The wizards of shit ate shit and were shit.
Up in a damp dark tower they toiled and wasted in their own grime and filth with stench of scrote and newt roiling in their rooms. One measly little slit shone specks of sun into their putrid grave, capriciously plugged up with rot green straw and dung as they dreamt of plugging slits with their one inch ids. The air was laid thick and smelt of greased hair ready to ignite at any given moment; all was uncomfortably warm yet frigid cold and all points in faranheit led to stagnation. Monotone grey bricks loosely stacked into a crumbling crooked babylon somehow sealed the tomb air tight, a reeking vacuum had forever trapped the jenkem sorcerers in a pit of misery and projected misanthropy. Sometimes they seethed the air through their teeth to feel the cold and feel alive only to spike nausea in their throats and confess their organs to some sullied corner of the already busy floor. Their minds were given to delirious deliberations and surreal substances and the walls suffered depth-enhanced carvings of various psycho-somatic delusions. Shit ran deep in their blood and brains; neurons, veins entrenched in fecal magics. Secreted spells blew off the tower's stone sides every now and then, yet the stone like living dung and thick rosevines rose back up and wilted into the freshly 'sploded gaps. 'Sploding all over from all ends was the main occupation of the assdirt mages and they painted the world brown yellow and red. Depravity was a non-concept as were norms and any sort of level 1 type humanoid abstractions, as they had long since sunk into a deep damp well of miserific conditioned insanity. Such was life in the tower of the shit wizards, consisting mainly of an act of slow and painful suicide by disease and doping. Drudgery, despair, death, an incantation to be chanted at every hour, minute and instant of the day to rid the self of any futile hopes of escape. There were no days and there were no nights, there were no conceited notions of time and all there was was dread. Deep dark dread which had long since disposed of patient zero and instilled itself into every facet of existence. The wizards of shit ate shit and were shit, they knew naught but shit and shit knew only the creases of their robes and rubbish and rooms.