Event [Hope]: Sincerity is a dangerous thing.

[Razgriz]

White upon blue; clouds slowly drifted across the open sky like wandering sheep. It had been a warm, dry morning and the detachments of royal guards were thankful for that. Ten guards were forever present at the Keep of the Dark Lord. Their sole purpose was to wait for the Dark Lord Razgriz to appear and guard him on his way to the royal Castle. Guarding him could be considered quite the overstatement. It was well known that no one dare approach the Dark Lord Razgriz. A more accurate description of their purpose would probably be to act as a warning for the Dark Lord’s arrival and thereby protect the people.

The royal guards were dressed in a mixture of steel plate and iron chain mail as well as the official tabard of King Shrenk. They wore a breastplate, rounded shoulder-guards and upper arm and legs plates made of steel. Chain mail protected the remainder of their bodies. Their helms were similar to barbutes. They were full helms with an open T shape in the front that allowed them to see and for their nose. The tabards were a deep rich purple in colour and displayed the crown and wings emblem of the King upon the chest in gold trim. The tabard was cut short and ended at the waist. Here, it was tied tightly by a single cord.

The guards stood calmly; two guards at either side of the main entrance doors and the remaining six flanking the road leading up to the doors. Unknown to them, the very being they were ordered to greet had just made his arrival within the building they guarded.

A slow grinding creak was the first sign that alerted them to his presence. The heavy oaken double doors gradually opened inwards to reveal the innards of the Keep and… the Dark Lord himself.

The Dark Lord Razgriz stood silently in the centre of the room. Around him were a small number of Harpies that gathered protectively and either were hissing at the outside world or crooning affectionately at their master.

He strode forward confidently and allowed his Harpies too follow behind him. He wore an impressive robe made of a dark purple cloth. It began in a heavy hood that concealed most of his facial features and stretched down to cover his feet. The arms were tight and around his wrists were bulky bracers. These bracers were clearly made mostly from metal, either steel or silver, but were heavily inlaid with amethyst gems. The bulk of his robe was a rich royal purple but the front of the robe was much darker. The paler purple overlaid around this in 3 distinct overlapping sheets, each shorter than the last so that each layer was visible. Around the edges were embellished with runes and bizarre symbols all embroidered in a silvery thread.

The effect was quite awe inspiring, even from a distance. What struck you most when you grew near though was undeniable fear. Hidden from view, so that only those who dare, or were cursed enough to see his face, were red eyes exuding rage and hatred. They seemed to glow with energy of their own, an energy that few could tap into and fewer would want to. The face of the Dark Lord Razgriz neither could be considered handsome nor could it be seen as ugly for the malevolence it showed rendered even hardy people’s opinions obsolete.

Wordlessly the guards each saluted the Dark Lord and took up their customary positions. Each was clearly nervous, as could be expected, and not one dared meet the gaze of the man they would be ‘protecting’. One younger man who had never before come across The Dark Lord Razgriz could be seen visibly shaking. His hands trembled violently and he had to hold his Kite shield away from the chain mail he wore to prevent it from clattering obtrusively. It was unwise to anger The Dark Lord and unpleasant noise, other than that of his beloved Harpies, angered him easily.

The Dark Lord Razgriz stopped his procession for a moment to allow two of the guards to take up their position 30 yards ahead of the bulk of the group. The rest formed a protective circle around not only The Dark Lord, but also his Harpies. Each guard took special care to ensure they were out of range of the beastly talons and wings of the creatures.

It was in this manner that they made their way towards the centre of the town and onwards towards the castle. The journey was always made on foot as it was well known that horses could not be persuaded easily to approach the Harpies.

As they made through the town it seemed unusually quiet on the streets. The road from the keep was clearly visible from many areas of the town and therefore there was a goodly warning when the Dark Lord approached. It was unwise to remain on the streets and those that were forced to either kneeled or bowed deeply in respect at the groups passing. A small number of these people threw themselves on the floor in dramatic prostration. Each was ignored by the group, save those that might hinder their passing. These were dealt with by the guards by either kicking them out of the way or shunting them to the side with their shields. The guards were given specific orders not to allow anyone to cross paths with The Dark Lord. Not only because this would insult his Lordship, but because Shrenk had already lost many of his people to The Dark Lord’s whims. The Dark Lord’s Harpies faithfully followed him though not without showing their hate for the people they passed.

