NEUROTIC. CHAOTIC. ANTI-PROBLEMATIC. P S Y C H O S O M A T I C.
The line between make-believe and real life must finally have snapped for me. Like really snapped. Was this how crazy people felt when they finally realised that they'd gone crazy?
Do crazy people even know when they've gone crazy?
Because if I knew that I was going crazy and crazy people didn't know that they'd gone crazy then that'd mean that I wasn't crazy after all... which I dearly hoped.
Blood Queen Lana'thel from Blizzard's MMORPG World of Warcraft. Complete with wings that (should!) react to my posture to open and close.Darys cast a glance towards the entrance to the town; what she saw made her rein her horse in suddenly, making it rear in surprise. She steadied it, eying the waves of undead pouring in through the breaches in the high walls of the town. The onslaught of scourge had not been what had stopped her in her tracks though. Barely 50 paces from the walls were a group of 5 warriors in dark plate armor... fighting on the side of the Nosferatu. They were cutting a bloody path through her own scarlet soldiers like they were target dummies.
They fought like animals, screaming and snarling as they ripped through mortal flesh. Through the rising smoke of magic fire and the spray of blood through the air a broad-shouldered, black-armored warrior with horns on it helm looked up from the battle - the bi-horned helm turning directly to face Darys, as if sensing her gaze. Darys felt fear clutch her heart as the soldier lifted one arm, beckoning her closer with a gentle curl of fingers. The commander's horse whinnied and shied backwards nervously. Darys stared at the warrior, two small pinpoints of blue light burned maddeningly inside the darkness of the helm. She drew her reins to her, shaking her head in denial, though she couldn't look away. The warrior plunged its huge sword into the ground, purple lightning beginning to dance around her. It struck the Order of Sanguin soldiers and they fell noiselessly to the ground, convulsing and tearing their skin from their bones with their bare hands. Within a heartbeat they began to rise once more, flesh hanging loosely from their bodies. She swallowed a gasp of fear as they began to tear through their old allies; tearing with new teeth and claws. A few even failed to distinguish between friend or foe and began to attack the other ghouls viciously. The warrior laughed, surrounded by the newly birthed ghouls. A deep cold laugh that sent chills through Darys body. She began to shiver uncontrollably, watching in terror as the Necrophyte said something to its comrades and pointed directly at her. As four more black helms turned her way she kicked her horse viciously, fleeing the breach and galloping uncontrollably to the Keep.
The true heart of the town was the Keep - it housed the leaders of the newly reformed Sang d'le Anor. The Onslaught was what they had been assembling on the beach - the force that the Nosferatu armies had apparently decimated. No-one except the high-ranking officers of the Onslaught had known about the offensive - not even the Mayor of Blood's Marchessies, so the possibility that it had been compromised was almost unthinkable. Darys' thoughts raced in an uncontrollable blur as she dismounted and entered the keep. She paused, noticing the absence of guards at the entrance to the Keep.
She gritted her teeth and drew her sword, quieting the pounding of her heart as it galloped around her ribcage like some kind of wild beast. Her mind raced back to the Necrophytes she had seen fighting at the breach in town. Had that been all of them? What if they had penetrated the Keep covertly? Her eyes searched the corners of the corridors as she rounded the corners in the stone Keep. At the stairs to the command chamber Darys visibly shook herself. She was behaving like a child, not like a commander of the Sang. She steadied herself at the top of the stairs, she must be composed before facing the High Inquisitor. She was being needlessly stupid, the chance of any scourge reaching the Keep covertly should be impossible. She was about to walk through the door to the command chamber, when the sound of voices stopped her.
"I will tell you NOTHING!" Came the booming voice of her Lieutenant Commander Coren Garnblade.
"You will sing prettier than a sparrow in spring!" A cold voice snarled, "Tell me about the "Sang d'le Anor" and I'll end your miserable life!"
A man screamed in pain, followed by a short gasp. Darys gripped her sword tighter as her palms began to sweat. She had been so terribly wrong... the scourge had been vastly more prepared than they had anticipated. Was this how they had discovered the secret army mobilizing on the beach?
"Is that all you have, corpse?!" Garnblade gasped, though his voice shook with less confidence.
