User blog comment:Doctor Ibrahim/The Fatekeeper/@comment-27550231-20161118055722/@comment-27550231-20161124043548

Jorge stares at Vivictus for a minute and says nothing.

Every passing second feels like an eternity of judgemental glares from a respected elder. Such a feeling of dissatisfaction could not be conveyed in words alone, the low hanging mist that crept upon the floor seemed to condense as if the weight of Jorge's glare was so great. The moisture in the air collected on the ceiling and slowly began to shower upon all in the room. The air became heavy with strife and quickly stoped flowing and grew stale and thick in seconds. The windows in the chamber began to fog over and the ambient sounds came to a stand still and the only sounds came from Jorge's living body. Sweat began to run down Vivictus's harem, even though such an act would be nigh-impossible for an undead.

"You like colored sprinkles?"