A stack of papers bound and left at Grosse's ShopHorrific monstrosities that lurk the hellish halls of the once proud Old Stones
The bump in the night, the creak in the breeze, the horror of a child's twisted fantasy
A soft plod, plod, plod
Wet, tar-covered feet
A shrieking caw as it rips through the flesh, rendering the muscles weak and the bones pained.
Beware
The
Grue
It
Comes
For
You
Do not fight.
Do as we all do when it comes for us-
Run.
None have fought them more than I, and each time when they should die they arise anew.
Eight I have faced in the dark halls.
Don't stop.
Don't think.
Don't even try to fight.
Throw down a clarity potion
Run.
Prince
of
The
ACcord[/i]