06-27-2003, 06:19 AM
There was Wirt, sullen, destitute, shivering, and cowering alone in the shadows of Charsiâs makeshift tent, beads of sweat trickled down to the tip of his hawkish nose, as he racked his brain muttering, âWhy are these psychopaths ruining my life, first they kill my rescuer, The Butcher, and now they huddle around the fire here in the rogue's camp, chanting their curse âWug, Wug, get leg, make, make, omfg, make u n00b, get leg, get legââ¦what a nightmare, I hope they don't loot my corpse!