When at last they reached the castle of Shrenk, guards opened each door without question. There was no reason to ask for identification, nor would any questions on The Dark Lord’s reasons for being here be tolerated. The Dark Lord made his way directly to the throne room. There was no need to stop, he knew that Shrenk would already have news of his arrival and would already be waiting patiently for him. The Dark Lord would not endure the tedium of waiting and knew full well that Shrenk did not take his presence lightly.

As the last set of doors to the throne room opened, a fanfare began. Wind, string and brass instruments rose together in a delightful symphony. Such was well deserved and the egotistical side of the Dark Lord smirked inside. He strode confidently towards the thrones at the far end of the room but stopped partway. Some fool of a whoreson had played a wrong note.

The Dark Lord was not the only one to notice this and as he turned to face the unfortunate band of musicians, many were trying to edge away from the unfortunate soul. It turned out to be a man in what looked to be his 30s. He was trembling violently now and had dropped the flute he had been playing.

At this point the guards would usually have stepped in but this was a different matter for no one insults the Dark Lord Razgriz. Though there were at least 20 guards positioned around the throne room, not one moved to either defend the quivering musician or eject him from the hall.

The Dark Lord raised his left arm and pointed at the unlucky musician with an accusing finger before turning his hand palm upwards and motioning the fellow to approach.

The musician was sweating profusely and gibbering to his peers for help. They ignored his pleas and roughly pushed him from their cornered off area out into the open hall. No one sought friendship from a dead man. The musician approached cautiously and was still gibbering unintelligible nonsense. He was also hunched over slightly with fear, both of the Harpies which were eyeing him hungrily and from the man who would surely order his death.

When the man reached The Dark Lord Razgriz, he stopped just a metre before him. The Dark Lord eyed him critically with a look of disgust on this face. He then did something that was quite rare when dealing with commoners. He spoke to the man.

In an icily cold tone he voiced, “The difference between failure and success is doing a thing nearly right and doing it exactly right.”

The musician said nothing in return and merely blinked with fear and shock. His silence was cut off by a fluid blur from The Dark Lord Razgriz’s right arm. The group of musicians audibly gasped and one man cried out in alarm. The offending musician merely gagged and a harsh rasping sound erupted from his lips. Embedded deeply in his throat was the legendary black bolo that Razgriz possessed. The sword was made of black steel and it had ended the lives of many men.

The unlucky musician coughed once more and shuddered violently, his throat still impaled by the blade of the Dark Lord. Thick foaming blood was coming from his mouth and staining his chin. The front of his doublet was also steadily turning a deep blood red as more and more of his life gushed from the severed arteries of his neck.

“The same can be said for the difference between life and death,” The Dark Lord continued. His tone was unchanged and unremorseful. With a savage pull he hefted his blade clear of the musician’s throat before turning his back on him and continuing to make his way to the throne were King Shrenk was.

The musician stood for a few moments whilst he slowly choked on his own blood before falling to his hands and knees. He coughed twice and gagged, harsh sounds coming from both his chest and mouth before collapsing fully and face down upon the floor. Though he lay lifeless, his blood continued to gout out from his neck for a few minutes more. The Harpies knew better than to feed from the musician without the permission of their Creator and so the Dark Lord did not waste his time in warning them against it.

[Zachariah]

"So, you heard the news, mate?" Zachariah asked his newest client. The meek little man nodded. He was clad in a simple tunic that made him look larger than he really was, for in reality he was a thin, cowardly little man. "Y-yes, I have." He replied. "H-h-h-h-he's arrived at la-last." Zachariah nodded, an evil smirk on his face. "Yes he has, and everyone's hiding and frightened. Of course, those people have lives they think are worth living."
"Y-y-y-you don't?" The little man stammered. "I do. I may not be staying out of his way, though. It's not grandiose or impressive enough to be killed by the Dark Lord Razgriz. I've got to die in style. That's how I'm going to do things, not by the Dark Lord, and not old and withering on some bed, probably alone." The little man dropped a few coins in his hand and took a small wooden box out of his other hand.
"Be careful with that. It's quite strong stuff." Zachariah warned. The little man grinned meekly. "I-if what you say about th-thiis rum is t-t-t-true, I sh-should be rid of th-th-this stutter f-forever." Zachariah nodded and pulled his hood up over his head. "If you'll excuse me, good sir, I have some business to attend to." He started to stride towards the castle. He was about to have himself quite a bit of entertainment, and perhaps a painful end in the process.
Who knows? Perhaps it might be a grandiose death after all.

