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Wither away, my soul. My stained and ruined flesh. My rotten and foul mind. Welcome death, you salve of the wretched. Allow our bodies to die and rot and decay. Our minds to be wiped blank. And our souls purged through the long rest in the fields of Elysium. Only then will the world be
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Journey to the Lesser circle of Fire and the Vetr Mountains. CC 37-01.02 We broke camp at first light, as our destination, the Ends, lay only a day’s travel ahead. It stood as the final node of any notable size within the northeastern reaches of the Argian Empire, perched precariously upon the South-Western slopes of
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Journey to the Lesser circle of Fire and the Vetr Mountains. CC 37-23.01 Our journey commenced in earnest when the well-trodden stone roads of the Argies yielded to the remote dirt paths and treacherous snow-laden northeastern extremities. Here, the countryside bears a sparsity that stretches across white expanses, intermingled with densely clustered pines. The occasional
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(Fiction) (Dooms Day Villain monologue) Names are a trivial thing. We are assigned one at birth and told that this name, this string of sounds and syllables, defines us. We go our entire lives being called by that name. Living by that name. Defined by and defining that name. Growing that name in the hopes
anOldShu 