#right hand of izalith

[katyahina]

Family tree of Izalith! (Well, in a certain timeframe, she actually has like 50000 more babies and you know it)

Explanations for design choices and names under cut:

1) Izalith IS her actual name! It is a bit obscured, but Miyazaki did mention it in the design works interview ( x ): "...Despite his size, he’s actually the youngest of Izalith’s children, he stands gazing up at the ruins where his sisters live. " Quelana also mentioned it in Japanese script:

私の母イザリスは : ‘My mother, Izalith’

2) Quelaana/Quelaan is not a thing! According to the dataminers, it was just a mistake that endured so long it spread within the fandom, but nope, Fair Lady remains nameless. In fact, as you can see, Quelana is actually Quelaana, because of the long ー!

3) I've noticed the pattern between Quelana and Grana, both eldest. Quelana says she abandoned her younger sisters in Japanese script:

…私は、母も、妹たちも、すべて棄てて逃げ出したんだ

Their names are very similar, only Grana is missing the ー (that localised as double aa) and 'ku' sound is replaced with 'gu' sound! So, クラーナ (Qura~na) and グラナ (Gurana). The sisters also tend to come in pairs: Quelaag and Fair Lady had the same mutation, two sisters became right and left arms of Bed of Chaos, and then two eldest sisters share a naming pattern... So I've decided that they should be born as twin pairs (not necessarily identical as you can see), and repeat the naming pattern. But always replacing 'ku' with 'gu' didn't work because, I shit you not, in that case Fair Lady's name would sound like word gulag fsdhfdshfsd So I had to get creative with the sounds!

4) Appearances of Grana and the Parasitic Wall-Hugger (labeled 'Prince Izalith' internally and having same mutation as Jeremiah, only entirely swallowed) are based of the secret face data attached only to Grana! Whereas removing her helmet just gives placeholder default data, loading her through debug menu will (seemingly randomly) load one of these faces:

Other faceless NPCs like Ciaran and two Darkmoon Blades do not behave like that! This NPC is seemingly broken, but I believe the blond girl is "canon" since the body is female and seems to match her head! But attaching that guy to Grana's data specifically made me think he must be connected to the Witch's family!

5) Whereas Quelana has normal skin tone in character data, trophy that depicts her and her concept art show grey skin, just like her mother's:

The thing is, in Dark Souls 1 creator it is impossible to make purely grey skin because you need RGB type of color selection slider for it... which Dark Souls 1 does not use. Purple, green and blue? Sure! But not grey. So I decided to ignore her face data colors as technical limitation and base her off the art of her instead! It fits, because Izalith herself has grey skin too!

6) The Tailsman of Fair Lady's hair in Dark Souls 3 has her hair pulled through Old Witch's Ring:

(By dataminer Zullie: ( x ))

I added this part on her former hairstyle... Let's assume she allowed someone to cut her hairbun for their sake, since her hair helps with casting miracles and she is a very generous lady. I actually think ALL sisters used to wear a variant of Old Witch's Ring in some capacity after Ceaseless was born to understand what he was saying, but some of the portraits I've drawn don't let me showcase them!

7) Seeing how Quelana just looks like her mother and Grana just looks like her father, I thought it was fitting if twin pairs would be born with dark and fair hair! But Quelaag already has a circle of green close to her pupil and some grey shades in her hair, so I thought that the younger sisters get, the more the colors "mix". That's why the youngest sister just has colors mixed completely, whereas 'Prince Izalith' instead has fractioned colors from both parents!

8) The idea of Nameless King having had colorful mane and eyes in his youth is based on this theory I smoked recently:

His youngest version having 8 red strands in his hair is based on his symbol of Warrios of Sunlight having radiant red rays in Dark Souls 1!

Ornstein and the Dragonslayer (fought as Dragonslayer Armor) also have red plume! But wheras Ciaran and Artorias have just their hair on their helmets, Ornstein and Dragonslayer specifically have a decoration... so, why imitate red lion mane, if their liege is not even red-maned in any way? XD

(add ingame filter that makes it red rather than brown)

At the same time, if Lion Clan people to him are what Corvians to Velka, it would make sense if they were based on him too, so golden hair also had a place to be:

The black-maned lions are Hollow though, so I don't think of them too hard! So I guess Nameless King is as much Radahn prediction as he is Godwyn prediction! God of War associated with the lions and all.

9) Theory that Lost Sinner IS Princess/Queen of Venn just makes the most sense, nothing else to say here... Venn was affiliated with the Moon though, and Sinner has both beard and breasts:

And whereas normally all gender-neutral pronouns is localized as 'he', in this case, devs specifically instructed people to not fuck this up and specify she IS a female character x) Moonlight IS gender-bending power of the setting as confirmed in Dark Souls 3 (and partially in 1), and it adds to her connection to Izalith whose grey skin and blue lips might hint to initial Moon affinity too! Moon and Fire always go together in Dark Souls and Elden Ring, and in Elden Ring they are also inherently hostile to the "Sun" or "Gold"... so, Jealous Moon!

10) I thought Izalith felt broken and used seeing how her firstborn was just a child of Sun, without any link to her. So in her grudge and strive to equality, she separated Jeremiah from her own being... Though, ironically, as you can see, her side ended up "dominant" if not suppressive anyways. I guess I felt like subverting trope of Lilith a little. It also interestingly enough mirrors Daughters of the Dark; two of them, Elana and Nashandra, have fair hair and green eyes, and other two have dark hair (and brown eyes, Alsanna has a hidden brown-eyed texture). She mirrors this type of splitting with her colorations a bit!

[folkdevilism]

The most recent Zullie the Witch Messmer lore video still has me in a chokehold.

[cowboysanddragons23]

Gwyn's ending was poetic justice in so many levels, but also a tragedy.

-Gwyn fought the Everlasting Dragons for the right to have an end, but when his end arrived, he refused to accept it, basically provoking a repetition of the Age of Ancients and incarcerating the humans on the Ringed City, causing the world to go to cinders and activating the Undead curse.

His end comes at the hands of the Chosen Undead, who was brought by a crow (who in all possibility is Velka, who being the Goddess of Sin, seeks to punish Gwyn not only for the artificial prolongation of the Age of Fire, which was the first sin, a fact confirmed by Aldia, but also for having banished the Nameless King, their firstborn, if we go with the theory that Velka is Gwyn's wife, which would make her the mother of the Nameless King, Gwynevere, Gwyndolin and Filianore) to Lordran, who ended up killing the main protagonists of the war against the dragons: Nito, Seath and the Witch of Izalith (Who in her attempt to recreate the First Flame, ended up becoming the Bed of Chaos, where all demonkind comes from), along with the Four Kings themselves, who were wraiths of their former selves, before reaching Gwyn himself and ends him.

