Jeroem son of Jeroem braved the night, defied sleep and cold, as the

cold itself defied this unseasonal second moon of the days of his
father’s children.  He returned from the dark with pizza for his clan,
each taking their share.

His deeds this day will be remembered in song, and in the sacrifices
of his people.  The thirteenth share will be set aside in honor of the
dreadfull mother of our clan, whose Milk and Grain organs burned at
birth to guarantee the unquenchable fire of her spirit. The thirteenth
share will be sacrificed to the stewards of the stars.

 
-Sethix, the Elder 
   aka “The Great Seth,” 
      aka “Sethalopod, the Eight Thumbed”

Wrapped in night. The fog his blanket, Jeroem went forth. I say it truly, for I too was awake at that most dreaded and loathsome 27th hour. The hour when weaker men drift, silently, mourning, in their slumber, errands incomplete and deeds of greatness not done.

Many a minute passed in uneasy quiet. His people feared for his safety, and sanity. Thoughts of dragons, demons, and the she-devils that lurked in the mist, filled their weary minds. 

A quarter past that most God-forsaken time, that most odious of intervals, that most detested of decision-points; wounded by love, mad with the weight of his task, ravaged by imps and narmaids, our hero returned; but with naught but a hope of a slice. A crumb of a crust. A whisper of cheese on his breath. 

His song nonetheless shall remain.