The Finger of Death

I have been resting.

Truced with those who harbour the faintest glimmer of hope that they may yet cross over to the realms of immortality.

FOD-silenced through friendship.

For who, possessed of but the slightest shred of decency, of honour, could sink so low as to betray or harm a friend?

Yes, resting.
But never idle.

Whilst hopeful Warlocks and ambitious Mages have roamed the land FOD-free, I have not been still.

Mortal FOD depends upon the acquisition of magic, and Multiple-FOD requires adequate resources.

Fodding-Sorcs, if you will.
I acquire these daily.

Sorcerer upon Sorcerer, FOD upon FOD.

But why?

What motivation can there be to hurl Sorcerer after Sorcerer into the land, letting loose the terror of the multiple-FOD, destroying in a matter of seconds that which has taken the hapless victim weeks, months, even years of blood, sweat and tears to achieve?

Am I indeed the tyrant whom WizrunDave describes?

I think not.

Quick fingers, speed of thought and a reasonable knowledge of the lay of the land are virtually all it takes to become potential wiz material.

Add a few friends to the mix, and immortality is almost guaranteed.

Few tests of skill and endurance.
No code of honour.
Just speed, friends and points.
Mage in a day.

Nothing new. Nothing fresh. Nothing given.

I bring something new, an added hurdle.

A reason to fear.

Your speed is useless against me.
Your tricks and knowledge are made impotent.
Your friends are rendered useless.

I do not fear you, the Mage-in-a-day.

Your threats and abuse are as empty as your soul.

I remain unimpressed by your Tearoom boasts of umpteen K per set, of whom you've killed so far.

You cannot kill me.

I am your Nemesis - my sword of Damocles hangs by a thin, thin thread over your ambition.

Yes, you will wiz, eventually.

But not before I have blasted a FODded hole in your over-inflated ego.

And you can always 'do a Reverence'.
Sneak the last 9 yards at 6 am.
Even fodders sleep.

Cccc has been resting.
But no new truces.

The land has been bereft of the cries of the fodded Mage for too long.

No tyrant is he, but Cccc is waiting ...

Is watching.