DAMN ye! Let Neptune strike ye dead, tsonfeir! HAAAAAARRRRRK! Hark! Triton! Hark! Bellow! Bid our father, the Sea King, rise from the depths, full-foul in his fury, black waves teeming with salt-foam, to smother this young mouth with pungent slime, to choke ye, engorging your organs 'till ye turn blue and bloated with bilge and brine and can scream no more… only when, he, crowned in cockle shells with slithering tentacled tail and steaming beard, takes up his fell, be-finnèd arm – his coral-tined trident screeches banshee-like in the tempest and plunges right through yer gullet! BURSTING YE, a bulging bladder no more, but a blasted bloody film now – a nothing for the Harpies and the souls of dead sailors to peck and claw and feed upon, only to be lapped up and swallowed by the infinite waters of the Dread Emperor himself, forgotten to any man, to any time, forgotten to any god or devil, forgotten even to the sea… for any stuff or part of tsonfeir, even any scantling of your soul, is tsonfeir no more, but is now itself the sea!
Clearly they’re talking about Cthulhu, who is not a fan of goats.
There’s only the mighty pasta.
Ramen.
Have you even read the Mythos? Cthulhu is the priest of the Old Gods.
I’ll worship how I like.
I see, I see.
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The Black Goat of the Woods, being land-based, is clearly younger (and therefor inferior to) Dagon.
Well, duh, the real Dagon is Mehrunes!
Heresy!!! Nothing is above Azathoth!!!
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Damn thee! That scheming little bitch will crumble before the primal force that is our one true god!!!
DAMN ye! Let Neptune strike ye dead, tsonfeir! HAAAAAARRRRRK! Hark! Triton! Hark! Bellow! Bid our father, the Sea King, rise from the depths, full-foul in his fury, black waves teeming with salt-foam, to smother this young mouth with pungent slime, to choke ye, engorging your organs 'till ye turn blue and bloated with bilge and brine and can scream no more… only when, he, crowned in cockle shells with slithering tentacled tail and steaming beard, takes up his fell, be-finnèd arm – his coral-tined trident screeches banshee-like in the tempest and plunges right through yer gullet! BURSTING YE, a bulging bladder no more, but a blasted bloody film now – a nothing for the Harpies and the souls of dead sailors to peck and claw and feed upon, only to be lapped up and swallowed by the infinite waters of the Dread Emperor himself, forgotten to any man, to any time, forgotten to any god or devil, forgotten even to the sea… for any stuff or part of tsonfeir, even any scantling of your soul, is tsonfeir no more, but is now itself the sea!
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