-Yet the Chosen Undead doesn't fight the mighty Gwyn, who brought the dragons to his knees and ruled Anor Londo, but a burned out husk of a god who couldn't stand being left behind, a scared old man who didn't want to acknowledge that his time has passed.

[katyspersonal]

There is something morbidly funny about Grana (the Chaos Daughter who is a hostile NPC in Lost Izalith) 🤔

There are seven Daughters of Chaos as shown in the cutscene! Quelaag and Fair Lady turned into monsters halfway, Quelana ran away and by now just exists as a ghost, another is dead (the one Ceaseless Discharge is mourning).. Not sure about where other two went, but people say probably became literal right and left hands of Izalith since Bed of Chaos has three knots but one if them is Izalith herself.

And meanwhile Grana is literally Just There ghjfhfh She is also the eldest sister; it is said that the eldest daughter used Chaos Whip which Grana does use and which the player can pick very close to where she is! It just feels like she watches her younger sisters fucking up (?) and learns from their mistakes at the distance if that makes sense? This is cold but I support women's wrongs, so 🤷‍♂️

[flash-sweat]

5)  our muses have passionate,  adrenaline high sex after a battle. (for Gwyn) -- @tismitros

He barely has time to disrobe before she's on him - ash-clad and aught else, pinning him to the bedroll beneath him. It's victory, she says, victory in all things. We have torn them from the sky, she tells him, pressing praise against his throat. We have burned the burning. We have felled the eternal, she moans, as the sweep of her hips notches her tight heat on his cock, presses him deeper with little ceremony and less patience. Power is in us, she says, and you, you--

-- you are in me, she murmurs, beginning to roll and sway and buck.

Yes, I am, he groans, pulsing in the grasp of her cunt around him, in the way she flexes and tugs with every bouncing swing of herself. I cannot get enough, he growls--not of power, not of victory, not of you. His hands roam her front, cup her trembling breasts, travel down her sides to grasp tightly to her hips, fingers digging into the divot between thigh and waist as he desperately tries to hold on.

They have won. They have won. They have won.

Gwyn, Lord of Sunlight, she breathes, awash in the messy pleasure of him. It is the only time she will ever let the title spill from her sincere - it is the only time she will give him the deference he wants, as, driven by sheer need, he rises from beneath her and pins her to the bedroll, spreading her open before he resumes his heated, merciless pace with a growl. It is the only time he will ever conquer her, even as she conquers him.

Izalith - flame, flame, he grunts against her lips, on the beginning edge of a rough and eager kiss. I cannot quench the thirst. I need more of you, more, more. I must revel in you as I revel in victory. This is our glory. This is ours. Ours. Ours--

Release damns him, overwhelms his tensed stomach and clenched jaw, pours into her and prompts her own climax. She arches off the bed just in time for his aching length to find a new angle to fill her from, and in those last seconds of hardened passion he does, rutting against her right up until he begins to soften, teasing out every ounce of pleasure he can from them both.

When he finally falls next to her, Gwyn finds himself staring at the swell of her chest, at the way tension slowly goes out of her. She should be his queen. She should be his everything. She won't, of course - for each of them, this will be one of the last times that they allow themselves to feel open and unguarded affection for the other, as civilization steals from them naked passion and warlike pursuits.

But in the moment, in that moment in his tent after victory complete - he loves her, wholly and truly, and makes it known with another kiss.

[henosiis]

👑 + Quelaag, for agenda reasons

Will it ever stop festering, the Chaos Flame in my belly? Will it ever stop its gurgling, its mad trembling with the hunger for change? Will its need ever abate?

It matters little now, I suppose. It’s part of me now, the Flame, wrong and twisted as it is. It belongs here in my gut, I, Daughter of the great Witch. Even as it rips through my insides, melts and reforms me, I feel its power surge like lightning through my veins. Oh, what sweet anodyne, the power. You may think I am drunk with it, gone mad. But who would I be, if I did not welcome it, relish in it? I would not be myself. I would not be Quelaag.

What a gift You have given me, fallen Mother, dearest of kin! For Your mistakes I am made greater. Where I once walked I now skitter, tenfold legs tipping and tapping. They feel everything, the slightest of movements, the disturbance of air.  I see the world through so many eyes now, in hues I could not have dreamed of. I grow with every corpse I create, great spider that I have become, in the home I have woven with my own spinnerets. You always told me I was the most promising of them all. Do You see me now, Mother? Do You see me?

Watch as my blade tears through undead flesh. Watch as Izalith’s red rivers pour from my thousand-toothed maw. Watch as I devour. And poor Quelaan, her gentle soul, it rots where mine burns. I do it for her, Mother, that darling sister You never liked. She is weak, You were right. Tenderness ravages her like miasma. Perhaps she, and not our brother, was your first misstep. Did You see them, these monstrous bodies, grown like worms from our wombs, when you brought the Flame to us in our tiny nest? We were pups, then, unformed things, crawling blind in the dirt. But I am not what I once was. None of us are.

It is a cruel gift You have given me, Mother. To become so powerful, so beautiful, when there are none left to see me. When the mortals come, I let them gaze upon me, before I claw out their souls. I watch the horror on their faces and I smile, knowing their doom is at my hand. I will delight in their pathetic, night-black cores. Then my sword sings and it is over, that quickly, that suddenly. I want to make it last, but the thrill is too strong. No longer girl, no longer woman. Do not blame the Flame, I beg You. I was always a predator.

But Mother, oh Lord Mother, will it ever stop burning?

[criniteris]

Will it ever stop festering, the Chaos Flame in my belly? Will it ever stop its gurgling, its mad trembling with the hunger for change? Will its need ever abate?

It matters little now, I suppose. It’s part of me now, the Flame, wrong and twisted as it is. It belongs here in my gut, I, Daughter of the great Witch. Even as it rips through my insides, melts and reforms me, I feel its power surge like lightning through my veins. Oh, what sweet anodyne, the power. You may think I am drunk with it, gone mad. But who would I be, if I did not welcome it, relish in it? I would not be myself. I would not be Quelaag.

