Level 15 - Grand Lord King Master of Wordsmithy
We were crossing a ridge when Corgan was lifted off the ground by something. 'Shoot it! Shoot the tyrannosaur!' he screamed as blood streamed from the puncture wounds that had opened up in belly. I fired into the empty space above him to no effect. Then Corgan's ragged corpse dropped to the forest floor, and I was alone. Utterly alone. There was no dinosaur. There was nothing.
A tree that sends roaming fruit on a singular quest.
When photons bounce off your subs and into my retinas, this is how my headmeats give me numerals.