Darys crouched low and rolled across the doorway, pressing herself against the door frame and peering through the crack between the door and the wall. The Lt. Commander was a large man, formidable in combat due to his sheer strength. It was clear that this was one fight where he had found an equally formidable opponent. Blood ran through his sandy blond hair and seeped through the joins in his armor, trickling down the silver and gold plate in a delicate scarlet spiderweb in the light of the room. He was on a desk at the top of the stairs in the chambers, restrained only by one Necrophyte. It had one hand around the Lt. Commander's neck to hold him down as it knelt by his side on the table.
Squinting slightly she noticed pools of blood on the ground, dripping from his legs. In a split second she clapped a hand to her mouth as she suppressed a gag; the monster had severed his hamstrings to stop him from escaping! Darys began to shake now; nothing had ever prepared her for the ruthlessness of this kind of Nosferatu. Her eyes switched to the Necrophyte, noticing that it had cast aside its helm. The Nosferatu was a female Hydraxian, slender and covered in dried blood. What had once been pale white hair was streaked and blackened by countless battles in grime and blood. It knotted and twisted around itself in thick dredlocks, falling to halfway down its back. Its eyes were like the others that Darys had seen - endless holes of cold glowing ice. Grime coating its cheeks, its bloodred lips curved slightly as it leant down slowly and whispered in the Lt. Commander's ear,
"I can keep this up all day, dog... Is your life worth so little?"
It drew a pointed spear from its back slowly - letting the grinding pitch of metal on metal cut through the air in the room. It was barely the length of a human forearm, black and dull. The Necrophyte spun it in its hand and smiled more widely - revealing a jaw with very sharp canines. What exactly were these Nosferatu? Darys thought desperately, More animal that human?
"Just tell me what I need to know and I'll end your suffering quickly." The Necrophyte gently stroked the spear against Garnblades' cheek, almost lovingly. The Lt. Commander spat at it, gritting his teeth in defiance. The Necrophyte laughed jovially, the same ice-cold laugh that had frozen Darys in terror at the breach.
"Oh how I love the strong ones!" Its face changed abruptly and it cocked its head to the side. It must have tightened its grip on Garnblades' neck, as he began to choke.
"I'm through being courteous with your kind, human." Its voice began to change, becoming a multitude of voices - all of them evil. It snarled and drove the spear deep into the Lt. Commander's chest, ignoring his screams as the Nosferatu levered it between his ribs.
"What is the Sang d'le Anor?" The Necrophyte hissed, its eyes warming in tone as it became angrier; the icy flames changed gradient to a fiery red. It lifted him from the desk with one hand and shook him violently.
"Speak worm!" The multitudal voice screamed. Garnblade spoke weakly, through ravaged vocal chords.
"I serve a higher purpose, monster." He smiled, "The reward that waits for me will be knowing that you will burn in Hell for eternity."
The Necrophyte dropped the facade of civility and snarled like an animal, raising the spear once more.
"STOP! PLEASE! " Darys suddenly cried, she stumbled from the doorway and fell to her knees. The Necrophyte crouched low on the desk like a tiger waiting to strike, watching her with a sickening smile on its face.
"I was wondering how much you were going to take, hiding in the corner like a rat." It purred and straightened. It cast aside the spear and let it fall to the floor with a wet clang. Darys carefully stood on shaking legs, circling around the room towards the Lt. Commander.
"I'll tell you everything." She breathed shakily, drawing beside her superior slowly. His eyes were fluttering and he was coughing blood,
"Darys..." He muttered, blood trickling from his lips, "...run... while you still... ca-ARGH!"
Darys leapt backwards as the Necrophyte suddenly jerked him from the desk using the fresh hole in his chest to grab a firm hold of his ribs. Blood began to flow freely from the wound and his head lolled limply to the side.
"Thankyou Lt Commander, your services are no longer required." The Necrophyte threw him with a flick of its wrist. He hit the stone wall of the chamber with a sickening thud, dropping to the wooden floor where he didn't stir. Slowly the Nosferatu turned its burning eyes to Darys, she fell to her knees once again under the weight of those eyes, stammering as it advanced on her slowly.
"Tell me what you know and I give you my word I shall kill you swiftly." Its eyes bored throught Darys, as if it could draw the secrets from her head with its eyes alone.
"The Sang are assembling on the beach to s-s-sail for the North.”
“North?” The creature cocked it's head to the side, “So close to our home, yes Human?”
