Hello everyone! I'm glad you have selected this story! It's my first time writing a fanfic, so please don't be hard on me. I welcome criticism, constructive ones. Woohoo! Yes one particular name seems a little, how should I say, unique? I hope it does not bother you all, if you really feel extremely against it, I'll take it under consideration. I hope this does not bore you, the beginning might be a little uneventful. It is a prologue, so well, read it! :) Finish it please! Do the review thing too! (Terribly sorry, incredibly new to this) Oh ya, I have no idea where's the dash button, so I used this ---. Hope it does not affect the story itself.^^ I have minimal knowledge of Warcraft, so please bear with me and feed me with your superior knowledge so I can write more accurately! Oh yes one more thing, I do not own anything except the two characters. I think.
Prologue
In an inn, residing in an adequately prosperous town of Goldshire, a fireplace as bombarded with tinder. The room was gloomy and the air as cold; too cold for the man's liking. After several failed attempts to light the stubborn firewood, the logs finally began to succumb to its fiery fate. It grew from an infinitesimal glow into a magnificent light source. The interior of the room once again displayed its vibrant colors with a delicate shade of yellow. Heat from the fireplace chased the dreadful cold out of the confinement gradually, but did not deter the draught from sneaking in through the windows. The wind attacked the fire, causing it to flicker back and forth, albeit unharmed. Taylor Smith dusted his hands, surveyed his bright handiwork for the last time and sought comfort from an oaken chair. In front of him was an oaken table with a bleached cloth draped over it. A piece of paper lay peacefully atop the oaken furniture. Eyes belonging to the man on the chair began to travel to and fro, registering the point of the message imprinted. The caption read "Enlist now and become part of the elite!" The rest of the printing described exaggerated benefits and the procedure should a person be interested. Taylor could not care less for those sentences---except one. The pay seemed promising, he noted. He could do with some money; he will not survive long without a job.
Footfalls coming from the entrance of the inn disrupted Taylor's contemplation. The mind abandoned its thoughts to attend to the familiar sounds coming from the entrance. The mind was quick to conclude; it was unmistakable. He knew with absolute confidence that the footfalls came from his one and only brother, Cleevar. Yet again, after several years, at this particular time, his older brother came back to this humble little inn with ingredients and spices to satisfy the everlasting hunger of the lodgers. Cleevar, the breadwinner of the two-member family, was a foodie. He showed exceptional effort and enthusiasm towards culinary skills. His ability enabled him to excel in just about everything concerning food, which led him to the position as head chef of Goldshire inn. Fortunately for Taylor, Cleevar's wages allowed the to brothers to live with food. But only just, since Taylor was unemployed. His stomach let out a frightful growl, which snapped the younger Smith out of the trance. He had stoned at the spot for quite some time; the kitchen was already alive. He stood up with some reluctance, and made his way to the kitchen to search for food to pacify his eager stomach, leaving the letter to rest undisturbed on the oaken craftwork.
Bubbling, sizzling and spluttering sounds became more clear and significant as Taylor's legs brought him closer to the kitchen. So did the delightful yet confusing aroma that permeated the ground floor of the inn. As he descended down the stairs, he began to contemplate the consequences should he meet his older sibling. Cleevar had constantly reminded and griped about his unemployment for many months now, and it is unlikely he would stop anytime soon. He could remember his previous job like it was yesterday. Yes, he can imagine it now---he saw himself hacking away half-heartedly at the wretched boring tree which seemed exceptionally tough, not willing to go down. Yet. His cranky old boss would every now and then to check on his progress. That, and to urge him to pick up the pace or reprimand him on his attitude. Then he began to remember that fateful day; the day that marked the start of his unemployment days. He was bored witless, hacking away at the poor defenseless tree. An idea, or rather a prank, surfaced into his mind. His face brightened, stopped terrorizing the tree and its inhabitants to search for the tree he desired. He found a large tree; a tree that could well crash onto his boss's house if it were to be fallen. With some lumberjacking skills, of course. He began to plot and plan to make sure the tree hits right at onto the chimney. That should fix that obnoxious old man. There was no going back now. His mind only focused on hacking and no conscience could steer him away from his thirst for excitement. And a handful of revenge. He began hacking away like a maniac, adrenaline flowing through his arms, making each strike count. Soon he was one swipe away to achieve his absurd yet satisfying goal. At that point, the elder sibling was sprinting madly to stop his maniacal sibling from executing the final blow. The younger sibling, tugged by his brother, regained his composure and lowered his armed limb. The two Smiths then sighed with relief, relieved an impending disaster was avoided. But the tree and Taylor seemed destined to finish the deed. The younger Smith, realizing his demented acts, felt absurd and flung the damned axe in an attempt to remove his involvement in the prank. The tainted hatchet flew gracefully in the air and found itself wedged onto the trunk of the dying tree. The blow was not powerful enough to cause immediate effect, but the tree was on the verge of breaking. Catalyzed by the axe, every second was a chance for the tension to burgeon. Soon the timber gave way and slowly, but surely, crashed onto its intended target. Four eyes followed the timber as it fell, its respective bodies stood rooted to the lush green ground. The chimney was gone. The tree laid onto the cylindrical dent it made on the red-tiled roof. Debris littered the area of the incident wonderfully. The younger Smith moved closer to the damaged building, eyes transfixed upon his grim handiwork with awe and a hint of relish. The elder brother regained his senses first, tugging his sibling away from the area, hoping fervently of escaping without any witnesses. Too late it was. The owner of the building was already running towards them, shouting vile words. The two Smiths were agile than the aged man, escaping into the thick forest, however, only to delay the inevitable. Taylor could picture the next scene---his boss was flying off the handle, bellowing inconceivable words at him. The only words that Taylor understood were "You-Are-Fired!" A debt was even placed on the Smiths. His trip to memory lane was over---his stomach growled yet again, urging the younger Smith to find some edibles.
