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“While it was true that Marshall Gu’s flute was a lethal weapon capable of besieging an army of thousands, it wouldn’t do to rely solely on the fear inspired by the Flower of the Northwest’s face and the piercing strains of his unholy demonic music. “What does it matter how others treat you? If others respect you, revere you, does that make you invincible? If others distain you like a pair of tattered shoes, does that make you an actual fucking clod of rotten mud? What can some insignificant barbarian woman who’s been dead for about 800 years, or some obscure shamanic poison that disturbs one’s, do to you now?” — priest
While it was true that Marshall Gu’s flute was a lethal weapon capable of besieging an army of thousands, it wouldn’t do to rely solely on the fear inspired by the Flower of the Northwest’s face and the piercing strains of his unholy demonic music.
“What does it matter how others treat you? If others respect you, revere you, does that make you invincible? If others distain you like a pair of tattered shoes, does that make you an actual fucking clod of rotten mud? What can some insignificant barbarian woman who’s been dead for about 800 years, or some obscure shamanic poison that disturbs one’s, do to you now?