What a gift You have given me, fallen Mother, dearest of kin! For Your mistakes I am made greater. Where I once walked I now skitter, tenfold legs tipping and tapping. They feel everything, the slightest of movements, the disturbance of air.  I see the world through so many eyes now, in hues I could not have dreamed of. I grow with every corpse I create, great spider that I have become, in the home I have woven with my own spinnerets. You always told me I was the most promising of them all. Do You see me now, Mother? Do You see me?

Watch as my blade tears through undead flesh. Watch as Izalith’s red rivers pour from my thousand-toothed maw. Watch as I devour. And poor Quelaan, her gentle soul, it rots where mine burns. I do it for her, Mother, that darling sister You never liked. She is weak, You were right. Tenderness ravages her like miasma. Perhaps she, and not our brother, was your first misstep. Did You see them, these monstrous bodies, grown like worms from our wombs, when you brought the Flame to us in our tiny nest? We were pups, then, unformed things, crawling blind in the dirt. But I am not what I once was. None of us are.

It is a cruel gift You have given me, Mother. To become so powerful, so beautiful, when there are none left to see me. When the mortals come, I let them gaze upon me, before I claw out their souls. I watch the horror on their faces and I smile, knowing their doom is at my hand. I will delight in their pathetic, night-black cores. Then my sword sings and it is over, that quickly, that suddenly. I want to make it last, but the thrill is too strong. No longer daughter, no longer woman. Do not blame the Flame, I beg You. I was always a predator.

But Mother, oh Lord Mother, will it ever stop burning?

[moonlight-eternal]

⏳

Sunlight streams in through the tall windows lining both sides of the ballroom, here in the grand cathedral at the peak of Anor Londo. Tables joined end to end cover both walls beneath the glass, bedecked with a royal feast – perhaps the last such feast for quite some time, or even forever.

Soon, the Princess of Sunlight, Gwynevere, and her spouse the Flame God Flann, will depart. With them will likely go large portions of the remaining population, abandoning the great City of the Gods to journey westward toward the hope of greener pastures afar, another pilgrimage to follow in the footsteps of those other gods who went away so long ago.

Gwyndolin will remain behind. She will stay, as she has through every farewell over the millennia, and care for the city as no one else will, even as its streets grow emptier once more. There will not be many gods left, soon, after this latest pair leaves. Only her, and Velka, and Vamos, and Lord Nito sleeping deep below. None of the others call this city home.

For now, though, the day is joyful. The crowd gathered here celebrates, and dances, and the guests of honor are both happy to entertain with displays of flame sorcery, an art long since lost to the common folk after Izalith's collapse.

When they get a moment, the two sisters meet at the back end of the ballroom, opposite the statues and the pair of elevators that alternately carry guests to the balcony above and servants from the kitchens below. Gwynevere carries a plate of dainties, offering some to Gwyndolin. The last of that type from the kitchens, according to the waiter who delivered them personally to the goddess's hands.

So Gwyndolin takes one, gratefully, ever anxious at the thought of stepping away from the wall at her back, of letting down her guard, of being seen in this body that everyone knows is wrong. Even apart from the half dozen snakes coiling out beneath her dress, even were that no issue at all, she would hesitate to appear in public.

The treat is cake-like yet savory, with hints of citrus... and far more than a hint of immediate nausea. Gwyndolin coughs once, partway bent over, and hurries to straighten up and conceal anything that might attract the notice of other guests. But Gwynevere sees, and is concerned, and asks if something is wrong.

Something is very wrong. Gwyndolin turns her back to the party and chokes out a few words – poison, don't touch the others, she's going back to her room but don't tell anyone. Gwynevere nods, wishes her luck, says she'll dispose of the plate and meet her there.

Gwyndolin draws up a sigil in the air formed of strands of sunlight, a fusion of sorcery and miracles, and releases its power to hurl herself through space in an instant... but sick as she is, the teleport is miscast, and she appears halfway along the straight line path to her destination, stumbling on unsteady snakes into the railing overlooking a hall below.

Ahead of her is the double-helix staircase that could take her to the rooftops, but before that point a room off to the right, a small chapel of sorts tucked away beside the main hall. She ducks in there, short of breath, and hurries to the far corner across from the door where a secret passage waits. The wall slides apart, and Gwyndolin struggles up a narrow spiral staircase – difficult enough on snakes even in the best of times – to another hall above.

Gwynevere teleports in ahead of her, empty-handed, just in time to catch her as she falls. Gwyndolin tries to speak but only coughs come out, and she points to the heavy, reinforced door that marks her personal chambers.

Instead of helping her up to keep moving, Gwynevere only lays her sister down gently on the marble floor and begins casting a miracle of her own. Soothing sunlight radiates around her, enveloping both women and flooding the hall in either direction with healing rays.

The swelling in Gwyndolin's throat lessens, then clears entirely, and she manages to produce words at last. "Thank you," she says, sitting up on the hard floor beside her sister.

"Are you alright? What happened?"

"Poison," Gwyndolin repeats. "In the hors d'oeuvre plate. Something fast acting and serious, and I suspect... professional."

"An assassin?" Gwynevere looks concerned, but unconvinced. "I mean no offense, but you are more concerned with evildoers than most... Are you sure it was not simple contamination, or an allergy?"

Gwyndolin nods. "I could barely cast my most practiced spell. This would have killed a human in seconds, and probably could have killed one of us if left untreated. Particularly if the strongest healer in the land were the one afflicted."

Gwynevere narrows her eyes. "What do you mean? You're not a healer. And who would try to kill you anyway?"

"It would not be the first such attempt on my life. But you are overlooking the obvious, dear sister. You told me just before, that the platter was delivered personally, with intent, and the story told was that the last should be yours as an honor. You then carried the malignant cakes to share, and that is how I came to be poisoned."

Finally, it clicks. "You don't think–"

Gwyndolin meets her sister's eyes and nods. "I was not the target. Someone at your farewell banquet has tried to assassinate you."

[caxycreations]

Wait a damn minute, have a signed myself up to unpack a whole ass primordial fantasy war?!

Well... It's a bit more than a battle, but I'll probably live. Though I think I'm gonna need your help with it, since the cinematic, cool it may be, was understandably short on specific play-by-play details...

Okay, so, it's TECHNICALLY a war, but it was a relatively short war.

Key notes are as follows:

Relevant Factions

Gwyn and his Followers

This faction was the "fists" of the war.

