Rolled 13 (1d30)
>>6089770>>6089784<span class="mu-r"> 14+ – The world trembled. Tremendous determination forced your legs to move with incommensurable force; with the desperation of someone who has a rapist of pigs breathing heavily behind one’s neck.
Restless you continue running through the path, stepping on the thousand steps, deafened by the wind who forgets names and mistakes faces. Ignorant of any and every tragedy.
The tits and guts scrape against the floor violently. And the exposed manhood, unzipped and free, sands against the sands, the unforgiving terrain, the small and sharp rocks.
And through meters and meters of hefty clash, they lie somnolent; shivering from the cold of the genital blood, and unconscious from the faint of a true defeat.
The tears fell and made a pond with the sweat. And despite the rivers of thirst, you kept running.
13- – A power without origin; a disgrace seeking to occur. The flight of a pig starving to eat from the forbidden flesh.
Your head turns from instinct by torturous screech, and your already mitigated motion dares to not be enough.
The wings jiggle, and the feathers lift The Lard off the ground; defying the very gravity that tied him to the world. His gob opens up with starved madness, and the sweated mass flies to embrace the entirety of your being.
<span class="mu-s"> The fight with The Lard starts. </span> </span>
