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Trapped they be, mayhap...
Dustan Grimes
Registered User regular
Registered User regular
Tis a ruse perhaps? This unending wait for news of our hero’s fate? Mayhap they intend to lull the dark forces into a slumber of miscalculation and false confidence, lurking in shadows and skulking through bone yards, until... Slam! Down comes the hammer on the fell night beings of dread countenance. Bam goes Tycho's gun and smash goes Gabe's fists. One-two, blam blam, and on and on they with great vengeance and fury will rain righteous fury upon their fell foes. Tis a good plan this. Let the darkened nether beasts be lulled, they will only suffer all the more on the morrow. Tis a fate they are well deserved to endure. Tis a well laid plan indeed: set the trap and wait, and wait, and wait. All the more deadly is the trap once sprung for all the patient waiting...
Although, perchance it's not a game they play, perchance they are somewhere where the cold winds warm not and the sun fails to rise. Mayhap they lurk in dread silence on the cliff of some unknown precipice somewhere beyond the end of time, where no being has ever seen a sunrise. Somewhere dark, somewhere deep, beyond the cold fury of endless space. A haunted world where no man, at least no "sane" man, has dared tread. A world of ice, a world of fire, a world covered in the bones and ashes of fallen heroes, a world twisted by blasted landscapes where there is no promise of shelter but only of pain piled upon pain. Mayhap it is there that our heroes spend their failing days, pushing on into a roaring wind, stumbling over mounds of bones, on and on, with no hope of salvation...
Or perhaps, they are biding their time, waiting on a sign, waiting for the stars to align, for the dread Cthulhu to rise and at that moment, when the minds of man will begin to tear loose from the moorings of centuries, and madness will spill upon the world, mayhap at that moment: they will strike. Guns blazing, fists striking: one last stand against the overwhelming madness of a dread universe revealed at last. One last stand against unspeakable chaos, one last stand before the entire world be lead screaming into the abyss, one last stand before humanity begins spiraling down the toilet bowl of doom. With Gabe and Tycho clinging to the rim fighting the dark and unwholesome nastiness to the last.
Excelsior!
Or mayhap, not...
;-)
Although, perchance it's not a game they play, perchance they are somewhere where the cold winds warm not and the sun fails to rise. Mayhap they lurk in dread silence on the cliff of some unknown precipice somewhere beyond the end of time, where no being has ever seen a sunrise. Somewhere dark, somewhere deep, beyond the cold fury of endless space. A haunted world where no man, at least no "sane" man, has dared tread. A world of ice, a world of fire, a world covered in the bones and ashes of fallen heroes, a world twisted by blasted landscapes where there is no promise of shelter but only of pain piled upon pain. Mayhap it is there that our heroes spend their failing days, pushing on into a roaring wind, stumbling over mounds of bones, on and on, with no hope of salvation...
Or perhaps, they are biding their time, waiting on a sign, waiting for the stars to align, for the dread Cthulhu to rise and at that moment, when the minds of man will begin to tear loose from the moorings of centuries, and madness will spill upon the world, mayhap at that moment: they will strike. Guns blazing, fists striking: one last stand against the overwhelming madness of a dread universe revealed at last. One last stand against unspeakable chaos, one last stand before the entire world be lead screaming into the abyss, one last stand before humanity begins spiraling down the toilet bowl of doom. With Gabe and Tycho clinging to the rim fighting the dark and unwholesome nastiness to the last.
Excelsior!
Or mayhap, not...
;-)
Dustan Grimes on
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