Hehehe, Tentacle raped...
And I'm still undecided on if Ghornal and Kuja's little... whatever is going to go terribly ill for us or amazingly well...
Warhammer 40K: The Chaos Dozen
Moderator: LadyTevar
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Captain Cyran
- Psycho Mini-lop
- Posts: 7037
- Joined: 2002-07-05 11:00pm
- Location: College... w00t?
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The Yosemite Bear
- Mostly Harmless Nutcase (Requiescat in Pace)
- Posts: 35211
- Joined: 2002-07-21 02:38am
- Location: Dave's Not Here Man
-
The Yosemite Bear
- Mostly Harmless Nutcase (Requiescat in Pace)
- Posts: 35211
- Joined: 2002-07-21 02:38am
- Location: Dave's Not Here Man
-
Ford Prefect
- Emperor's Hand
- Posts: 8254
- Joined: 2005-05-16 04:08am
- Location: The real number domain
In which the Dozen pass a rather strange night:
Chapter 4
You remember it perfectly.
Your brothers fought like rabid wolves and the enemy gave as good as they got. Blood soaked the ashen-gray dirt beneath your feet and armored corpses littered ground already difficult to traverse because of the jagged rocks. The sky above was a vivid purplish color that radiated from the Eye of Terror.
Your enemies were gruesomely creative, using the gathering pools of blood to hide because they knew their own blood-red armor would blend in perfectly. Your brothers brought their creativity to nothing as they fell back, gathering around you as you held your staff aloft and shouted words of praise to them. Your voice went hoarse hours ago but you continued to force the words through your aching and dry throat.
Yet you and your brothers were losing. Your enemies were simply too determined to hold back, damn their eyes. You would have liked nothing more than to rush their line and die amongst the corpses you had created, but you could feel your brothers' eyes on you and you knew that if you were to perish in such a way, they all would follow you into the jaws of death.
It was that very loyalty that drove you to do what you did next. You fell to your knees and hastily scribbled in the bloody dirt at your feet, creating an arcane symbol that hurt your eyes to look upon. You spoke words that cracked your already parched throat and split your dry lips and as you finished speaking the ground began to shake.
That was when it went wrong. One of your brothers stepped back to balance himself as he fired and planted his foot right into the circle of runes. An instant later things were out of control as the ground blazed with light and your brother screamed. Great wings of blackness erupted from his back. Before your eyes he drew his chainsword and charged forward, his body transforming and he rent his way through his own lines. Within moments he had carved a path to the Blood Angels and begun to kill his way up and down their formation. By now he was no longer your brother but a daemon, one of the infamous Bloodthirsters of Khorne. The daemon tore the Blood Angels apart and, unsated, turned back to you and your brothers. They all opened fire as it began to sweep them aside with powerful blows from its claws.
It came straight towards you...
---------------------------------------
Nongenti Scalk sat up with a grunt and rubbed his face, the Bloodthirster's howl still ringing in his ears. It had nearly been a full year since that black day but that bone-jarring scream still rang in his ears as strongly as it had then. Shaking his head as though to dislodge the memory, he left the bed and knelt on the floor. Splaying his hands before him to create an approximation of the star of Chaos, he bowed his head and closed his eyes. "Mighty Khorne, god of power and strength, gracious Slaanesh, master of love and beauty, patient Nurgle, god of plague and unceasing endurance, wise Tzeentch, god of magic and change, I prostrate myself before you."
"What a waste of time."
Scalk flew to his feet and spun towards the darkest corner of the room. A figure moved there, one equally as large as he. His red eyes narrowed. "Talen?"
"None other." The green-black figure took a step forward so that Scalk could see him more clearly. The dark apostle reached out his hand and suddenly his crozius was there, hissing like a snake.
"How dare you invade my most private sanctum, this holy room dedicated to the gods," he snarled. Talen shrugged. "How the hell did you get in, anyway?"
"I'm Alpha Legion, chaplain. I go anywhere I please." Talen's head tilted to the left, reminding Scalk of the raptor. "But as to your first remark, I heard you talking in your sleep."
Scalk blinked. "Was I? What was I saying?"
"It sounded like battle orders. 'Form up on the west flank' and suchlike. Then you just started saying 'daemon' over and over."
Scalk frowned deeply. "Please remove yourself from my chambers, Talen," he said after a moment.
