So this old guy was up on a big rock hill –
Like a mountain? Jeez, Cassidy, weren't you listening during, like, geometry?
Yeah, mountain, whatever. Anyway, he was up there in a big wrinkly coat with a dirty hood –
Yeah, a cloak, with stars and planets and all sorts of space stuff on it –
Like the Sygils of Eronard the Lesser?
Yeah, that, and he was in front of this gross cow-gore that was –
You know, the points that the cow uses to gore a matador in Spain or wherever, which is total cruelty to animals and why I am NOT going to make out with Alvaro –
But he's cute! And it's called a horn.
Anyway, the old guy in the cloak was muttering all this stuff in Arabic or something –
Probably High Drynophatic.
Completely! So then all this smoke comes out of his mouth and his teeth are all yellow and gross and he leans forward and blows into the 'horn' and the smoke comes billowing out and spilling down the mountain, which I'm sure is against the Clean Air Act or something –
We should boycott.
Yes! Anyway, the smoke is all dirty and there are all sorts of gross shapes in it –
The soul-rending forms of the massless undead, torn from the fabric of Chaos by the fell sorcery of the wizard you describe?
Probably. Anyway, the smoke poured down into the village below and the sounds of that minor extinction still haunt me!
No doubt. We better get back to class.
The Ghost Is Dead But The Corpse Is Still Walking Around