[Rinneh]

"Ammë! Manna lendelyë?"

The wailing sounded as if it were that of a small child; crying until they feared their lungs would burst from it.She made a great teal of noise, but no one seemed to notice her pleas. After all, she had been sobbing nearly endlessly.

" Nanyë nyérinqua... nanyë nyérinqua..."

The place frightened her, the sheer darkness of it, and the scent of evil magics lingering in the air. There were others there, but they were monstrous beings. She feared them, with their broad wings and their talons, and they way that they looked at her out of their bright eyes. They only added to the illness she was feeling, somewhere deep within her mind and her soul -- a constant stomachache and fatigue. Her arms had begun to grow limp, her feet numb...apparently something was happening to her, but she did not understand what it was.

There were only two faces she remembered clearly; Tzach'nita's and the Creator's. They swam in and out of her mind, Tzach'nita's voice ever changing from regal to raspy and honeyed, and the Creator's never as comforting and kind as her current ears wished.

It was like a misty past had just given way to an even mistier present as she saw reality once more. She shivered with the strangeness of the reverie and walked on, trying to rid her mind of it. She focused on the Creator walking ahead towards Hope.

Hope: what a strange name for a place about to see Lord Razgriz in all his splendor.

---

Irinys came to the palace too rarely to be even thinking about devouring the murdered musician. That was a thought that spread out along the edges of her mind, and would only be allowed to enter the main citadel when she ceased looking at everything else in the room. She tried to do that unobtrusively, and to remain protecting Razgriz -- but she knew that she was only there for decoration, and people would fear her because of her claws and talons, not what she was currently looking at.

The place was certainly grand, probably decorated as such for the arrival of the Dark Lord. She felt the warmth of pride in her heart and looked briefly at her master. He deserved all of this fanfare and grim festivity in her opinion. In fact he deserved more than any deity or king at all; she was furious at Shenk for a few moments because of his obvious influence in this land. There were only two things that stopped her from lashing out at him. The first was that her master had not bid her to do so, and the second was the they were here to ridicule the King, not to punish him. And so she secretly shot a smug glance at Shenk.

As Razgriz approached the throne, she followed him dutifully, but at a respectful distance. This gave her time to admire their surroundings. Everyone was afraid, that much was apparent, and the musicians were cowering instead of playing their instruments. It was probably better that way, for they couldn[t be punished further if they weren't doing anything to merit it. The dead one caught her eye briefly, and she made a clicking sound in her throat that was barely audible. She /was/ hungry, come to think of it. And there was food. She was a scavenger, of course -- eating anything and everything -- so it didn't bother her to make a meal of the deceased bard.

She looked towards Tzach'nita and then back at the Creator. This was all very strange indeed. Remembering something of those worried emotions from before, she turned away and focused on a crowd of courtiers, a crowd which seemed to quake in unison under her hawk-eyed gaze. That was one thing she could use to her advantage, but she was beginning to feal weaker than before, emotionally. And she had never felt true emotion in her life...as far as she knew.

[Valalerin]

Shrenk knew full well that the Dark Lord was arriving. He had been alerted the moment he arrived in the Keep and had quickly prepared himself to sit on his throne. Still, it didn’t take the surprise out of being visited by the Dark Lord. Shrenk was wearing his luxurious Laruxan pelt cape and purple satin robe. He wore a solid gold circlet inlaid with platinum and amethyst.
His hair was finely combed and brown, his beard was almost invisible – He had it shaved under a week ago. His skin was a pale yet still musty tan colour, he spent a lot of his time outside as he adored his royal garden, he also believed that a king should look mighty and strong rather than frail and pale.
Propped against his gold and silver throne (inlaid with amethyst and diamonds) was his phenomenal Nimcha sword. It had a solid gold handle with a gold scabbard inlaid with platinum. The pommel bore a single large amethyst and, although hidden by the scabbard, the blade was made of silver. Needless to say it was a useless fighting weapon, but it had the sharpness and shine to both wound and look impressive.

