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"S.SSsssC: Neverwhere"

I sought wan counsel from the Lord of Carrion, he whose claws juggle the deadheads of unforgiven wastrels, whose eyes like white billiard balls inset with marbles peer into death, whose mind is ever a-flood with black machinations and rotten ideals.

A hooded fool drunk on the blood of sunsets offered hints as to the Lord’s whereabouts: "He dwells with His sallow cohorts in a den of gnarled root, hidden deep within a forest the scavengers call Grimghast."

Well that narrowed things down. Grimghast, or Tangelis as it is known to men, is a vast island covered from coast-to-coast with naught but branch, leaf, nettle and bough, I could spend the rest of my days seeking the gangrel Lord in that sunless web, reaping nothing more than a fistful of twigs.

I opened the book the old monk in the tavern had gifted me - The Song of Zimzim, slipped on my eyeglasses and proceeded to follow the curls of script:

"I am two-in-one: like a nun armed with throwing-knives."

Sleep overcame me. I closed the little book and my eyelids soon followed. Yessss, the Lord of Carrion and his wan counsel could wait - I had other, less taxing dreams to pursue...

I laugh at you sometimes too.

I love your style, really do, makes me look at myself and laugh.

I'm sick of your made up words.

Only two people can get away with it. Tolkien and my English teacher.

Give it up, cheech.

I have two things to say about that

I really liked that, typical Black Glove. :-)

I sought wan counsel from the Lord of Carrion, he whose claws juggle the deadheads of unforgiven wastrels, whose eyes like white billiard balls inset with marbles peer into death, whose mind is ever a-flood with black machinations and rotten ideals.

A hooded fool drunk on the blood of sunsets offered hints as to the Lord’s whereabouts: "He dwells with His sallow cohorts in a den of gnarled root, hidden deep within a forest the scavengers call Grimghast."

Well that narrowed things down. Grimghast, or Tangelis as it is known to men, is a vast island covered from coast-to-coast with naught but branch, leaf, nettle and bough, I could spend the rest of my days seeking the gangrel Lord in that sunless web, reaping nothing more than a fistful of twigs.

I opened the book the old monk in the tavern had gifted me - The Song of Zimzim, slipped on my eyeglasses and proceeded to follow the curls of script:

"I am two-in-one: like a nun armed with throwing-knives."

Sleep overcame me. I closed the little book and my eyelids soon followed. Yessss, the Lord of Carrion and his wan counsel could wait - I had other, less taxing dreams to pursue...