“The H-High Warlord d-d-decreed that the Light..."
"The Light!" The Necrophyte curled its lip in contempt and spat on the floor, "And what does your precious Light tell you?"
"It tells us what must be d-d-done!" She said desperately, "We... We do as we are told. It is what must be done!"
"What must be done?" The Necrophyte picked her up with both hands and sat her heavily on the bloodied desk, "Stop stammering like a coward and tell me everything you know!"
Darys cowered, eyes wide in her head,
"I-I know v-v-very little else... There's nothing else... You must believe me! I don't know where they go!"
The face of the Nosferatu contorted and it fastened a hand around Darys' neck.
"LIES!" The Nosferatu snarled and raised her arm, snapping her wrist blades from the fore-armor, "The pain you are about to endure will be talked about for years to come!"
Darys grabbed the arm and begged,
"NO! PLEASE! You must believe me!"
The Necrophyte drew closer to her.
"Go where?" The cold echo of her voice slid through Darys' mind, scattering her thoughts.
"Nuh... to er... North... to Orgindur."
The Nosferatu blinked, surprise evident on its face. It looked away from Darys, thinking deeply.
"Crafty rats." It murmured.
"P-please...." Darys begged, sweat beading on her forehead in fear. The Necrophyte flicked its blue eyes up at her, she saw no compassion in the Nosferatu. It nodded,
"I always keep my word, human. You will have a swift death. Spare a thought for your comrades that I will not be as considerate with."
Darys' bloodcurdling scream echoed through the Keep into the fast approaching night.
There was a resounding smack as the last box of my things hit the floorboards of my new living room. I stood and cracked my back, eying the mountain of cardboard boxes distastefully.
“That everything?” My dad poked his head in through the door. An aging Englishman, still chivalrous enough to take a day off from work to help me move into my new apartment in North Strathfield. He was wearing his 'baggy olds', though I couldn't really tell much of a difference from his normal faded denim jeans and white bonds t-shirt.
“Yeah,” I said, casting my eyes in one final sweep around the room, “That should be it.”
“You sure you don't want a hand setting up?”
I saw soft concern in his eyes. His little girl moving out of home... and so far away! I smiled and gave him a hug,
“I'll be right dad.”
“Ok then, wingnut.” He kissed me on the cheek; a prickly kiss from his 'Dorian Gray'-style goatee. “Give me a ring if you need anything.”
“I'll be fine! Honest!” I started gently shoving him out of the door, “Now bugger off and let me set up.”
After he had left I stood in the center of the room for a moment. It was funny how my life could get packed into a series of 8 boxes, a couch, fridge and computer. How depressing.
I decided to set up my computer first, unpacking the Macintosh and throwing the plug in the socket was simple enough. The speakers would take a little more work to position around the room, but for the moment they were fine sitting on the little Ikea desk my dad had supplied me. I loaded iTunes and chucked a playlist together. Something to fill the emptiness of the room until I'd unpacked.
With Devin Townsend pounding out of the speakers I felt more energised. My bedroom had already more or less been unpacked... I'd get to the other boxes after a cigarette.
Sliding the glass door to the patio open, I pulled a bent and abused box of Benson and Hedges Smooth from my back pocket and lit a cigarette, breathing in deeply to savor the nicotine hit with a sigh as I leant on the brick wall that fenced off the patio from the 4-story drop.
I'd finally decided to leave home for the sake of my own sanity. I had books to finish! I was one of those people with way too overactive imaginations; I usually found it useful to write whatever my brain dreamed up from one day to the next in book form. The only problem with being in a dead-boring graveyard shift job like mine was that I'd be driven to the edge of insanity in my little white room with 4 white walls and navy blue carpet 4 days a week.
So I daydreamed, but this is where the overactive imagination separates itself from the active imagination. Lately it had felt like I had a movie cinema in my head; too many people, too many places, too many creatures... I was going insane!
A friend had suggested that I spend a little more time writing. The only problem was that after living so far from work, I got very little time to sit down in front of my computer and 'put pen to paper'... at least figuratively speaking. This is when I had decided to make the big move out of home – closer to work and alone.
Of course my mother had been a little upset, my father had given me the lecture on how expensive and hard it was moving out of home but my mind had been made up. As loving as my mother and fathers intentions had been, I really needed a chance to clear my head – literally – or I'd end up getting myself committed!