“Ah… Dark Lord, what a wonderful surprise” he started, rising to his feet to greet the Dark Lord. His voice was convincingly steady though the sweat dripping from his neck and forehead was undeniable.
He took a few steps toward the Dark Lord and stopped a few feet from him, a fair distance from the harpies though. He fell down on his right knee; to fall on your left was an insult. He remained there and did not raise his head to look the Dark Lord in the eye.
“To what do I owe the pleasure of your company, Dark Lord? Your requests will be fulfilled without question” he spoke as if he had rehearsed and spoken the phrase a thousand times.

The only way to avoid incineration or decapitation (or any death, for that matter) is to be as respectful as possible. Mistakes are not tolerated.

[Razgriz]

The Dark Lord observed King Shrenk approach and listened to his words. Despite being indoors and the fact that he was in the presence of nobility, he did not lower his hood.

He raised the arm that was not currently holding his sword held out his middle and index finger held together. In a motion akin to what one expect from Shrenk himself, he rotated these two fingers in a clockwise direction. As he did so he uttered the words, "Rise Shrenk." His tone clearly portrayed irritance and spoke volumes of his depreciation of the Human King.

Before the King could move, The Dark Lord continued, "I am rather disappointed with you Shrenk. To say that i... even from beyond these lands... know more of your Kingdom than you apparently do... is a worrying thought indeed."

He turned from the King and reached out affectionately towards Tzach'zita. She in turn moved closer and nuzzled the outstretched hand in a way similar to how a cat or other domestic pet might do. A low purr escaped her that would only just be heard by those closest to them.

"It would seem that insurrections in your Kingdom are becoming more and more commonplace."

The Dark Lord withdrew his hand and brought it away from Tzach'Zita. A look of disappointment and longing filled her eyes but The Dark Lord turned away regardless. The sword he held was still slowly dripping blood and so he held the bloodied edge away from his robe.

The Dark Lord turned toward the second of his favourites, the Harpy named Irinys, and also offered her his hand.

"I have decided to take matters into my own hands Shrenk. Seeing as your ineptitude has rendered you incapable of keeping insurgents from spouting lies and hatred against my name... I shall complete this simplest of tasks for you," The Dark Lord went on to say.

Throughout his speech he had refrained from using the King's title. In his opinion, no pompous fool such as Shrenk deserved such a title, regardless of who his father was.

[Valalerin]

Fear gripped him. An unprecedented amount of fear, the kind that a man fearing for his very life would have… As he did. Displeasure is the worst thing for the Dark Lord to feel. It often results in someone’s end… Slowly he rose to his feet, visibly shaking but attempting with all of his being to hold back the idea of collapsing unconscious.
“Guards are not doing their job, Dark Lord, I have no mercy for those denouncing your power, Dark Lord” he spoke solidly, though the worry and panic in his voice shined through.
He knew he couldn’t let the blame sit with him, he simply had to throw the blame at another. Though he had told the guards to stop people denouncing the Dark Lord’s rule, he didn’t have enough guards…

“I assure you, Dark Lord, that I will double our guard force – Triple, even! I will give public executions to those who so much as fumble your title!” he was quite evidently begging by this point, his desperation to avoid any form of prosecution or guilt was like the desperation a starving wolf has to catch a fleeing rabbit.
All he could do was wait for the Dark Lord to turn his attention back to him and announce what was going to happen… Life or death was but a breath away.

[Rinneh]

Irinys did as Tzach'nita had done, but she managed to glare steadily at Shenk while he spoke. The gesture was halfhearted. She did not purr, and something within her was rebellious no matter how much she tried to suppress it. She then walked slightly away from Razgriz as if she had some agenda of her own. She didn't, of course, but today there were other things to think about. Defending the Creator, for one thing. Anyone in that crowd, including Shenk, could have been plotting his downfall, and it was up to her to stop them.

How dare he defy the word of the Creator! She wished to say a few things of her own to Shenk, and spare the poor Creator the task of reasoning with someone of lesser intellect than himself. She snarled at him quietly, once, but like a housecat she was calmed by the presence of Razgriz. She had reason to fear the Dark Lord, but felt safe while he was near. Less safe than usual, after that dream. Something about him was less perfect, less godly. This was not to say that she no longer thought him to be the supreme authority of the universe. He /was/. What he said was law, and if Shenk was going to defy that law, he was going to die.

