Quoted By:
<span class="mu-i">"If you can't... stop som... then... you deserve it."</span>
"Shites that..."
...
<span class="mu-s">FIRST HOUR AND A HALF OF CARNAGE.</span>
Daemasses shine with the grisly fire of doom. Demons shall do as they are told, in their newborn states. These flames will connect to one another, a series of passages through the equinoxes of the Scourge Fronts and the Great Deep's lower recesses. The Damned are mortals, all around the world, discarding all human reason. They shuffle through the passages to where the reckoning of the world starts.
Behold, these numerous, sickly forms of bloat. They either dress themselves in tatters or don't dress at all. A stink trails them, comes from them. Cases holding many bottles on shoulders, tanks on wheels being dragged behind.
"Party's starting boys! WUHAHAHAHA!" Shouted the Marauder among them, strumming an electric guitar.
'Play that music, play it loud! Let us hear through the clouuuuud!'
Smashing the bottles they cast in every window. Spraying it like pesticides on everyone they saw. Large bodies came in a sprint they'd normally be incapable of towards the first unsuspecting crowd they saw.
Noxious fumes were in updraft, upsurging.
The Inebriates were here, flooding the streets. People pray for the gods to be with them, but for the Inebriates, rotgut was with them. Rotgut arose from whatever they drank. It was so easy to make. What better place to defile with Rotgut than the home of those who worshiped Milk and Torpor?
'Awwww, whassa' matter? Don't you dancing freaks like poisonin' yourselves? HAHAHAHA!'
Smell it, your nostrils melt. Bask in the cloud, your skin burns and hair sheds. Clothes sticks to your body. Blood begins inflating in your veins. There's nothing people who just wanted to live their every day lives can do against Rotgut. They simply aren't equipped. All they can do is run and hope they make it.
But with how packed Kloa was, they didn't stand much of a chance.