The Alpha Legionnaire nodded and casually went to the door. "Take care, chaplain," he said as he closed it behind him.
---------------------------------
"Ohhhhhhhh, what do ye do with a drunken sailor, what do ye do with a drunken sailor, what do ye do with a drunken sailor ear-lie in the mornin'? Put 'em inna bed wit'the captain's daughter, put 'em inna bed wit'the captain's daughter, put 'em inna bed wit'the captain's daughter, ear-lie in the mornin'!"
"Heru!"
"Whazza- oh, g'morn t' ye brother-captain! What brings ye up here at this late hour?"
"Your singing voice," Cyran replied as he looked up at the man. The crazed rogue trader hung suspended from the logic machines high above the bridge floor, his support chair far below him and his legless stumps capped off by a pair of tourniquets.
"Oh, ye heard me little ditty, did ye? 'Tis an old one, aye, as old as the spacefarin' days themselves, 'tis said! My pipes may not be as smooth as once they were, but I reckon I can still do 'er justice."
"I'll pass comment," Cyran replied dryly. "What are you doing up there?"
"Wor'in' on th' rear ou'pu'!" Heru yelled back with the distinct sound of someone holding a tool with their teeth. "Ees n't wor'in righ'!"
"Need a hand?"
"Nay lad!" Heru said, voice clear again. "I've been doin' this work years now! And I'm done up here anyway! Look out beloooooooow!" Heru suddenly yanked on a nearby line and came rocketing down towards the deck, landing with pinpoint accuracy back in his suspensor chair.
"Shouldn't you be asleep at this time of night?"
"Hah. I'll sleep when I'm dead, me lad." Heru glided over to one of the consoles and hit a switch. "How's that look Dalton?" he yelled.
"Better," the console replied. Heru nodded and switched it off.
"You got Dalton to help you?"
"Aye. The lad took a room near th'engines an' agreed t' help me with the work." The man chuckled. "Death Guard an' their engines…e'er since that one'o them threw their Navigators out the window they been obsessed with 'em."
"Typhus, you mean."
"Aye, that's the one! Smart lad, that one, not on the talkative side but decent enough."
"Wait a minute. You're saying you've met Typhus the Traveler?"
"Aye lad, ferried him out t'his battleship once 'pon a time! Came along wit' his bodyguards, big fellas all 'round, even for marines, and o'course those scythes they carried were even bigger!" Heru held his hands about three feet apart to emphasize his point. "Met that Fabius whatshisname once too, now him, there's a nutter and a half an' no mistake."
"What was he like in person?"
---------------------------------
"How's that look Dalton?"
"Better," he replied, and the line shut off. With the severed line came a return to the feeling of isolation he'd grown used to staying in the ship's engine compartment. Just over his head the massive machine thrummed heavily, filling the air itself with vibration. Dalton sniffed the air and noted that the scent of smoke he'd detected earlier had gotten stronger. Something had to be frying wires. Grabbing the repair kit from beneath the intercom, he set off along the catwalk that hung suspended over almost four stories of pipes and cables, following the scent to one of the routing stations. There he found no less than three wires curled around each other, their protective rubber coats stripped away. Dalton frowned. That couldn't possibly have happened by accident. As smoothly as he could, he set the repair kit down and unhooked his helmet from his belt, slowly setting it on his head. It activated upon contact with his armor and suddenly the world became a thousand times sharper. Dalton unhooked his scythe and cautiously assumed a defensive stance, eyes and ears straining.
Something moved behind a plume of steam.
Dalton grabbed the railing and flung himself over the side, dropping almost a full story to the one below it. It shook with his impact but he was already charging down it, scythe back and ready to sweep an enemy's legs out from under them. The Death Guard stampeded through the doorway out of the engine room to find-
-an empty corridor.
The looked at everything, the ceiling, the floor, and the walls to find his quarry, but there was nothing. He switched through different visual and audio filters, but there was still nothing. No heat from footsteps. No sound from scrabbling claws. No breathing. No motion. He replayed his helmet footage to confirm what he'd thought he had seen, but watching it over and over, it could have been almost anything, like a wave of heat distorting the steam. Such a thing happened on occasion...
To make sure, he stalked all the way up to where the corridor met two others. Still nothing. Nothing loose, nothing out of place, nothing at all. Finally lowering his scythe, he decided that it must have been a distortion in the steam. In any case, he needed to tend to that routing station.
