Misguided Sacrament.

The festering land was laid bare upon the dreaded ambience, but it was gently being dwindled by the recumbent kindling at the heart of the camp. Girdle by the creatures of untold mysteries, where each befell the other at the crossroads, the peeled quarters were remarkably serene, as no such creatures even dared to set foot inside their feigned sacrarium. For they too felt frightened by the sprawling abundant bodies of their own brethren resting beneath the abyssal ring.

Barren and lifeless as were their proportions, amounting to only corpses to be fed to the belly of his paramour. And as such, the gentleman in silver walked out from the camp and contemplated about his blood gestating inside the belly of his mistress. What would come out? Would it be like his heiress or something else entirely? A baffling proposition was it indeed, as he envisioned all the possibilities. Right until his trail of thoughts were broken.

“A word?” Cenric said.