Swiftly running, walking quickly, champion oh ye achilles. writer scratch pen and scribble breakest morn oh eggs ye dribble wander now oh complacent traveler and know ye hear that blood doth spatter kings afoot and kings abhor this deceitful day of Elanor
And to think that even the otherworldly Is made other by this world of ours.
And every fiction is just some little reality wrapped and tied in ribbon or cloaked in elven wools painted in one thousand colors or masked in grime and muck.
