He sprang from the disembodied womb of a yeti, and was
weaned on the flesh of a million virgins. Before he could walk, he had slain
his first crusaders. Before he could run, he had slain the first-born of all
known kings. His footsteps make seas boil, and his wings send up such a
hurricane of dust that generations forget what the sun looked like. Beneath
each of his sundry wings is sheltered an army of nightmares and fel shadows. He
is the drowner of whales, the defiler of angels, and no matter how many heroes
have risen and struck him down, he has always returned when the publisher
needed a sequel.
Ha! So true.
ReplyDeleteLOL! Great punchline
ReplyDeleteYou are a deeply twisted and cynical individual. For which I thank you.
ReplyDeleteHaha, oh no! I thought myself a quaint idealist. Am I that bad?
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