Despite what you think about your success in beating me in a challenge in which I was disfavoured,

and then killing me afterwards (which by the way, bravo -- I've never seen that done before

in avalon history -- sheer brilliance), I have successfully escaped every single one of your

jumps. Now while the rest of your guild flees for their lives, you can sit there and feel your

head swell till it bursts, because God knows, there's no reason to feel proud about your underlings.

While I continue to fight under EDF from Damocles who gratefully explained to me in one sentence

that cursing bulimia during a fight or during a pre-meditated fight is not allowed (especially

with people like Plaman and yourself who can basically heal it just as fast as I curse it thanks

to a lovely invention known as 'fastheal,') I will continue to terrorize the rest of your poor, poor

excuse for a city...

Should I be in a team, so be it. Everyone knows that the thakrian definition of a team is a

lone character ordering a pony hostile.

So when the day finally comes where I rip your crystal heart out of your chest and kill you over

and over again, laughing like Marilyn Manson at a funeral, I seriously hope you take just one

little minute to realize that perhaps I am just not the person you want to be jumping.

Oh but please, for my sake, show no mercy. Get out that pad of paper that reminds you to make a

gate demon to the clouds, the Dark Cell, and your stockroom and flee away everytime there's a chance

someone takes the advantage over you... like the time you jumped india and i exorcised them,

leaving you with no chance of escape and then you rode the ship and killed a few little guys

afterwards to make up for the terrible loss (sound familiar Rajj? <G>) including India who

just stood there and let you kill her just to get DP for the harvest (which I'm sure you flexed

in the mirror afterwards knowing how triumphant you were, failing to realize that its what she

wanted anyway -- notice how i didn't help her those times?) but please, let me continue my run-on

and say how impressed I am over your ability to use a dispel item so efficiently and blackhanding

so incredibly smoothly but then hitting my pentacle again for some reason and you scratch your head

wondering why, and then you dispel it again hoping that maybe, just maybe! This time she'll die

from my big, bad invisible chokehold! But oh no, Shagraznarular is just standing there blocking

a random direction while Tagrak gives me 8 middle fingers, and the Angel of Death reeks havoc

upon my non-parleying, feeble scholarship skills, and yet you continue to scratch your head and

wonder where that seering hot flash of starlight came from that melted all your precious demons...

Keep wondering and thinking you philosopher... you poet... you FIEND!

the answers will come to you at some point. I have faith.

Or perhaps you should just stick to evoking all those delicious poisons for Lancelot and Plaman.

You know the ones i'm talking about... phoroz/nann. You know the one all the Thakrian knights use

every single jabjab.

But fret not. Terrible justice has been dealt to me by the heavens above and I have learned my

lesson. For it is now apparent that someone of your Avalonian level (which you love to brag about

at least a dozen times a day, yet consistently fail to intone) cannot handle a few bulimia curses

after a failed jumping session on a little ol' astrologer. It was obvious that I should have

left you alone so that you could summon another 20 demons in your stockroom while I waited out in

the open market, tapping my foot patiently, leaning against pillars and yawning ponderously, until

that exciting moment when a portal opens up in front of my eyes and out pops my epitaph.

\"Here lies Mayhem Maiya. 1052-Present. Accepted death willingly and easily. \"

I sincerely apologize to you Dartanian. The hurt you must be feeling right now from a skill

everyone deems as a bug yet Gods do nothing about, must be immense. I can only hope your fragile

emotions heal and that we can make peace with each other (after the post-traumatic stress disorder

dies down first, obviously). Until then, I will be in my office for a psychiatric consultation

if you wish to talk about the terrifying event. I'm sure deep-rooted childhood fears of throwing

up when your tummy hurt bubbled up to the surface of your mind, making reality seem all too cruel

once again.

Life can be a bitch, Dartanian. Fortunately for you, your babysitters are out there 24-7,

making sure it treats you differently.

Written by my hand on the 24th of Hindyear, in the year 1063.