An army of warriors, paladins, clerics, and, in the case of the Silver Knights, individuals who served as all 3 at once. The brute force of the war; masters of Lightning, which could destroy the stone scales of the dragons to render them mortal AND vulnerable.

Also consisted of Human slaves, devout followers, and Havel (listed separately because he wasn't really uh...enlisted...so much as he forced his way into the battle)

Havel is special and worth talking about, as he was a Human that was so powerful he scared Gwyn, the king of the Gods. Humans in Dark Souls have the ability to draw power from those they kill, and claim it as their own. Havel, BEFORE becoming an official part of the war, was so physically strong that he could, and DID, break the stone scales with his bare hands.

His first feat in the war, before becoming a soldier, was punching through a dragon's scales so hard that it knocked it out cold, then ripped one of it's teeth right out of it's mouth and bludgeoned it to death using it's own tooth as a club.

He did this WITHOUT the aid of lightning in any capacity. And that was his FIRST kill of the war. He slayed HUNDREDS of dragons, by himself, without the aid of lightning. And to make matters worse, he fashioned armor and a shield from the scales of his conquests, making his already durable body effectively untouchable, then doubled-down on it by mastering anti-magic miracles that rendered NON-physical attacks useless against him as well.

So between Gwyn himself, his direct family (Gwyndolin with his illusion magic, Gwynevere with her healing miracles, and Gwyn's firstborn son who was as powerful as his father) the army of literally thousands of Silver Knights, each one Divine in their own right, hundreds of thousands of Slave Knights, Way of White (the religion devoted to Gwyn) followers, and Havel, this faction was equal in strength to an army of millions.

The Daughters of Chaos

The Witch of Izalith and her daughters. This faction was the "brain" of the war.

A small coven of witches, along with their followers, who served to destroy any safe haven the dragons might find. Their purpose was to flush out any dragons in hiding, and prevent them from seeking refuge, by burning away all possible hiding places.

The archtrees were their primary focus, but they destroyed ANYWHERE that dragons may hide, or may eventually hide, to force them into the open to make it easier for the other factions to do their jobs.

The Witch of Izalith was so powerful, she was able to create a Flame ALMOST as powerful as the First Flame itself, though not nearly as long-lasting, or as massive.

Her daughters, her direct bloodline, were, combined, as powerful as she was, though individually they were far weaker, and their followers much weaker still. This is why they were given sabotage as their purpose; they weren't suited to combat, but they could burn away entire forests in moments, making them perfect for what they needed to do.

Nito, the First of the Dead

A one-man army, a faction unto himself. The walking, talking "killing blow"

With no scales to protect them, no refuge to hide in, the dragons were vulnerable. Nito, a living embodiment of death and decay, was able to spread a targeted pestilence, a miasma of rot that ate away at the dragon's flesh. All that survived encounters with Gwyn and his knights, the weak and wounded, those who managed to avoid greater damage than simply losing their scales...

All turned to rot in the presence of Nito's shroud of sickness.

His goal was to cull the weak and destroy the bodies through active decay, due to the dragon's innate immortality. They can't die, but whether their souls persist or not is irrelevant, if they have no body to call home.

Seath the Scaleless

Another faction all on his own, allied to Gwyn but not truly beholden to any God. Seath is the one who told Gwyn of the dragon's weakness to Lightning, and spent the war hunting down his kin, slaying any who hadn't yet fallen to Gwyn or Nito.

He betrayed his own kind purely out of spite, out of envy, due to his lack of stone scales rendering him mortal from birth, and his study of magic and sorcery seen as a joke, a matter to be laughed at.

He was cold, calculating, and spent the war destroying his brothers and sisters out of hatred for what they had that he didn't. His kill count rivaled that of Havel, which is either an insult to Seath's ability...Or more reason to fear Havel's ability, depending on how you think of it.

The Dragons

Eternal and immortal. The dragons had no care for anything. Their scales rendered them truly, perfectly immortal, unable to be harmed, and their natural biology was one of endless youth, so between their infinite lifespan and their unbreakable scales, they had nothing to fear. Disease and injury couldn't get through the scales, and time held no sway over them.

They fed on people, devouring the primordial beings that would eventually become Gods and Mankind. The victims of the war, but the villains that caused it all the same.

They fought defensively, not aggressively, focusing on protecting themselves and their kind from the onslaught of attacks dealt by the other factions against them.

Notable Events

The cutscene covers most of this, but I'll go over it a little anyway.

First, Gwyn and his knights began attacks on the Dragons, testing the waters with, and then devoting their efforts to, using lightning to weaken them.

Second, Havel is found, fighting dragons of his own accord, and recruited as a soldier.

Third, the army backs the dragons into a corner, forcing them into hiding, half-vulnerable or worse.

Fourth, the witches burn away the dragon's homes and hiding places, exposing them to the elements and wounding those who couldn't get out in time.

Fifth, Nito unleashes his miasma across the world, everywhere he goes.

Sixth, Seath cleans house alongside the Army, slaughtering every dragon he comes across.

Basically...

I'm mostly curious to see how you break down the tactics and such. Was it an actually effective use of their abilities and strengths? Were there ways the dragons could have won despite the overwhelming forces against them? Any thoughts on it aside from those? Break it down, ask whatever you need or want to ask, because I can go in circles all day but if you give me something specific that would help you answer, I can give it just as easily knowing exactly what to look for in the old mind palace.

[anorlondoarcheryclub]

The Witch and the Sinner

Due to some unwise behavior with a Bonfire Ascetic, I got to fight the Lost Sinner many times. That, plus the Old Witch Soul she drops when defeated in a subsequent cycle, gave an idea time to solidify. 

The Lost Sinner is linked to the Witch of Izalith, but it seems impossible that she is a family member due to the unknown, but large, amount of time elapsed between the Witch’s fall and the Sinner’s rise. Nonetheless, she has pyromancer attendants (or jailers). Her shackled hands recall the way the Bed of Chaos is shackled at the beginning of its fight, and her broad horizontal sweeps are similar, even though she’s not rooted to one spot in her map. Instead, she’s someone who managed to retrieve part of the Soul of the Witch, and bears some similarity to its original owner.

The title “Lost Sinner” is of interest as well. Shalquoir mentions eventually that she was “trying to light the First Flame,” and it seems probable, given her imprisonment, that she was stopped rather than failing. (How one can fail to link the fire is an excellent question. Perhaps by not being strong enough to complete the task? but then I’d expect destruction, not being locked in the Bastille.) But why imprison her?