----------------------------
As the green-armored figure slowly receded into the distance, he let his breath out as silently as he could. Close, he thought, but not nearly close enough, mon-keigh.
Chapter 4
You remember it perfectly.
Your brothers fought like rabid wolves and the enemy gave as good as they got. Blood soaked the ashen-gray dirt beneath your feet and armored corpses littered ground already difficult to traverse because of the jagged rocks. The sky above was a vivid purplish color that radiated from the Eye of Terror.
Your enemies were gruesomely creative, using the gathering pools of blood to hide because they knew their own blood-red armor would blend in perfectly. Your brothers brought their creativity to nothing as they fell back, gathering around you as you held your staff aloft and shouted words of praise to them. Your voice went hoarse hours ago but you continued to force the words through your aching and dry throat.
Yet you and your brothers were losing. Your enemies were simply too determined to hold back, damn their eyes. You would have liked nothing more than to rush their line and die amongst the corpses you had created, but you could feel your brothers' eyes on you and you knew that if you were to perish in such a way, they all would follow you into the jaws of death.
It was that very loyalty that drove you to do what you did next. You fell to your knees and hastily scribbled in the bloody dirt at your feet, creating an arcane symbol that hurt your eyes to look upon. You spoke words that cracked your already parched throat and split your dry lips and as you finished speaking the ground began to shake.
That was when it went wrong. One of your brothers stepped back to balance himself as he fired and planted his foot right into the circle of runes. An instant later things were out of control as the ground blazed with light and your brother screamed. Great wings of blackness erupted from his back. Before your eyes he drew his chainsword and charged forward, his body transforming and he rent his way through his own lines. Within moments he had carved a path to the Blood Angels and begun to kill his way up and down their formation. By now he was no longer your brother but a daemon, one of the infamous Bloodthirsters of Khorne. The daemon tore the Blood Angels apart and, unsated, turned back to you and your brothers. They all opened fire as it began to sweep them aside with powerful blows from its claws.
It came straight towards you...
---------------------------------------
Nongenti Scalk sat up with a grunt and rubbed his face, the Bloodthirster's howl still ringing in his ears. It had nearly been a full year since that black day but that bone-jarring scream still rang in his ears as strongly as it had then. Shaking his head as though to dislodge the memory, he left the bed and knelt on the floor. Splaying his hands before him to create an approximation of the star of Chaos, he bowed his head and closed his eyes. "Mighty Khorne, god of power and strength, gracious Slaanesh, master of love and beauty, patient Nurgle, god of plague and unceasing endurance, wise Tzeentch, god of magic and change, I prostrate myself before you."
"What a waste of time."
Scalk flew to his feet and spun towards the darkest corner of the room. A figure moved there, one equally as large as he. His red eyes narrowed. "Talen?"
"None other." The green-black figure took a step forward so that Scalk could see him more clearly. The dark apostle reached out his hand and suddenly his crozius was there, hissing like a snake.
"How dare you invade my most private sanctum, this holy room dedicated to the gods," he snarled. Talen shrugged. "How the hell did you get in, anyway?"
"I'm Alpha Legion, chaplain. I go anywhere I please." Talen's head tilted to the left, reminding Scalk of the raptor. "But as to your first remark, I heard you talking in your sleep."
Scalk blinked. "Was I? What was I saying?"
"It sounded like battle orders. 'Form up on the west flank' and suchlike. Then you just started saying 'daemon' over and over."
Scalk frowned deeply. "Please remove yourself from my chambers, Talen," he said after a moment.
The Alpha Legionnaire nodded and casually went to the door. "Take care, chaplain," he said as he closed it behind him.
---------------------------------
"Ohhhhhhhh, what do ye do with a drunken sailor, what do ye do with a drunken sailor, what do ye do with a drunken sailor ear-lie in the mornin'? Put 'em inna bed wit'the captain's daughter, put 'em inna bed wit'the captain's daughter, put 'em inna bed wit'the captain's daughter, ear-lie in the mornin'!"
"Heru!"
"Whazza- oh, g'morn t' ye brother-captain! What brings ye up here at this late hour?"
"Your singing voice," Cyran replied as he looked up at the man. The crazed rogue trader hung suspended from the logic machines high above the bridge floor, his support chair far below him and his legless stumps capped off by a pair of tourniquets.