In particular was my lack of a leading male in my Magnum Opus. I mean, I hadn't exactly been the most popular girl in school, and coming off the back of a nasty breakup barely a few weeks ago (that may or may not have contributed to my new found desire for independence...) I had very little inspiration for male characters in my stories. They usually ended up being a loosely based plagiarism of Legolas from Lord of the Rings or Allanon from Terry Brooks Shannara series. I was officially the worst authority for male figures in literature in the world.
Okay so there was one. He was kind of my secret; whilst other girls was fantasizing about their favourite movie star or singer I was writing my little books. I actually started a trilogy with this character... but I'd quickly outgrown that once I left high school and attempted to live life in the 'real world'.
I had hoped that moving out into a new social circle would force me into a different male demographic... as opposed to the rev-head loving, car-kissing twerps that I'd been to high school with.
I sighed deeply, watching the people walk below me like ants. A vague idea to write a random short about how tough it is to be a writer in a position like mine passed through my head, but I waved it off as a blunt waste of time.
The sound of another glass door opening dragged my mind back to the present – rather regretfully. I liked my long daydreaming sessions in solitude. I looked to my right, where someone was stepping out of their apartment.
It was a man 3 or 4 years older than me. Black jeans, grey t-shirt... and pure white hair. Like... anime-style blonde. No halves... it just hit your eyes with the full force of the spectrum.
He pulled a cigarette packet from the back pocket of his jeans and sparked up, taking a long drag with doubtlessly the same look that I must have had barely 2 minutes ago as the nicotine sank into his lungs.
He looked over, seeing me and gave a slight nod of his head in greeting. I caught a glimpse of his eyes and had to catch my jaw before it hit the floor. Deep honey gold.
Shit.
I flicked my cigarette over the balcony with trembling fingers and hurried back inside the door, shutting it behind me soundly. I leant against it, letting myself slide gently down the glass.
I wasn't stricken. I had seen plenty of attractive males in my life, none of them had the ability to make me fall to my knees.
Well maybe one. The one standing outside.
“Fuck no.” I argued with myself. I had to have mistaken something. It was overcast outside... had I confused shadows with the small spiderweb-thin scar trailing across the left side of his jaw?
No. I knew that face. I knew it all too well.
I leapt to my feet, grabbing the nearest box labeled 'Writing stuff' and started pulling papers out, letting them pile on the floor. I had to have forgotten something; because I swear to god I knew that mans entire life story.
I knew because I had created him.
Which was insane. I knew it was insane. I mean who the hell has the ability to randomly create people out of thin air? God? Was I going through some kind of God-hallucination? I paused for a moment, half-hoping that I was just daydreaming again and I'd snap back to myself; standing on the balcony with a cigarette in hand.
Nope. Nothing.
I suppressed a sigh and shoved my hand as far down into the 'Logitech' box as I could reach. I felt the familiar touch of spiral-bound sketchbooks beneath my fingertips.
“Ah ha!”
I grabbed as many as I could with one hand (which turned out to be four) and ripped them out of the box, sending papers and school exercise books spilling out onto the floor. Which one? How long ago had it been?
I flipped through the first sketchbook; elves, a mage... no, too old. From my 'sword and board' fantasy days. I tossed it to the side and grabbed the next one; Demon, anime girl... this was the right one.... now where...
There.
I flipped a page and stared, dumbstruck, at a perfect portrait of the man I had seen standing on the balcony barely two meters from me. Underneath was a roughly scrawled note; 25+ or something... Daemon.
Daemon.
“Impossible.” I whispered to myself, “You've finally cracked.”
The line between make-believe and real life must finally have snapped for me. Like really snapped. Was this how crazy people felt when they finally realised that they'd gone crazy?
Do crazy people even know when they've gone crazy?
Because if I knew that I was going crazy and crazy people didn't know that they'd gone crazy then that'd mean that I wasn't crazy after all... which I dearly hoped. If I wasn't crazy and by some sheer miracle of the powers that be I had brought this man into creation, then I was now living next to the man of my dreams. Literally.
I clutched the sketchbook in a deathgrip and got to my feet, moving back towards the balcony. The song on my computer faded and changed; the first bars of Lady Gaga echoed around the room.
Monster.
