Go Cave

Now it's gone too far.

My friend Dave doesn't need me as accomplice any longer. This beast has found a shorter, faster route to its warren of origin:



Behold the filth that issued directly from my friend's contaminated brain, without my assistance:

Pugvold Visigoth slid sideways through the Primary Entrance of Blood Caverns of Orthos, his Bard's Jacket® already ruined by the viscid gut-dollops falling from this most feared grotto ceiling. The guttering hollow was a riot of glistening elf and orc commixture, steaming and burbling (only slightly) in the heady backdraft. "Othos has done well this day," the discerning Pugvol nodded ruefully to himself. "This ripe vista shall be detailed tonight in song at the Tavern." Harp at the ready, the stanzas, amplitude and timbre of his piece already taking form, Pugvold turned from the dusky massacre and began the long trek back to Town.

All right, I tweaked a couple sentences for publication. But still--

With only Dave as its instrument, the Lord Blooddyke may yet achieve full emission.