She glanced again at Tzach'nita, making sure that everything was all right on the Dark Lord's other side.

[Razgriz]

The Dark Lord Razgriz smiled inwardly as he watched Irinys. Dear strong-willed Irinys. How you never cease to bring this cold heart pleasure. Only one thing spoiled this moment with his precious Favourite and that was the uncessant whining in the background. The Dark Lord had not actually been listening to the rambling of King Shrenk. Instead he had blocked out the irritating excuses and concentrated on his dear Harpies.

The pleading note in the King's voice drew his attention back to the present world though and so The Dark Lord turned back to face the King.

He swiftly held up his free hand, palm facing Shrenk. "Silence!," he ordered,"Your foolish pleading is beginning to tire me. Were i to kill you, i would have done so already. As it stands... you are still useful to me."

"Tzach'nita!" he called, "Fetch me a cloth, that i might wipe my blade clean of the 'musician's accursed blood."

The Harpy obeyed at once and stalked towards the cowering group of musicians. Silence engulfed the room, save for the tapping of Tzach'nita's talons upon the stone floor.

The Dark Lord turned back to face the grovelling King. "I shall deal with this problem myself," he announced to the King and then, after a short dark chuckle, "And the executions shall be very public. All shall know that i do not tolerate slanderous bards denouncing my name."

[Zachariah]

After much long discussion and convincing that he was a messenger from a village, a fair amount of bribery, one instance of pleading, slightly more bribery, more discussion and convincing, he had managed to find himself in the shadows outside of the throne room, listening quietly to what the Dark Lord was saying.

He had quite a voice and, from descriptions he gathered, quite a fashion sense. He thought purple to be a silly choice for the color of a robe, however, and honestly preferred black himself. Of course, the Dark Lord seemed to wear it quite well, and he assumed that anything he was wearing would look intimidating on him.

The Dark Lord seemed to be taking things into his own hands when it came to slanderers, and at the mention of public executions he couldn't help but give a minuscule smile. They, he thought, would prove to be incredibly amusing. He was beginning to like the Dark Lord more and more. He'd have to look into more things about this man, if he wasn't killed found outside the throne room.

He could only hope that his 'messenger' guise would work, and that he could insist he was merely waiting his turn, and would not barge in on the Great and Mighty Razgriz.

[Razgriz]

Tzach'nita had descended upon the musicians and now stood hissing before them. As expected, her prey was crouched in terror as the fiend grew near. Tzach'nita looked upon the foolish creatures with disgust. It seemed incredible that they could even consider themselves to be of the same race as her beloved Creator. His was a finer breed, one deserving respect and loyalty. The spineless rats before her were barely worth the effort of killing.

One violinist, still clutching to his instrument in fear, gave a terrified squeak as Tzach'nita leaped at them. Rather than attacking them group, Tzach'nita grabbed at the sleeve of the violinist with the hooked claw protruding from her wing joint. The silk doublet he wore tore clean from his arm and left the large score mark from Tzach'nita hook bare for all to see. Unfortunately this proved too much for him and the violinist fainted back onto his peers.

Tzach'nita returned triumphantly with the stolen silken sleeve and held it out to The Dark Lord Razgriz. He took it silently and gently cleared the blood from his blade with it. Once done, The Dark Lord held the blade up and examined it more closely whilst the bloodied rag was tossed negligibly to the floor.

Once more, The Dark Lord patiently spoke to King Shrenk.

"I have brought two of my finest Harpies to aid in the search and punishment of those who would poison the minds of your followers," he announced, loud enough for the whole hall to hear, "All i wish from you is someone who can read out the crimes of the punished when my Harpies find them."

The black bolo cut through the air before being slid gently back into the scabbard secreted beneath the folds of the Dark Lord's robes.

"For your sake Shrenk, I urge that you find someone strong of stomach. I will not tolerate disappointment," the Dark Lord Razgriz warned with an ominous voice.

[Rinneh]

His two finest Harpies? Irinys shot Razgriz a look of admiration. Did he really think that? Before, there would have been no doubt in her mind... but doubt is a strange and unavoidable nuisance. It had begun to creep into her mind, and since she had not recognized it at first, it stayed there. She hated to deny the fact that the Creator valued her, but suspicion flickered in her eyes. Something was wrong here.

