<div style="text-align: left;"><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: georgia;"><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 8pt;">Edmund Sullen  (Level 1 Spookamancer) <br/>LIV 1  BSH  1  SNK 1  LIK 1  WHT 1  RED 1  BLU 1  GRN 1  BLK 3  XP *<br/>Healthy  <br/>_________________________________________________________________________________<br/></span></span></div><br/>“But Bella…” Edmund’s voice would have trailed off had Cassibella not interrupted him.<br/><br/>“But nothing Edmund, you’re a disgusting wart. No, you’re the disgusting pus inside of disgusting wart, on top of a disgusting pig. You disgust me…you and your prowling around in the dark and gloom; how you gloat over your power but never actually do anything.”<br/><br/>“b-“ Edmund began before being cut off again.<br/><br/>“And my name, is Cassibellaunus, you dimwit. Go, now, and approach me again once you’ve made something of yourself. I need a man who is strong, a man with a name for himself, who can sweep me off my feet and, most importantly, make me famous. Are you such a man?”<br/><br/>“n-“<br/><br/>“I didn’t think so” Cassibellaunus said before Edmund could finish a thought. She stormed off, her puffy violet dress flaring around her slender form as if the wind had just picked up to further emphasize her point.<br/><br/>Edmund Sullen sulked, his eyes lowering their gaze to the ground, where it remained for quite some time…much too desolate to venture a glance upward, where there the sun might be vile enough to send its gleaming rays of light. Light meant hope, and there was certainly nothing to hope for, not without his dearest, Bella.<br/><br/>“Ah…Bella” Edmund sighed, wishing he didn’t have to spend so much time keeping his secret buried so deep, so deep that not even Bella could know it.<br/><br/>Eventually, Edmund wandered out of the alley he had finally cornered Bella in and began snooping around town for a way to sink in his sorrows. He found such a place…”Questgivers Inn”. He had never drank before, but had heard that normal people did this when they were upset; Edmund was upset, and had to give the impression of being normal, so he ventured inside and sat close to the bar. He reached in to his black jacket, allowing the rest of the world to see that he, indeed, wore a black vest underneath, and had on a black shirt underneath that. For future reference, his leggings were also black, and vanished into a pair of black boots. Edmund’s raven hair had a constant gleam and look of dishevelment. His skin, the constant look of being drained of blood.<br/><br/>Edmund reached in to his jacket, pulling out a small slip of paper, a quill pen, and a jar of the blackest of inks. He began scrawling a poem.<br/><br/><em>Woe is me<br/>And woe is everything.<br/>For everything is like woe.<br/>The taunting sky, and the glaring stars<br/>The bastard children, and putrescent bars.<br/><br/>Bellaunus and her damned lack of love<br/>Bears such a loathsome resemblance to woe,<br/>It Stabs, Rips, and Tears,<br/>At my heart. So much so<br/>I cannot bear to shed a tear.<br/>Woe is me.<br/>Woe is everything.<br/></em>