Slowing, falling, ever-calling,
crashing under eldritch crushing,
whisp'ring, seeping, ever-weeping,
tearful broken first-born son.
Warden's water wetting decking,
booted rough-shod footsteps stepping,
puddle draining, crimson staining,
marking laying first-born son.
Soft-winged twilight wreckage drifting,
swiftly moored to veering anchor.
Angered well-read drifter sifting,
rider's flesh to sieve the soul.
Sleeping, screaming, ever-dreaming,
come to me, my first-born son.
This wicked world's mine to conquer,
mind-to-mind for first-born son.
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Random encounters and interesting character-driven plot resulted in the tragic death of a well-liked NPC. An elegy to Fishton.
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The Pitch Like many referees before me, I am absolutely captivated by the world-building exemplified in the Dark Souls series of games. Th...
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Slowing, falling, ever-calling, crashing under eldritch crushing, whisp'ring, seeping, ever-weeping, tearful broken first-born son. ...
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A Lesson in Thinking Ahead My last post was very much a "straight from my head to my keyboard" sort of post. It was a good br...
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