It was only shortly after that that she noticed something and glanced towards the door. What had that noise been? It wouldn't have been so hard to hear what was happening in the corridor, for the hall was silent. There was something happening out there, and Irinys was eager to see what it was. Perhaps is was because she was jealous that he had asked Tzach'nita to fetch the cloth for him. She saw it as only a wish to be helpful.

"My Lord Creator..." She spoke in a small whisper, hardly befitting of her frightening appearance.This was followed by a gesture towards the doors.

She was planning on getting even with Tzach'nita -- no one ever said that sibling rivalry was not present amongst the Harpies.

[zianorak]

He had only returned to Hope, the capital city, not three hours before the visit of the Dark Lord. He had slipped into the city as quietly as he had left it that day long ago. On the streets it was hard to be unnoticed by his old familiars, and so he did not try to go through secretly. He walked openly and bravely. That was the quietest way really, to go loudly, for people did not take as much notice of those they could readily see. They often look for the more sinister characters in the shawdows.

Aric had made his way to an old haunt of his. A local tavern named The Squalor King. It was not an interesting place, unless of course, you count disgustingly quaint and cozy as interesting. However, he had learned some very interesting news concerning the visit of the Dark Lord. It was curious that the Dark Lord was making such an open trek into the city and so he had thought to watch the spectacle.

After a quick passage down the familiar streets, he had caught the last of the procession. What splendor the Dark Lord showed in his march. He seemed totally at ease among the people that hated him most. Maybe it was not hate, but fear, something much more dangerous. Aric envied the courage that the Dark Lord showed. How he wished that he could have that strength and courage, but of course, that strength came with other problems.

As he stood there, lost in his thoughts, he was approached from behind. The man reached forward and grabbed the small Anja male. Aric turned without being startled to face one of his oldest 'friends.' The man sneered, it was obvious he thought himself clever for sneaking up on the Anja. However the man's sneer was lost when he finally noticed the point of the dagger was placed just between his legs.

"To what do I owe the pleasure Malnius?" Aric asked. He pushed the dagger forward a little, making it clear that he meant not only the visit, but the chance to take a little revenge. Malnuis frowned deeply and pulled away.

"Clanius," he said turning and walking away, then added, "you know where."

Aric watched the man go, smiling the entire time. It was his first day back to the city, and already his old contacts where trying to bring him in. He might find this place a little nicer now that he knew the ropes. He knew how to get out, and he would hold that above everyone. It could also be said that he had never been out, for he had returned, had he not?

[Razgriz]

As Irinys had spoken before the King, The Dark Lord Razgriz raised his hand, palm facing King Shrenk, so that he would not speak. He turned to face the Harpy.

"You wish to speak Irinys?" Razgriz questioned her. His voice was tight and controlled. Though he was irritated by her interruption, he knew well that there would be good reason for it. His favourites were not chosen on idle whims, but for their remaining intelligence and cunning.

He noted her gesture toward the door and could only assume she had heard something outside. Perhaps it would prove to be nothing but a servant hurrying past, but there was always the chance of it being something more.

[Rinneh]

"There is something outside," she replied, in that same reverent tone, meant for his ears alone. She was almost glad that she had interrupted the dialogue between Shenk and Razgriz with her own words. It added a sense of purpose. Even so, she did not look directly at him, but at the door leading to the hall."There are movements in the corridor; I am sure of it. May I go to investigate, if I am not needed here at your side?"

Her own voice was strange in its quality, as if it had been sweet once, but was warped beyond recognition.

Her eyes shifted back to him, surprisingly humble. "I am sorry for the interruption, Lord Creator."

[Razgriz]

"It is of no moment Dear Irinys," the Dark Lord said in a hushed kindly tone, "Go seek out that which has disturbed you. Once found, bring the culprit to me. It is they who should apologise for this interruption."

He gave her a nodded acknoledgement that she had his permission to leave the room. Though cold hearted, the Dark Lord cared for his Favourites. As Irinys had said, he was their creator and so he thought of them as children or domesticated pets rather than possessions.

The Dark Lord turned his attention back to King Shrenk, the malice now present once again in his eyes.

"Now Shrenk, what say you?" he growled menacingly. He did not intend to wait long and once Irinys returned he would explain his true plans for those that had spitefully denounced his name.

[[Spell Checker not working. Comment on any spelling mistakes and i'll eat your soul for breakfast.]]