"Oh, ye heard me little ditty, did ye? 'Tis an old one, aye, as old as the spacefarin' days themselves, 'tis said! My pipes may not be as smooth as once they were, but I reckon I can still do 'er justice."
"I'll pass comment," Cyran replied dryly. "What are you doing up there?"
"Wor'in' on th' rear ou'pu'!" Heru yelled back with the distinct sound of someone holding a tool with their teeth. "Ees n't wor'in righ'!"
"Need a hand?"
"Nay lad!" Heru said, voice clear again. "I've been doin' this work years now! And I'm done up here anyway! Look out beloooooooow!" Heru suddenly yanked on a nearby line and came rocketing down towards the deck, landing with pinpoint accuracy back in his suspensor chair.
"Shouldn't you be asleep at this time of night?"
"Hah. I'll sleep when I'm dead, me lad." Heru glided over to one of the consoles and hit a switch. "How's that look Dalton?" he yelled.
"Better," the console replied. Heru nodded and switched it off.
"You got Dalton to help you?"
"Aye. The lad took a room near th'engines an' agreed t' help me with the work." The man chuckled. "Death Guard an' their engines…e'er since that one'o them threw their Navigators out the window they been obsessed with 'em."
"Typhus, you mean."
"Aye, that's the one! Smart lad, that one, not on the talkative side but decent enough."
"Wait a minute. You're saying you've met Typhus the Traveler?"
"Aye lad, ferried him out t'his battleship once 'pon a time! Came along wit' his bodyguards, big fellas all 'round, even for marines, and o'course those scythes they carried were even bigger!" Heru held his hands about three feet apart to emphasize his point. "Met that Fabius whatshisname once too, now him, there's a nutter and a half an' no mistake."
"What was he like in person?"
---------------------------------
"How's that look Dalton?"
"Better," he replied, and the line shut off. With the severed line came a return to the feeling of isolation he'd grown used to staying in the ship's engine compartment. Just over his head the massive machine thrummed heavily, filling the air itself with vibration. Dalton sniffed the air and noted that the scent of smoke he'd detected earlier had gotten stronger. Something had to be frying wires. Grabbing the repair kit from beneath the intercom, he set off along the catwalk that hung suspended over almost four stories of pipes and cables, following the scent to one of the routing stations. There he found no less than three wires curled around each other, their protective rubber coats stripped away. Dalton frowned. That couldn't possibly have happened by accident. As smoothly as he could, he set the repair kit down and unhooked his helmet from his belt, slowly setting it on his head. It activated upon contact with his armor and suddenly the world became a thousand times sharper. Dalton unhooked his scythe and cautiously assumed a defensive stance, eyes and ears straining.
Something moved behind a plume of steam.
Dalton grabbed the railing and flung himself over the side, dropping almost a full story to the one below it. It shook with his impact but he was already charging down it, scythe back and ready to sweep an enemy's legs out from under them. The Death Guard stampeded through the doorway out of the engine room to find-
-an empty corridor.
The looked at everything, the ceiling, the floor, and the walls to find his quarry, but there was nothing. He switched through different visual and audio filters, but there was still nothing. No heat from footsteps. No sound from scrabbling claws. No breathing. No motion. He replayed his helmet footage to confirm what he'd thought he had seen, but watching it over and over, it could have been almost anything, like a wave of heat distorting the steam. Such a thing happened on occasion...
To make sure, he stalked all the way up to where the corridor met two others. Still nothing. Nothing loose, nothing out of place, nothing at all. Finally lowering his scythe, he decided that it must have been a distortion in the steam. In any case, he needed to tend to that routing station.
----------------------------
As the green-armored figure slowly receded into the distance, he let his breath out as silently as he could. Close, he thought, but not nearly close enough, mon-keigh.
JADAFETWA
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Captain Cyran
- Psycho Mini-lop
- Posts: 7037
- Joined: 2002-07-05 11:00pm
- Location: College... w00t?
Heru's met Typhus and Fabius? *puts him up a number of notches on the respect post.*
Interesting dream Scalk had, now we know what went wrong.
And those Slaneesh damned eldar, always mucking about in everyone's business. And it takes days to clean off all the damned blood after you put a few bolter rounds in them.
Interesting dream Scalk had, now we know what went wrong.