Unless linking the fire is considered, in this time and place, a dreadful thing to do. If her jailers thought so, they’re right. Self sacrifice into the Flame is horrific on a personal level, and continuing a cycle that brings on brief prosperity, then hordes of undead and untold suffering, is sketchy at best. The Old Witch Soul continues the theme of self sacrifice with its transformation into the Chaos Blade, which damages its wielder even as it cuts its target - a double-edged blade if ever there were one.

If linking is a sin, then “Scholar of the First Sin” becomes more than just a catchy phrase. I haven’t met the scholar yet, but that would point toward Gwyn’s linking being the first sin, and the subsequent linking(s) being recognized as continuing a cycle that needs to end.

[ameliaegschulz]

Gates glanced about some more. Once Sezja motioned for her to make herself at home, she retrieved the lunchbox she dropped and picked the nearest couch to sit in, setting her box on the coffee table in front of it. "Coffee... It's been decades since I had that."

It was only a few seconds after she took her seat before she opened up her lunchbox and pulled a taco out of it to quickly munch on, thanking Sezja for the coffee cup. The taco barely lasted twenty seconds in her hand.

"Damn," was the only word Gates could say to Sezja recounting what she had been up to. She looked at the magazine cover, wordless as Sezja explained what being "rewritten" meant. Sipping her coffee with one hand, her eyes widened. She froze, setting it down.

She took the magazine with the other hand to look closer. Sure enough, there everybody was. Everyone she thought she could recognize, anyway. Sezja on front. On either side of her an Izalith leader and an Asseimono raider. The Velutarian who built her current powersuit, she thought, off to the side, though they were a little taller than she remembered. Others she glanced over after catching Jeanne and "Core" in the background staring daggers at one another, with a majestic Harune behind them. Mostly accurate. She had trouble recognizing the man in the bottom-right corner apparently called the "Solar Prince of Al-Kapown," assuming she read the magazine's labeling right, but she did recognize the armor. It looked just like her own, except golden. Then she noted the orange hair. Then the blue eyes.

She clenched the magazine when she realized who he was supposed to be, almost setting it on fire--

"How about you?! Surely better off than me right?"

"Oh?" She flipped the barely smoldering magazine and dropped it off to the side, putting out the fire in her own hand.

"Well, with a few hiccups aside... yeah. I was. Until recently." She pushed her open lunchbox toward Sezja, offering her any number of the forty-seven tacos that were left in it.

"I'd barely managed to settle down when I had a run-in with that red witch," she began after another much bigger drink of coffee. "She put my friend out of commission for a long time. Months? She got better, though. With some help from me and another I have not seen since. The Senji ambassador, if I remember right."

"Anyway, my friend and I... well, we eventually... had children together. I'm still perplexed by it, but it changed our lives for the better. It was peaceful. Ideal, even with my friend and our daughters getting into trouble on various adventures every now and then. One day though, about a week or so ago, our daughters came back from their trip to this one feudal Japan place my friend showed me once... and then they suddenly collapsed while we were fixing things up in the lab. Out cold. Still alive, thank goodness, but they're on the edge. Almost as close to it as my friend is now... something happened to her. Something put her out of commission again. Even worse than last time, and I know our daughters are on the brink of death because of it. Whatever it was. Or is."

Gates leaned in toward Sezja. "She's still alive. I know it. Even if it's only by the few hundred billionths of her whole that linger in my powersuit, Zak'yanna is alive."

"I'm here because I can't bring her or my daughters back to consciousness like I could last time, and you're the only one I can think of that could possibly help now."

"You have no idea, well even I don't have any idea. Time's always relative and strange between these places. But even then, I could barely recall how long I've been here." Sezja does release her nicely, motioning for Gates to come in, to find herself somewhere to sit.

"I have an extra room or two, you can drop some stuff off there if you need to. Take a seat I'll make some tea or coffee, whatever you need." She's very much in the house welcoming mood right now, though Gates' question brings a solemn look to her face.

"That's a hard thing to answer."

"Let's see, we helped Harune break the stranglehold the Witch had over the galaxy, they beat her and Yugveer or what remained of her after your work."

She adjusts her prosthetic arms, having changed quite a bit since their first encounter. "I went to defend Harune from the witch's retribution. And from there... I can't tell you. I was trapped in a moon prison by someone, then I was rewritten entirely by a wish granting snake."

She offers a magazine, on the cover it shows Sezja, as Sezja, but acted by 'Seanna Karrling'. There's even a remarkably similar face, it looks like Gates. But it's some dude.

"My life was made into a 'show' and I was kept a toy of someone. It's been years, only recently do I recall who I was before this, and well... how to set up stuff to receive messages from you and others. Though you're the only one who ever got to me since then."

"How about you?! Surely better off than me right?"

[royal-dragonslayer-ornstein]

At his arrival, the guarding silver knight wordlessly opened the carriage’s door, allowing the captain to join the witch. He turned and bowed his head to her for a brief moment before stepping inside. The wagon’s ample interior had been made with the differing heights of the divines in mind, allowing him to sit across from her without issue, lengthy faulds allowing enough flexibility to avoid any discomfort.

Perhaps a tunic of sorts would have been a more suitable choice of attire for this event, but Ornstein opposed compromising his performance in battle for simple formalities. Thankfully the gaudy armour worn by the dragonslayer was an icon in its own right, its impressive design and imposing intricacy befitting the splendor of Anor Londo as though he brought a piece of the city of the gods with him, earning curious gazes from those who witnessed his patrols. The warm light reaching inside the carriage brought a golden colour upon the plated surface, and made the gems upon the upper half of his torso shine more vividly. No less impressive was the spear which he settled against the opposite side to his entrance, its ornate metal shaft bearing exquisite crafts that stood the test of time and the many battles it had fought throughout. The hefty edge seemed almost disproportionately large, distinctively shaped for its task.

Sitting atop the rest of himself was one of the defining characteristics of his appearance, the visage of a mighty lion painting a deceiving sight, as its eyes stood a little too high to stare at his company, instead Ornstein gazed at her through the helmet’s maw, fangs flawlessly obscuring any trace of the man’s face. What he could see of her features, alongside the familiar hooded cloak she wore brought memories of the daughters of Izalith as well as the godmother of pyromancy herself.