Firstly I expect you to judge me on this. Yes. I have the Lady-G on my computer. Secondly, the fact that Genius had decided to flick THIS particular song on at THIS particular moment... I was almost as creeped out as I had been when I saw the oh-so-familiar face next door. The significance of this? My Daemon was... well a demon. Half-demon, half-succubus to be exact.
I shook my head, sliding the door open again. He cast a quick glance in the direction of my balcony as I stepped out. After a quick thought I dropped the sketchbook onto the floor, trying to avoid any sort of awkward exchange having him see the sketch may have started.
“I don't usually scare girls away that fast until I've at least opened my mouth.”
My heart galloped and did the final 200 meters of the Melbourne Cup around my chest. His mouth broke into a perfectly rehearsed smile – not revealing too much teeth.
I knew why he didn't show too much teeth. It's how all of his kind smiled; fangs can freak out even the most steadfast Twilight groupie.
I blinked rapidly, speechless. This was impossible... and fantastic! What would you say to someone who you'd spent so many late nights up with, saved from countless instances of death and worked with through his messy too-young-and-too-fast marriage breakdown?
“Hi.”
Hi? That was it? Faced with someone you'd known for almost 9 years, and the most you could manage was a weak 'Hi'?
Inwardly I defended myself. What else could I say? 'Hi! Have you managed to divorce your ex-wife yet? How's the Underworld going lately?
He flicked his cigarette butt over the balcony and cracked his shoulders. I swallowed and gripped the brick balcony under clawed fingertips,
“Sorry, You startled me for a sec. I was daydreaming.”
See? That's not too bad.
“You looked like you'd seen a ghost.”
I laughed, a little too high pitched to be anything other than slightly manic.
“It happens a lot. Sometimes I think I'm going a little too crazy.”
“Too crazy?” He raised an eyebrow at me. I shrugged, getting used to the feeling of my heart beating like a hammer in my chest.
“Craziness is just another way of looking at the world.” I whispered, taking in every little detail of his face. Was it my own craftmanship? Or had I simply caught a glimpse of his in some place long ago and not remembered?
Slight arrogant amusement flickered through his amber eyes,
“I didn't introduce myself. My name's Daemon.”
I knew that! I SO knew that! I crowed triumphantly in my head. Aloud I said,
“Jacqueline.”
He grinned and leant against the balcony,
“Jacqueline? That's very...”
“Long?” I offered.
“Old school.” He finished, “Not many refined European names around these days.”
In that split second I loved my name. I loved it.
“Daemon is old.” I replied, “Very... demonic.”
His face darkened a little,
“My parents had a sense of humor.”
Did they ever...
His phone rang; the ringtone from the movie Crank. I inwardly did a little excited jig. Who was it? Nidal? Carmilla? Sidney? I went through the list of his associates like a menu in my head.
“Yes? Sidney?”
Bingo.
I suddenly remembered a little detail I'd written about Sidney years ago; she was a double-crossing Witch. Literally. I made a mental note to discreetly drop warning signs in the future. That was assuming that he suddenly didn't drop from the face of the earth as soon as he walked back into his apartment and I woke up in a padded room with lovely men in white coats.
He pushed the phone from his mouth to speak to me,
“Sorry, I should leave you to your daydreaming.”
“I understand.”
Oh boy did I understand.
“Cya.” He turned back to his door, sliding it open. I had a sudden idea,
“Daemon!”
He stopped and turned back to me. I clenched the balcony in my hands again,
“Um, I got a bottle of Canadian Club black label with your name on it if you feel like a chat when your not... busy. Being... neighbours after all...”
Well, aren't we being the captain of the obvious? I closed my eyes in embarrassment, catching the soft humor in his voice,
“Sure thing, neighbour... I just have a small... problem ...I need to deal with first.” He emphasized the word as he said it.
Demon? Vampire? Ghoul? Marius? Was it Carmilla, trying to lure you out for a bounty or had the Left Hand killed again?
I nodded and tried to mask any excitement I felt as I slid my own door open again.
“Sure... be careful.” I spoke over my shoulder, casting one last glance in the direction of the impossible creature standing on the balcony next to me. He grinned, a cocky grin.
“Always, princess.”
EEP!
I almost tripped into my doorway, falling against the glass as I slid the door shut. That was my little girl giggly moment. Princess!? Any boy who knew me knows that I liked being called princess – what girl doesn't like the idea of being a princess? – but only he had the ability to make me fall through a door with that one word.
