I cannot recall a time where standing in Edgeville wasn’t as appealing as a non-stop Viking Raid. Perhaps the act is deeply embedded into my DNA, seemingly providing a chance to show my commitment to the art form. Often times I find myself in a defensive manner, protecting the integrity of Edgesitting; after all, this takes an undeterred motivation to hold yourself amongst the most decorated of Sitters. The position garners all manner of insult, and I am often accused of hoarding my pixelated treasure as if I were some flamboyant pirate. “Go PK or something, nerd”, they shout as my dyed bunny legs glow ever so luminously against the creeping Fog of War drifting from the nearby Wilderness border.

“Help a brother out? I promise to pay back.”

Oh, Swifty. I both admire and adore your commitment to the vilified practice of begging. However, you shan't find another victim here; no, I need Desert Boots and traveling to Al Kharid would render my beloved tile vacant. I must remain in Edgeville. As I type this, five minutes have passed and I am once more craving the overpriced attention of the Make Over Mage. Let’s be fair here: I visit this con artist on more than one occasion every hour, paying enough gold to rebuild his feeble hut twice-over. I feel entitled to a life-time membership… nay, a separate room adjacent to the very wizard whom I clearly pay the bills for.

Blue pants, that’s nice. I’ll be back in thirty minutes anyways, but these will do for now. I guess an indecent set of breasts to compliment my beard would add allure to the overall product.

Oh look, another victim has fallen to Yuri. Perhaps they’ll never learn. Anything to distract them from challenging me as the reigning Edgesitter, I suppose.