And those Slaneesh damned eldar, always mucking about in everyone's business. And it takes days to clean off all the damned blood after you put a few bolter rounds in them.
Justice League, Super-Villain Carnage "Carnage Rules!" Cult of the Kitten Mew... The Black Mage with The Knife SD.Net Chronicler of the Past Bun Bun is my hero. The Official Verilonitis Vaccinator
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Ford Prefect
- Emperor's Hand
- Posts: 8254
- Joined: 2005-05-16 04:08am
- Location: The real number domain
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The Yosemite Bear
- Mostly Harmless Nutcase (Requiescat in Pace)
- Posts: 35211
- Joined: 2002-07-21 02:38am
- Location: Dave's Not Here Man
Worse.. there's a chance the Eldar's me.The Yosemite Bear wrote:Well there's a chance that the eldar's me, but then again I think I asked to be an Incubus....
Me: Nope, that's why I have you around to tell me.
Nitram: You -are- beautiful. Anyone tries to tell you otherwise kill them.
"A life is like a garden. Perfect moments can be had, but not preserved, except in memory. LLAP" -- Leonard Nimoy, last Tweet
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The Yosemite Bear
- Mostly Harmless Nutcase (Requiescat in Pace)
- Posts: 35211
- Joined: 2002-07-21 02:38am
- Location: Dave's Not Here Man
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Daltonator
- Reclusive Wanker
- Posts: 383
- Joined: 2003-03-23 03:10pm
- Location: Zelda fanboy heaven
- Contact:
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Typhonis 1
- Rabid Monkey Scientist
- Posts: 5791
- Joined: 2002-07-06 12:07am
- Location: deep within a secret cloning lab hidden in the brotherhood of the monkey thread
Only a two-page interlude, not much of an update, but I promise there is more coming soon!
In which the St. Dylan's Vengeance recieves word from an approaching ship:
Interlude: Aboard Ship
A few more strides and the rating's breath would give out entirely. The envelope clutched in his right hand felt heavier than lead. He turned a corner and immediately skidded to a stop as the armsmen fixed him with their shotguns. He held up his hands and displayed the envelope. "Astropathic communiqué," he said hurriedly. "Captain's eyes only. Code Alpha-alpha-unus-deus-unus-alpha." The shotguns returned to at-ease and the rating again plunged forward, remembering to stop and cordially knock on the captain's door.
"Yes, enter," a brusque voice replied. The young man pushed open the door and stepped through the threshold into the captain's quarters. The room was brightly lit and he had to narrow his eyes to keep from being blinded. "Captain Garrenheim," he said as he snapped to attention. "Astropathic contact, four days outside the system."
"From?" the hawk-faced old man demanded.
The rating held out the sealed envelope. "Security Apex, sir," he said stiffly. "Your eyes only."
Garrenheim came forward and took the envelope, splitting the seal with his thumb and retrieving the single sheet of paper within.
------------------------------------
-----------------------------------
Garrenheim pursed his lips before looking up at the rating and nodding in dismissal. The young man snapped a salute and was out the door a moment later. Garrenheim took a moment to reread the transcript and then he, too, was out the door saying, "get me Commissar Eugor."
-----------------------------------
Guardsman Bass was awakened rudely along with ninety-nine other members of the Imperial Guard by the sound of a waste receptacle being hurled down the aisle of their bunkroom. "Up and on your feet you lazy bastards!" bellowed the voice of Major Bezz. Bass grunted under his breath and rose to his feet, his mental clock telling him that roughly four hours had passed since he'd fallen asleep.
What the hell was it this time?
In which the St. Dylan's Vengeance recieves word from an approaching ship:
Interlude: Aboard Ship
A few more strides and the rating's breath would give out entirely. The envelope clutched in his right hand felt heavier than lead. He turned a corner and immediately skidded to a stop as the armsmen fixed him with their shotguns. He held up his hands and displayed the envelope. "Astropathic communiqué," he said hurriedly. "Captain's eyes only. Code Alpha-alpha-unus-deus-unus-alpha." The shotguns returned to at-ease and the rating again plunged forward, remembering to stop and cordially knock on the captain's door.
"Yes, enter," a brusque voice replied. The young man pushed open the door and stepped through the threshold into the captain's quarters. The room was brightly lit and he had to narrow his eyes to keep from being blinded. "Captain Garrenheim," he said as he snapped to attention. "Astropathic contact, four days outside the system."