I rushed over to my computer, activating the broadband wireless and hastily opening my email. I drafted one to my dad, grinning like an idiot as I began;
Dad!
You'll never guess who I met today...
As a demolitions expert she knew exactly how much gunpowder had been in any particular explosion simply by the tone of the 'boom' (or 'puff'... depending on magnitude). A higher pitched bang indicated tightly packed smaller incendiary devices, whilst a lower sound would more often than not prove to be loose gunpowder in either a crate or a barrel.
This explosion was a series of 'boom's, instigated by 6 sharp 'crack's. These 'boom's and 'crack's were four crates of loose gunpowder, stacked – one on top of the three – with an Arcane Incendiary placed lightly on top like a glazed cherry on a high-powered birthday cake as a catalyst.
Each of these volatile multi-layered concoctions were placed in positions strategically engineered for total demolition. Nothing would be left in the Clockwerk City except rubble and the bodies of 6,422 Necrophile warriors – hopefully dead.
Like a finely tuned fireworks display, the explosions shot stone and rubble into the air, the Arcane Incendiaries firing so hot that the rising dust cloud was impaled with the trailing blaze of molten metal and rock like bright red shooting stars.
It was her best work. An order from the High Overspark himself; leave no foundation standing, no hallway unburied and no courtyard uncluttered... and she had done it in a record time of 2 hours and 16 minutes.
Tinka Berberry watched the Clockwerk City of Crankshaft explode like an overfilled balloon and wept, for she had just destroyed the only home she had ever known... and the halflings that had not been fast enough to run.
NEUROTIC. CHAOTIC. ANTI-PROBLEMATIC.
P S Y C H O S O M A T I C.
Live by the laws of:
Eyeliner NewRocks HeavyMetal Nuttella
\m/ God has SPOKEN! \m/...
She has:
- Lots of black lace and eyeliner
- A love for musicals; singing/acting and dancing
- A strange fascination with photographing herself
- An odd fetish for boots and corsets
- A lvl 80 Draenei Deathknight (Sven - Blackrock) a lvl 80 Night Elf Boomkin (Bellwind - Blackrock) a lvl 80 Shaman (Shaamrock - Blackrock) and a Gnome Warlock (Bellfear - Blackrock)
- A personal vendetta against Supre after they insulted her and asked her to leave
- Taken up and quit smoking in the 2 weeks after she turned 18... then started smoking again.
- Mourned the loss of her beloved rat... then rescued a cat from the RSPCA
- An iPhone that's pracically surgically implanted in her ears. ...
She STILL has not:
- Managed to learn the guitar like she's always wanted to
- Conquered her nerves and sung solo publicly as well as she sings solo in private
- Learnt Latin, though can read it quite well... just not understand what it means... sort of
- Discovered why she's such a Mosh Pit Junkie...lol...
Currently writing:- Devil May Cry Fanfic- Halo Fanfic- World of Warcraft fanfic ...
This is a blog to clump together my works; writing, photos, fanart... all in one little convenient blog - complete with links!
Occasionally I'll write brief discriptions of my oh-so-geeky life... but hopefully they should be few and far between :)
I should start first with the basics; links.
I will link most uploads to those sites, but if you ever want to browse around the web version of whats inside my head right now - feel free to explore them :)
Writing:
Most recently I'm working on a series of World of Warcraft fanfics that I'm contributing to my brothers website "Tales of the Slaughtered Lamb" (still in development). The intention is to create a site that can be a sort of hub for Warcraft fanfics so its easily accessible by fans. Lord knows they must be - like me - fed up of sifting through the crap on ff.net to find a few good stories. Don't get me wrong though, I beta-read for a lot of people on ff.net to help them polish their work. This site will have a 'tales from the taven' theme; supposedly told to the old barkeeper.
I'm going to contribute 3 (possibly 4) three-part stories; Deathknight, Warlock, Druid (And maybe Shaman). Who knows? Maybe eventually I'll write a story for each class!
You can find "Deathknight - Part 1" here. Part 2 is writing in progress :)
Fanart:
Just finished uploading a small collection of glorified screenshots of my favourite toons to DA.
See the pic comments for links to the brushes I used and artist notes :)
I guess that's all for now before my giant wall of text kills you.
/walloftext crits you for over 9000
You die
Damn...