“...Quelavah, yes? I will be your escort for the duration of the ride.” Soft-spoken, his voice was a stark contrast to the fierceness of his mask, it nonetheless bore a depth and cadence that hinted at his experience.

A vague sensation distracted the knight and urged the palm of his hand, which had been resting upon the seat beside him, to separate lightly from the cushioned area leaving only the fingertips upon his gauntlet still touching it. He turned to the side to look past the window, no differently than he would have peered outside to ensure everything was in order and thus avoiding any lack of discretion, but in truth they had been an involuntary reflex. An instinctive reaction to a faint scent that he recognized.

...Nothing, just old habits acting up. He ignored the small itch in the back of his mind, instead returning to the witch the attention she deserved as he crossed his arms. “A pleasure to meet your acquaintance.” And an honour, to know another one of Izalith’s legacy, though the dragonslayer chose against voicing that thought of his for now, uncertain of her judgement towards her history.

@frostweaved

[flash-sweat]

❛  drag .   to  pull  my  muse  closer  by  a  piece  of  clothing . (for Gwyn) — @tismitros

He has, apparently, been waiting for this.

They've been apart too long, seeking their shared enterprise through separate venues, and now that she's made her way to his office - ostensibly to discuss business - they've discarded all pretense in favor of growling, aching need.

One hand tugs roughly at the belt of her dress, prompting a gasp as he pulls her against him; thusly brought nearer his hands migrate to her bottom, squeezing hard, claiming, claiming.

"You'll tear it, Gwyn," she breathes, against his mouth. Her hands, too, have hold of his tie, as though she were desperate to find similar purchase on him. She uses his momentum to back him up against his desk, finds the line of his jaw with her lips and traces them right up to his earlobe, where teeth catch the gentle flesh betwixt.

It's enough to prompt a breathy growl from the bigger man, whose grasp roams up her back, as though searching for a zipper or other method of removing the barriers between them. He needs her. Damn the enterprise, damn all else, damn the business, he needs her now.

"Best take it off then," he mutters, desire jagged and snarling on the edges of his words. "I've waited for this for months, Izalith - I'll not wait much longer..."

[of-forossa]

"What do you hope to find at the end of the Age of Fire," the last witch of Izalith asked him while staring into the flames of the bonfire in front of them. It was a question that had accompanied her for a very long time - why did undead and humans want to end this age? "Do you know more than we deities do? How can you possibly know that what lies beyond is better than we have now?"

@frostweaved

He hadn’t so much as flinched at her arrival or her queries, consumed in one of the tedious but not unwelcome tasks that had already taken him the better part of the evening. Bereft for once of steel face, the expression so oft hidden beneath is stone set and rigid, firelight and shadow dancing across the stern visage. His sword rests upon his lap unsheathed, the aging edge still sharp and growing sharper still against the grind of the whetstone in hand as he methodically goes back and forth the length of the blade...  “When an undead throws themselves onto the First Flame for the gods, is there a funeral for them?”

Back and forth goes the whetting stone, back and forth. “Do you recognize them with a ceremony attended by thousands? Host great parades and grand festivals in honor of their sacrifice? Do you and yours weep and tear at your garments in grief of a world that demands a sacrifice by flame?”  Leaning forward, further onto his haunches, he regards the goddess with a look that doesn’t accuse or condemn but searches for truth no matter how terrible. “Do you even bother with remembering their names? Those noble fools who would fall headlong into an eternity of burning without so much as a thank you for all their struggling? For all of their death?”

He stares a moment longer before settling back, turning his gaze back to the longsword to regard the now pristine edge. All around them looms the deepening night, no gleaming light of the moon above or myriad of twinkling stars to guide or comfort. Only the bonfire before them offers solace with the hungry warmth of flame and crackling illumination, and even then the fierce fire seems to wane before the encroaching shadows. A lifeline for one of them to cling to desperately, and a noose for the other to hang from should the latter’s fate be decided by the designs of the former.

“I know no more about what comes after the fire fades than you or any other god.” His admittance isn’t tainted with uncertainty or fear but a frankness perhaps better suited for discussing the weather rather than the end of everything both once-mortal and immortal gathered here have ever known. “I have some notion of what it might entail, what might be left when the fire fades from a man who dared peer beyond flame... but I have no intention of hastening the end by snuffing out the First Flame. Not unless there is a peace I have not yet seen in this age to be found in darkness.” 

Seemingly satisfied with the fruit of his labors, Brom sheathes the longsword with a quiet whispering of steel against leather but doesn’t make to rise or put the weapon away. He regards her from across the bonfire, the already stern lines of his face deepening with the frown that settled onto his expression. “What I do know is beyond the comprehension of you and your kin, though. It will always be beyond you, to know what it means to die only to rise again and again from shallow graves for a cause that isn’t yours. To feel the sting of death for the hundredth time as fresh as you did the first.” His expression is fierce in the firelight, gaze sharp and words sharper, chin resting on steel-wrapped hands clenched tightly together. “What I know is that you and your kin are afraid of the unknown that the fading fire represents. So afraid that you would bury every land and every nation beneath the ashes of their children and their children’s children if it meant even a moment longer in the firelight.”

There is a rage in those words, a frozen fury with frostbitten teeth that threatens her with their chilling bite even with his voice little more than a whisper. It remains just beneath the seemingly empty veneer he’s upholding before slithering back beneath, obscured once more by an armor worn even when the steel plates and chainmail have been shed. When he leans back onto his haunches, there is no indication of the hatred or violence promised in those hardened eyes. “What I know, daughter of Izalith, is that you and your kin need not worry about the Age of Dark. For the day is coming when the shackle of the Darksign will be broken, when every man and woman will be free to draw their swords and die one last death on their own terms... to die for something more than the right to be kindling for your fire.” 

When he rises from the bonfire, battered but bettered sword fastened to his hip and steel helm fixed once more over death-rugged countenance, Brom regards her with a final slow shaking of the head. “What I know is that the gods can be slain, and on my oath I will not let the ending of an age take from humanity the blood they have long been owed. Before every nation, before every man and woman I will have you all laid low for the death you have wrought. At the end of your age, I hope to find justice.”  

[moonlight-eternal]

⏳

"You are all fools," Quelana says. "Gwyneth, Quelathi, you two have always been fools, though for different reasons. Quelaag, Gwyndolin, you're usually smarter than this. Come on, think it through!"

