I have walked the earth nigh 20 years, always searching for that which would make me whole. I have failed and have been reborn 9 times. Each one has been more painful than the last. I thrive on misery it seems. The cause of my most recent rebirth is perhaps the odd nature of my relationship with my Queen of Spades. The spirits know that there is very little that can quench my rage-all that I have done has been undone in a few words...and they have ruined me-I've turned to dust. Ash. I am once again...hollow. My blood runs cold like ice. My senses have been numbed. However I have become a dynamo. And all of the great daemons know it.

Art is the last thing on earth. When all else has died I will have my quill in hand, and my art shall rule me wholly.