I know there are at least six hundred proxies nearby.
I read about their little pow-wow on The Eldritch Post while I was in prison.
Join me, proxies. Rally to this New England battlefield as falcons descend upon their prey.
Fight for me; die for me; be reborn for me.
Keep your boots tight, keep your gun close, and die with your mask on if you've got to.
Speak Eldritch of die, my twelve angry Camper fiends.
From One Empty City to the Next
I'm back where I started.
Where this all began.
The city in which my former eldritch coworkers first assailed me.
Empty City, CT.
It feels good to be back.
I shan't stay, though; they'll be coming for me.
Let them come; I'm ready for them.
It would be less poetic a fight were it here, but if it should come to that, then I'll oblige.
Where this all began.
The city in which my former eldritch coworkers first assailed me.
Empty City, CT.
It feels good to be back.
I shan't stay, though; they'll be coming for me.
Let them come; I'm ready for them.
It would be less poetic a fight were it here, but if it should come to that, then I'll oblige.
How Can I Have No Idea What I'm Doing . . .
I've made it out. Away from that accursed prison and into this bleak void-forest of eldritchosity.
If I keep running, Empty City will give way to nothingness, and will I be delighted then.
Past the nothing is my everything.
I wonder how's my old house in the Black Forest doing.
I'll be home soon.
If I keep running, Empty City will give way to nothingness, and will I be delighted then.
Past the nothing is my everything.
I wonder how's my old house in the Black Forest doing.
I'll be home soon.
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