"I have thought as much as I need to," Gwyneth retorts, brash as ever. So little respect he has for anything but strength of arms, for which so little thought is ever needed. "If we succeed in this, then Father will have no need to sacrifice himself as he plans, for the First Flame will burn again without his kindling. That is reason enough."

"And if you fail?"

Quelaag opens her mouth to respond, but is cut off before she can speak by Gwyneth once more. "We shall not!"

On the other side of the room, Quelare puts her face in her hands and shakes her head. She turns away, but cannot bring herself to leave the room and stop listening.

"It is a wonderful and noble goal," Quelavere cuts in, trying to placate her older brother. "But I cannot feel confident in something so unprecedented. Tampering with a Lord Soul..."

Finally, Gwyndolin musters the courage to speak up. "Lord Souls are the closest thing known to the First Flame, born from it in those very first moments. I agree that the risk is significant, but the situation is becoming desperate. At the very least, we must do something. We must try."

"Everyone is depending on us, whether they know it or not," Quelathi adds.

Quelana sighs. "I understand that," she says carefully. "But there is a difference between controlled experimentation and wanton tinkering. Quelaag, I know it was not your idea, but you were the first to voice support and unlike Gwyneth you actually live here in Izalith, so... Could you not have asked Mother at any point before now, for permission to study the Lord Soul? Could you not have invited her to the discussion alongside us all?"

Quelaag shuffles her feet, and hesitates. "I– yes. I could have." She glances to her brother, then back. "He said it would be better not to involve her."

"Mother might put a stop to the plan," Gwyneth asserts. "She has no love for Father, this has been plainly known for centuries. Ever since she built this wretched place so far away, so deep beneath the earth as if to hide from the sunlight itself!"

Immediately, flames appear in the hands of several of the witch-sisters. Quelare stalks over to rejoin the group at last, tilting her head upward to meet Gwyneth's eyes. "Need we remind you that you are guests here, dear brothers? If you desire sunlight, then run along and bask in the rays above, and let those of us with more sense devise a plan."

She strikes her palm toward Gwyneth's chest, and in a display of great control, extinguishes the ball of flame just a fraction of a second before contact.

Gwyndolin looks down and pulls her traveling cloak tighter around her shoulders.

"Ah! Right, my apologies," Quelare says as her gaze passes over the youngest sibling. "You, singular brother and yet another sister, are guests in Izalith." To Gwyndolin alone, quieter: "If you want to fit in with the girls, we really must get you a proper black dress."

"If we could return to the topic at hand," Quelana emphasizes, glaring at each gathered sibling in turn. "That side of the room want to do something very rash, without any prior testing to learn the limits and the capabilities of what they would tamper with, and it could save the world or it could... well, we don't know what could happen if they fail, because they've done no testing. Meanwhile, on this side of the room, we have the level-headed people."

"You mean the people too scared to try to help," Quelaag tells her at once.

Quelavere inserts herself physically between the two, addressing the younger sister. "She means the people who favor caution, but not abandonment of the goal. I for one would love for Gwyneth's idea to succeed! But I cannot bring myself to participate, not if you go ahead with it right now."

"I will observe," the previously silent Quelaca finally speaks up. "But at the first sign of trouble, I will seek out Mother and inform her of the proceedings with her stolen Lord Soul."

"I too will watch from a safe distance," Quelavere says. "But I know such science is beyond my skill."

"I suspect it may be beyond any of us," Gwyndolin says quietly, but not quite soft enough to be unheard. "But I stand by my brother in this, even if in so little else. I cannot watch the world fade and do nothing. For all I wish to escape Father's watchful, controlling eye, I cannot allow his death to be without purpose."

Quelana looks around the group, and finds that the opposition is solidly outnumbered by those in favor and those abstaining. She sighs again, exasperated, and relents as much as she is able. "I'm not going near whatever you idiots cook up," she declares. "And when you fail to produce another First Flame, come back to me then and I can try, once again, to teach you the importance of using science in your magic."

"Quelana, please," her sister Quelathi begs. The youngest of those in Izalith, senior only to Gwyndolin, she has long since mastered the art of wide puppy eyes. "Mother's Lord Soul is the soul of Life. What better catalyst could there be, to create a Flame that rekindles our world's existence? How could it possibly lead to anything else?"

Quelana, ever the pragmatist, only frowns. "I would like to think you all are correct. I would like to have that hope, that something other than a direct linking of soul energy to the First Flame could suffice. I want you to know I am not opposed to the goal, or even the method! What is anathema to me is the recklessness. The risk. It is the fact that you are doing this without knowing that it will work."

"Then tell us," Gwyndolin asks her. "You are the closest thing we have to an expert on the mechanics of flame sorcery. Mother may have more raw power, Quelare may have more precise control, but you know how it works. Tell us, if we do this... what is the worst that could happen?"

[inheritedfang]

Some of my Thoughts About Dark Souls 1

Considering how I’ve heard people talk about this game for years and years, and I both finished my first playthrough and got more than halfway through a new playthrough in one night (it’s 7:30 a.m. and I haven’t slept at all, help), I have a few things I want to talk about.

I’m going to start off with my biggest point: is it just me or does the game drop in quality after Ornstein and Smough? Up until then the game is incredibly atmospheric, with fantastic level design and that whole “difficult but fair” thing everyone tells you about when you first find out about the game. However after I beat Ornstein and Smough and was told to go after the four Lord souls, the game stopped feeling fair and just became irritating. Tomb of the Giants? Admittedly not the worst at first, but once you get to the second bonfire it just becomes a mad sprint past the massive beast skeletons that’ll tear you apart if you stop to fight them. Not to mention the fact that unless you found the Skull Lantern in the Catacombs, you have to navigate the Tomb of the Giants in the pitch black, barely able to see two feet in front of you until Patches shoves you off a cliff just after the first bonfire.  This area is capped off by Gravelord Nito, who is somehow frustrating and easy at the same time. I, a big mistake on my part, went in without a divine weapon as getting one to a decent level would have taken far too long. I could detail every bad thing that happened, but one example sums it up perfectly; I dodged one of Nito’s attacks, only for him to immediately follow up with a grab. I messed up the dodge and he grabbed me, doing a bunch of damage before gently laying me down on the floor. In the corner. Right in between the three skeletons. I couldn’t roll away, I couldn’t kill them quick enough, I couldn’t heal. I promptly died.

