The elusive urban manticore is comprised of the most beloved local fauna.
For the Great Sloth so loved the world, that He gave His only begotten Son, that whoever believes in Him shall not perish, but have eternal life and endless cecropia leaves for their tum tums.
There is nothing in this damned land that the Spirits of the West haven’t foreseen. They’ll feed their young on the fields of ash we leave behind.
The Fallen, the Adversary, the Beast... Old Scratchpost, King of the Furnace where he bakes tiny widdle invisible biscuits. Baphocat tells us “Do as thou wilt shall be the whole of the Paw.”
The few who find enlightenment are the most pitiable of all. They spend eternity fruitlessly dissecting the answer, muttering “This can’t be all there is.”
- The Book of Rana, canto 77
The Prowler is no more evil than you feasting upon a crunchwrap supreme, if only the crunchwrap was still living several bites in. Hunger is its curse, but the eating, its pleasure.
Our Lady of the Cosmos blesses us all equally with a benevolent indifference.
The watchful eyes that never blink.
The Pug King knows that the key to his rule is spectacle and tradition. He never skimps on fine royal trappings.
“Between the two of us, we hear and smell far better than we’ll ever need to see. For example, he can smell the blood beneath your skin but I don’t hear you running.”
For all our many failings, we’ve always excelled at feeding the soil.
The Twins are always watching the East and West simultaneously, never knowing from which direction the Prowler will return.
After 60 years, it’s not the incessant crash of cymbals that drove Jolly Charley to madness, but the quiet moments of dread between each beat.
If you’re looking to escape your reality for an evening, Wandering Wile provides multiversal excursions in capsule form, for a shockingly affordable price.
*Return to your universe of origin or preferred timeline not guaranteed.
Calamity beneath the waves,
Beat your primeval might upon the bow,
So that Man will be undone.”
The Book of Giants, Canto 111
A demon does evil by nature. It does good out of infinite boredom.
The river Styx is actually bountiful with a striking breed of succulent harlequin crabs, and yet people choose rather to starve when they see one. I cannot fathom why.