On the night of the 9th of Neth, the party dreamed of “home”. A sewer.

It is all sewers. And no sewers. It is foul beyond description.

Except to Dabwick. Dabwick almost sees the beauty… the Grand Design… the Sublime Conglomeration of it all.. how every city should be shitting its waste into the same stinking cesspit beneath the same bloodsoaked streets… it only makes sense, doesn’t it?

Isn’t it Perfect?
Isn’t it Beautiful?
Hollow.
Empty.
Labyrinthine.
GROWING. CHANGING. BECOMING.

Give Him your waste. Give Him your wasted lives. Give Him your wasted potential. Give him your breathtaking, bone-deep, all-consuming lonliness. Give Him your fears, your nightmares, your pain, your anguish, your hate. Give Him your Hate. Give Him your violence. Give Him your boundless lack of concern for anyone but yourself. Open your veins and bleed unto Him. Open your mouth and Drown in Him. BECOME HIM. You always were. You always will be. There is no beginning or end to your story because you have no story. How could you? You are simply the shit squelching through the fetid, rotting bowels of your King. And shit has no story. It doesn’t matter.

YOU DON’T MATTER.

Praise.
Praise.
PRAISE.

First Reference: Chapter 86
Other Notable References:

 

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