The Duke’s Archives was even worse, with the majority of my experience being boiled down to running around in circles trying to figure out where to go while being spammed to death by projectiles being fired from God knows where. After escaping my cell and returning to the Library I got lost for an unbearable amount of time, running back and forth trying to figure out where I was supposed to go when everything looked exactly the same. The enemies are irritating as well; the worst being the archers and the big sorcerer enemies (can’t remember their names), who just spam soul arrows at you then teleport away when you get close. I may be slightly biased because I just started a Sorcerer playthrough which was complete and utter hell in the Archives, getting nearly two shot by literally everything, but regardless. I don’t have much to say about the Crystal Caves. It looks nice, the invisible floor mechanic was odd and seemed pointless to me but it was easy to figure out where to go anyway and it was harmless all things considered. Seath the Scaleless, the boss of this area, was a complete joke. Trying to sever the tail for the Moonlight Greatsword was a pain at first, sure, but just going for the kill was pathetic. I beat him by running at one of the two front tentacles and just sprint attacking over and over. Seath barely even attacked me while I did this, it was a massive disappointment. Also special mention to that one garden area between the Duke’s Archives and the Crystal Caves, it looks unforgivably bad. I don’t have a good image of it unfortunately, but it looks genuinely unfinished. Especially with the Crystal Golems that look like they’ve just been randomly thrown about the garden with no thought put in whatsoever. I felt like I was playing a developer test level.

The Demon Ruins were very fun, fighting through the ruins gave me the same feeling as first carving my way through Undead Burg, seeing everything ruined around me, taking in the various details of the environment as I slowly overcome the various enemies blocking my path. The very copy and paste feeling of some of the enemy placements was strange, however. Seeing five or six weaker Capra Demons dumped in a hallway and seeing seven or so Minor Taurus Demons off in the distance, all standing together in the lava lake made me think that they could have been leftover placeholders that were kept in due to time constraints. But overall, without going into too much detail, the Demon Ruins was a refreshingly enjoyable area, especially after just trudging through Tomb of the Giants, so after killing the Centipede Demon I was excited to see what would be next. And then Lost Izalith ruined everything.  My time in Lost Izalith was spent taking off my clothes and running through boiling hot lava and it was about as fun as it sounds. The sprint to the boss was stupidly long and had you taking an incredibly linear winding path through the lava lake to avoid attracting the attention of massive Tyrannosaur-looking Demons that just stand around completely still like until you accidentally step too close and get squashed. But despite the painful area leading up to it, maybe the boss would redeem it? Maybe the boss would be good enough to make all the suffering I’d endured worth it? Haha.

No.

The Bed of Chaos is easily the worst, most infuriating boss in the game and one of the worst I’ve played in a long time. It’s not fun having to run through the entirety of Lost Izalith, only to spend about five seconds in the boss fight before being swept into a bottomless pit and sent right back to the bonfire at the start of the area. Finally killing the boss isn’t even satisfying because once you’ve gotten past the asinine jump and managed to avoid being knocked into the death hole by the almighty hand of God himself, you find that the boss is just a pathetic little bug that goes down in one hit and doesn’t even fight back.

The last of the four Lords, the Four Kings and the area leading up to them, New Londo Ruins are my favourites of the Lords and their areas. New Londo Ruins had a brilliant aesthetic and atmosphere, the Dark Wraiths were threatening as all hell (although surprisingly easy to kill) and the idea of fighting the literal ghosts of those who had died when New Londo fell is incredibly cool. The atmosphere especially ramps up when you drain the ruins and head down, only to be greeted with piles and piles of endless corpses that you have to step over to carry onward. It’s intense. It only took me two tries to beat the Four Kings, but it was one of the most tense fights in the game for me (I’m not counting the time where I dropped into the arena then took off the Artorias ring and was consumed by the Abyss shhhh that doesn’t count). The first time round was me testing the waters then quickly calling the fight cheap because I was swarmed by three Kings at once that I’d obliviously allowed to spawn, but then the second time round I realised that I could reliably tank their attacks without needing to heal and kill each one before the next one spawned, so it quickly became “neck a green blossom and just rush them there’s no time for second thoughts”. It was easy, but damn was it fun.

And so came the final boss, Gwyn. The Kiln of the First Flame was a brilliant area that did everything it needed to, being an atmospheric and foreboding lead up to the final fight. The few black knights along the way were good parrying practice and they dropped tons of upgrade materials that’ll no doubt be useful in New Game Plus. But before long, I finally arrived at the fog gate. Weapon at the ready, I stepped through, prepared to meet the final battle this fantastic game has for me. 

Remember how I said that “The few black knights along the way were good parrying practice”? Well, that was some subtle foreshadowing because parrying completely and utterly trivialises the final boss. Parrying isn’t something you can usually do in the boss fights, however for whatever reason Gwyn is able to be parried. So despite what the game’s story has been leading to and the beautiful, melancholy music backing your fight would have you believe, it’s much less an epic duel between Chosen Undead and forsaken Lord, and more just the Chosen Undead slapping Gwyn’s sword away and stabbing him in the chest every ten seconds. Good build up and once again good atmosphere, but a pretty underwhelming fight overall.

That sums up my thoughts on the second half of Dark Souls 1 pretty well; underwhelming. The first half is exactly as it should be: you fight your way up from nothing, constantly facing overwhelming odds as you prove your worth as the Chosen Undead through sheer determination and strength. The second half lost that same feeling for me, and I think it’s due to the levels relying more on gimmicks like the darkness of the Tomb of the Giants or the entirety of Lost Izalith. The game is still fantastic, but I do wish it managed to keep up the same level of quality that it held at the beginning.

Because I started writing that at about 7:30 a.m. and it’s now 9:21 a.m., I’m going to just summarise my last point and then go the bloody hell to sleep.

I feel that Anor Londo is somewhat overhyped. I’m not a big fan of the design and while I understand that it’s entirely by design and intentional, the big and abandoned feel of the city doesn’t work for me at times. I still love exploring it, but I don’t understand the tons and tons of love people give it. As well as this, the Anor Londo archers really aren’t that hard. I’ve heard people rant about their difficulty numerous times before, but once I’d finally encountered them, I just walked up to the one on the right, baited him into pulling out his sword and attacking me, parried the attack and one shot him. The pillar blocks the other archer’s view of you so they can’t do anything about it. It really isn’t that hard. Same with Ornstein and Smough, they’re definitely difficult, but not quite as difficult as I’ve heard people say.

Anyway I’m off to sleep for fifteen years, have a good one lads