, revealing clean, white, bones. a wind whispers through the trees. you think you hear something, but tell yourself you don't.
Pronouns: Any/All
About Me: Godless monster in human form bent on extending their natural life to unnatural extremes /general of the goose horde /Moderator of Vinstreb School for the Gifted /holder of the evil storyteller badge of no honor /king of madness /The FBI/ The Archmage of I CAST...!
Alignment: Lawful Evil
Fun Fact: i gain more power the more you post on my forum threads. MUAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!
Falling...
Falling....
Fell.
You land in a pile of autumn leaves. A ring of mushrooms circle around you and beside you is the April Fish.
He pushes himself back to his feet, dusting himself off as he holds himself to a more serious standard, despite being a mime.
Local Jokester, Viber, Doctor, and Therapist, I do my best to make your day better, and if I fail I'll try again tomorrow.
'Nothing is beautiful because it lasts.'
'War does not decide who was right, but only who is left.'
https://docs.google.com/document/d/12WUcdu6YBH2USIcmf48FCnLwDh_mGHZJZYZWwLLRzhA/edit?tab=t.0 (For when I'm gone.)
"You ever been here before?" says the April Fool, "This is the Autumn Country," you notice he is speaking in a sort of hushed voice, "The kingdom of the dead, the dying, and those ready for harvest. Diametrically opposed to my very nature." He steps out of the circle and begins to walk through the crooked trees towards a castle that isn't too far off.
He walks after them, leaves crunching underneath his feet, his eye looking around them as he speaks in his regular tone "The dead and those ready to be harvested? Magic is so very interesting indeed."
Local Jokester, Viber, Doctor, and Therapist, I do my best to make your day better, and if I fail I'll try again tomorrow.
'Nothing is beautiful because it lasts.'
'War does not decide who was right, but only who is left.'
https://docs.google.com/document/d/12WUcdu6YBH2USIcmf48FCnLwDh_mGHZJZYZWwLLRzhA/edit?tab=t.0 (For when I'm gone.)
"Magic... sure. That is one word for it." You pass many gravestones jutting like lost teeth from gums of dry dirt and overgrown grass. Reddened leaves drift down all around you. "Most folks here don't like me much so let's keep quiet." He is walking with his head held low and both arms clasped behind his back. He gazes about shiftily with each step he takes. "What exactly were you a professor of before you became a comic?"
*I hope this will be revived. That would be very nice.*
Let him who is without sin cast the first stone.
May each word that I speak be backed by each of my teeth.
He makes sure to silence his still heavy footsteps, unable to control the robotic and heavy joints "I... was closer to being a doctor, I taught others how to operate and worked on patients with my fellow doctors, until they..." He shakes to keep himself from screaming out in rage.
Local Jokester, Viber, Doctor, and Therapist, I do my best to make your day better, and if I fail I'll try again tomorrow.
'Nothing is beautiful because it lasts.'
'War does not decide who was right, but only who is left.'
https://docs.google.com/document/d/12WUcdu6YBH2USIcmf48FCnLwDh_mGHZJZYZWwLLRzhA/edit?tab=t.0 (For when I'm gone.)
*Ah, the Autumn Country. It fills my heart with joy to see it make an at the very least partial return. Now, let's bring back an old friend, shall we?*
There is a quiet humming throughout the land of eternal autumn- one that is more so felt than heard. It grows in volume, in intensity, seemingly coming from above and in every direction at once. The sound grows louder, louder, like a dragon's roar that does not end, only ever getting louder, getting closer. The trees shudder. The swaying fields hiss. The wind screams. Even the very light of the ever-setting sun seems to cower in fear of what it knows is returning. Something wicked this way comes. Just when it seems the sound cannot possibly get any louder, the quaking cannot possibly grow more intense without rending the earth...
There is a crash. A cacophony of shattered space and torn reality as a hole is punched in the sky above, and a dark shape descends from it. The hole in reality quickly patches itself up behind the descending vessel. A modified nautiloid Spelljammer, an amalgam of flesh and metal and bone, innumerable arcane symbols carved along its shell's whorl that glow with the warm light of a rising sun. The monstrous ship descends, landing within an already flattened patch in the middle of a valley of hissing corn. The same place that ship lied before it found it.
It is here. And now, none are safe.
Former Spider Queen of the Spider Guild, and friendly neighborhood scheming creature.
"Made by spiders, for spiders, of spiders."
My pronouns are she/her.
Web Weaver of Everlasting Narrative! (title bestowed by Drummer)
"I see. What caused them to do this thing to you?" Soon you are at the castle wall, but not the front gate. "Let's use this side door. Less people watching." A worn tombstone leans up against the wall of the Keep of Painted Leaves. He pries it off the wall to reveal a small, black hole. The April Fish gets down on his hands and knees and crawls into the hole.
He watches them crawl inside, and genuinely reconsiders following them, is all of this worth his pride, before giving up and following after them, "They deemed me 'unstable', and assumed turning me into THIS would make them able to control me."
Local Jokester, Viber, Doctor, and Therapist, I do my best to make your day better, and if I fail I'll try again tomorrow.
'Nothing is beautiful because it lasts.'
'War does not decide who was right, but only who is left.'
https://docs.google.com/document/d/12WUcdu6YBH2USIcmf48FCnLwDh_mGHZJZYZWwLLRzhA/edit?tab=t.0 (For when I'm gone.)
Several goblins and ghosts peek from the shadows but only one lurker has the courage (or lack of self-preservation) to approach. Out of an unfilled grave creeps a bug-eyed ghoul with two yellow teethed mouths on his face. He creeps forward on long spidery limbs and fork hangs around his neck on a loop of twine.
"And there chosen method was a mime machine? They have strange taste." The passage way is cramped, narrow, and completely lacking of any light. It slopes up and down and twists and turns at terrible degrees. A thick coating of dust coats the stones and you feel spiderwebs catch on your face and spiders skitter across your hand far too often.
"They are more insane than I have ever been, turning me into a machine for their amusement." His joints seem to unnaturally collapse to make getting through the tunnel slightly easier, the spiderwebs stuck on the screen, his eye rapidly blinking as he watches the spiders, very very angry.
Local Jokester, Viber, Doctor, and Therapist, I do my best to make your day better, and if I fail I'll try again tomorrow.
'Nothing is beautiful because it lasts.'
'War does not decide who was right, but only who is left.'
https://docs.google.com/document/d/12WUcdu6YBH2USIcmf48FCnLwDh_mGHZJZYZWwLLRzhA/edit?tab=t.0 (For when I'm gone.)