Blackfoot Forest I am not a legend, I'm a fraud

rolled an 11 here

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sopping chunks of pus and blood seeped from the mangled, blended mix that was once an eye. gnats eagerly fled to the infected stench of ripe discharged, and in this he let them.

for he was hunting, and his pursuit of youthful flesh did the burning pain fade away. it was replaced only by feral, primitive desire.

a thirst like none other, that scratched it's way up from the pit of hell and into the throat of a sinister serpent. it was this that clawed him after feminine aroma.

she was young, just the way he preferred.