Ever hear the story of twelve brothers with a three-headed God? No? It's an ancient story, full of love, hate, tragedy, revenge, fear, slavery, oppression, liberation, freedom, sex, rape, incest, murder, genocide, beauty, lust, joy, and sacrifice. I like to the call it the Ethereal-Vapor-We-All-Choke-On.
Have you ever tried to live in the Empire of Unspoken Words? It's a hard place to sleep. If the air doesn't kill you, the cold and the fire will. There are no drums beating in the empty ash covered streets, no heartbeat to be found in those decaying and crumbling buildings where the young go to grow old. There are streaks of red and white all over that city, and no one there knows how to dream. Like a man with one-arm there is a hunger there cannot be sated, a fury that knows no end. But still, even there, there is the ever present Vapor.
It stings and clouds, numbs and sharpens, and it is always there. Many people want to deny it's existence, but it is there. The Vapor is always seeping into every corner and saturating ever facet of reality. Like a whisper in the dark, urging men to their senses, it is always there. The Door is never closed, one simply needs to open their eyes to see it.
