Distilled - embleth
Flesh and blood...the extrapolation of which being ichor and dust.
I like to consider my self geometric, and I am enamored and proud of my fractal make-up. Indeed, the harsh angles therein cut me so beautifully.
Ichor...of both kinds. A pleasant meld to ferment.
Dust...vital in the manufacture of the salts.
Fractals...I don't mind loosing myself or my sight.
Geometric...yes...with closed fields.
Sometimes I open them, variably, to wash my hands of the deicidic puss.
Fields...or Gates?
Opened Gates sometimes produce equal results, in a more tragic fasion.
Ah, the Gates of Gordy...and the Gates of Taylor.
Yes.
For each, two and two. Usually.
Taylor bleeds a disgusting color. Akin to the lower of ichors.
Gordy, though... Much purer. Much more dangerous.
I am not as familiar with the pure of torrents.
No matter.
My lungs are so full of this pure(er) mountain air already.
Tonight howled rites will echo through these valleys.
Much different than those I howl at the Gates.
No echos there.
They are too hungry, always spewing out their contents.
Tomorrow I drive the slaves, and return victorious.
Now I just have to remember what I won.
I like to consider my self geometric, and I am enamored and proud of my fractal make-up. Indeed, the harsh angles therein cut me so beautifully.
Ichor...of both kinds. A pleasant meld to ferment.
Dust...vital in the manufacture of the salts.
Fractals...I don't mind loosing myself or my sight.
Geometric...yes...with closed fields.
Sometimes I open them, variably, to wash my hands of the deicidic puss.
Fields...or Gates?
Opened Gates sometimes produce equal results, in a more tragic fasion.
Ah, the Gates of Gordy...and the Gates of Taylor.
Yes.
For each, two and two. Usually.
Taylor bleeds a disgusting color. Akin to the lower of ichors.
Gordy, though... Much purer. Much more dangerous.
I am not as familiar with the pure of torrents.
No matter.
My lungs are so full of this pure(er) mountain air already.
Tonight howled rites will echo through these valleys.
Much different than those I howl at the Gates.
No echos there.
They are too hungry, always spewing out their contents.
Tomorrow I drive the slaves, and return victorious.
Now I just have to remember what I won.