Cre8ive Writing: Underwood
Hail thee avast, well met. In times of deranged conceit, mangled with melancholy befitting brazen beasts. Dost thou not don thine mantle? The heavens must be astir seeing one of its favoured afar from life and reason.
What would Valhalla have bid me do? Since when do Romans carry the death song so sombre in belonging? In all past pestilence not once, in all things vanquished and rotten did visions bequeath unto this house a hell foregoing the customs of our people.
Spare me your conundrums, thistles and egregious legends be nothing more if not traditions tidings. There is no honour without the cloak or a loaf of bread.
Doo Aii luuk laik it matterss to mee what heavenly majesty confronts upon a scribe? Theese soothsayerss are a dime a dozen, great men ha! We of unwanted inheritance have ushered in millenia upon scion. Sso many wondrouss lives both man and creature alaike.
Speak ye and mind yer words. In this land with o' law there's little can keep yer head safe when the mutiny comes beckoning. Traitorous bunch we make amends for cursed ancestors o' ours. This e'er we seldom tell, a tale as old as rubies lying at the bottom of there yonder ocean, laced with blue blooded agony no less.
The great book of english accents gov'nor. Plees misster, hav decentcy. My bellies a rumbling and ere there's holes in these shoes. Havun't slept under a roof for months lest ye count nature's good graces fer shelter a roof. These winds lash at my back and I's in need of a sore scrubbing. Ah yes, there's a shiny farthing from a hand cherished. Sorry to bother you, may the future have less cumbersome runts like us.
In the moonlit sky over the pale blue sea, between the mountains of yore and the legends to be.
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