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.
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.
