Imagine awakening caked in the cerebral fluid of the most renowned and uncompromising butcher to ply their bloody trade in decades. It would surely be too inhospitable a place to even contemplate inhabiting, even fleetingly. To be that close to the bloody engine that sends such dark transmissions through every ventricle, every fiber. The bloody hub of Marcus Miller is a cavernous hellhole, free from compassion, empathy or hope. A place where nothing pure could exist, any such light would be snuffed out in an instant by perpetual darkness.
And that is where Keeper finds himself presently. Like a newborn I unfurl from my fetal position and acclimatize to my ominous surroundings. I must find Audrey and Mike within this multifarious labyrinth; only they can supply the answers to the predicament I find myself balls-deep within. Should I be tardy, then the ramifications will be far too extreme to ever conceptualize; my soul would become snake-bitten and I would die from the inside out. While this would admittedly provide an intoxicating end; I have no intention to fall by the wayside. I am here for a reason, my persistance has been necessitated as only I can reach the bloody heart of the beast from within my current surroundings. It is my destiny and danger was my second choice for middle name so if the shoe fits then fuck all ten toes, that’s what I say.
I can feel his frontal lobe pulsating underneath my feet, presumably from memorizing his Baby Sister’s movements. If he tracks her down before I acquire her coordinates then there will be an inescapable bloodbath. While Audrey has proven her mettle in the past, a second encounter would surely spell her termination. What obscene pleasure can he extract from snuffing out our true señorita, our Katherine Hepburn, our Marilyn Monroe? I must summons every scrap of my stamina, might and endurance to throw a bloody spanner in his relentless machinery, or else suffer the consequences. I have a niggling feeling I will suffer them regardless.
Where do I even contemplate beginning? This place isn’t the Hilton, there’s no concierge to juggle my belongings, no his and hers bath robes or signature hand-towels. Just a whole fucking mass of messed up! The stench of despair is all around me, enveloping me in its pungent aromatic decay, whilst gnawing away at my sanity, which hangs by the frailest of threads after the events of the past few months. How much more can Keeper feasibly endure? I’m pulled taut and preparing to snap like a compromised hymen.
I begin to trek, following the crimson stream as it flows southward. I’m already aware that, in order to solve this latest riddle, I must travel deeper into the darkest depths of torment and suffering. My physical shell is weary; I’m so frightfully fatigued that it would be all too easy easy to just curl up into a ball once more and wait to die. Thing is, I’m the Keeper of the Crimson Quill. There are people counting on my scoop and besides, I simply have to locate Audrey and Mike before they perish at the hands of their tormentor. There is only one option available at this juncture, that being to press on. So press on I do, with all-encompassing trepidation.
Truly, Really, Clearly, Sincerely,
Keeper of the Crimson Quill
First Knight of TOK
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Copyright: Crimson Quill: Savage Vault Enterprises 2013