"From?" the hawk-faced old man demanded.
The rating held out the sealed envelope. "Security Apex, sir," he said stiffly. "Your eyes only."
Garrenheim came forward and took the envelope, splitting the seal with his thumb and retrieving the single sheet of paper within.
------------------------------------
Code: Select all
FM: Brother-captain Jerris, Rogue Trader Alsace
TO: Captain Raul Garrenheim, St. Dylan's Vengeance
RE: Urgent meeting
VIA: Direct Astropathic Contact
MSG:
Captain Garrenheim. I am Brother-captain Jerris of the Adeptus Astartes Dark Angels chapter. I am currently en route to your ship's current location. I must speak to you upon my arrival.
My time is short and so this message must be as well. My strike cruiser has been destroyed and I am coming to you as fast as this ship's engines will carry me. I am pursued by the forces of the Great Enemy. Make ready your ship's weapons and any soldiers you have aboard. I have no doubt that soon after my arrival we will be engaged in pitched battle.
-Jerris
In Nomine Imperator
CD: Alpha-Gamma-Epsilon-Delta-Delta-Omega-Alpha-LegioGarrenheim pursed his lips before looking up at the rating and nodding in dismissal. The young man snapped a salute and was out the door a moment later. Garrenheim took a moment to reread the transcript and then he, too, was out the door saying, "get me Commissar Eugor."
-----------------------------------
Guardsman Bass was awakened rudely along with ninety-nine other members of the Imperial Guard by the sound of a waste receptacle being hurled down the aisle of their bunkroom. "Up and on your feet you lazy bastards!" bellowed the voice of Major Bezz. Bass grunted under his breath and rose to his feet, his mental clock telling him that roughly four hours had passed since he'd fallen asleep.
What the hell was it this time?
JADAFETWA
-
Ford Prefect
- Emperor's Hand
- Posts: 8254
- Joined: 2005-05-16 04:08am
- Location: The real number domain
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Vehrec
- Jedi Council Member
- Posts: 2204
- Joined: 2006-04-22 12:29pm
- Location: The Ohio State University
- Contact:
You never know, he might be a recurring character. A kind of witness to all the shit that goes down each and every time the Dozen raid an Imperial base. They might start to wonder though, when they notice that terrified guardsman #3 is the same every time they board a facility or infiltrate behind enemy lines.
Commander of the MFS Darwinian Selection Method (sexual)-
Ford Prefect
- Emperor's Hand
- Posts: 8254
- Joined: 2005-05-16 04:08am
- Location: The real number domain
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The Yosemite Bear
- Mostly Harmless Nutcase (Requiescat in Pace)
- Posts: 35211
- Joined: 2002-07-21 02:38am
- Location: Dave's Not Here Man
I *miss* Firewalkers Guide!
Me: Nope, that's why I have you around to tell me.
Nitram: You -are- beautiful. Anyone tries to tell you otherwise kill them.
"A life is like a garden. Perfect moments can be had, but not preserved, except in memory. LLAP" -- Leonard Nimoy, last Tweet
-
The Yosemite Bear
- Mostly Harmless Nutcase (Requiescat in Pace)
- Posts: 35211
- Joined: 2002-07-21 02:38am
- Location: Dave's Not Here Man
Who do we demand more chapters from?The Yosemite Bear wrote:me too kitty, me too....
Me: Nope, that's why I have you around to tell me.
Nitram: You -are- beautiful. Anyone tries to tell you otherwise kill them.
"A life is like a garden. Perfect moments can be had, but not preserved, except in memory. LLAP" -- Leonard Nimoy, last Tweet
-
The Yosemite Bear
- Mostly Harmless Nutcase (Requiescat in Pace)
- Posts: 35211
- Joined: 2002-07-21 02:38am
- Location: Dave's Not Here Man
http://bbs.stardestroyer.net/profile.ph ... file&u=413LadyTevar wrote:Who do we demand more chapters from?The Yosemite Bear wrote:me too kitty, me too....
this guy
The scariest folk song lyrics are "My Boy Grew up to be just like me" from cats in the cradle by Harry Chapin
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Ford Prefect
- Emperor's Hand
- Posts: 8254
- Joined: 2005-05-16 04:08am
- Location: The real number domain