The kitchen was lukewarm. In fact, that would be an understatement. All the sizzling, spluttering and bubbling sounds seemed to have created a hypnotic symphony. People were scrambling around the kitchen floor, passing orders and food in a fantastically synchronized way. Errors did not seem to be tolerated in the kitchen; everyone was using considerable effort to keep the rhythm flowing. Faces were intense, too preoccupied by the continuous work, beads of sweat would sometimes trickle down their faces. In other words, working in the kitchen isn't easy. The kitchen seemed very much alike to a combating warship. The chefs were busy preparing the load, which were collected by others to be placed on the counter, where it would be 'fired off' by the cashier at the hungry lodgers. Every plate that reaches the counter behind the cashier is accompanied by a ding from a bell with a rope dangling down, hanged by the top corner of the opening behind the cashier. So there was a lot of dinging going on. Seeing all these people laboring away, Taylor felt a pang of guilt for his brother, but he was at the same time glad that it was not him who was working. Taylor Smith moved deeper into the kitchen, searching for a meal while avoiding interruption of the operations. At long last, he found his breakfast---but wait! The plate lay beside a familiar figure. He was pummeling a chunk of meat, tenderizing it with considerable force. It did not take Taylor long to know who it was. The plate, being near the elder Smith was probably a calculated move. The plate looked fabulous, simply mouth-watering. There was even a faint mist emitting out of the delight; it had been prepared just recently. The smell teased the nose of the younger Smith, beckoning him to savor the meal instead. He could not wait---his stomach could not endure any longer. He must have that plate! The younger Smith closed in surreptitiously, hands ready to grab the plate. Soon it was one step away to taste, no, to consume the delicious morsel-a fat succulent venison garnished with peas and diced carrots topped with thick brown sauce. Everyone was focusing on their work, including Cleevar, giving Taylor an advantage. Maybe it is possible to get the food without Cleevar noticing, Taylor mused. But his untimely stomach was there to prove him wrong by making a loud rumble. The younger Smith held his breath and crossed his fingers. But it was not enough. "Taylor, you lousy loafer. Have you found a job yet?"
That is the last time I cross my fingers, Taylor noted. It was obvious Cleevar wanted to do some more ranting, as he stood motionless, waiting for an answer. The younger Smith decided to keep mum and let his brother to continue his words.
"What part of 'I can't feed the both of us' you don't understand? Do me a favor, will you? Get a job, for Pete's sake."
Taylor could not stand his rantings, furthermore his stomach could not wait for the older Smith to finish. A unanimous decision was made in his mind. Grabbing the warm plate uncaringly, he turned a deaf ear and headed out of the kitchen to his room as if nothing happened.
"Hey I'm not done yet! Come back here!"
Before he could finish his sentence, he found himself only with people that have been with him from the start of the day. Orders were still flowing like a river, which stopped Cleevar from leaving his post. The older Smith then sought relief by channeling his anger onto the tough chunk of meat, tenderizing it with force.
Holding his meal, the younger Smith ascended the stairs, feeling guilty yet furious. Mostly furious anyway. How dare he embarrass him in front of all those people? Must he always be such a nag? Soon he was at the door of his room. Out of all things, the paper that laid peacefully on the oaken craftwork caught his attention. Its end was being teased by the draught; it flickered back and forth with the breeze and at some point it looked as though the paper itself was beckoning him.
"What am I going to do with him? Disgraceful!"
Cleevar's words were faint but not faint enough to go unnoticed by the ears of the younger Smith. The words stung him horribly and rage slowly began to build up in Taylor. That is the last straw, Taylor thought aloud. I'll show you, I'll show you all! The paper found itself within the grasps of the younger Smith's hand, its place being taken by the ceramic white plate. Determined, he headed out in a huff, only to halt half-way, returning to the abandoned meal. After my meal, Taylor muttered.
Soon only remnants consisting of peas and traces of brown sauce lay on top of the plate. Peas looked like green jewels; however does not taste as good as they look. The plate was now cold and neglected; Taylor was busy searching for the clothing he desired. According to the text on the paper, to join the ranks of Stormwind Army one must undergo a series of tests, both physical and psychological oriented at designated areas. To the younger Smith's benefit, the days of unemployment provided excellent time for keeping his body in shape. Maybe I didn't waste all those time, Taylor mused. There were several venues to take those tests; one of them was Northshire, which is, well, north of Goldshire. The moderately muscular man intended to keep his elder brother in the dark, however not indefinitely. He decided he would reveal his intentions to Cleevar at later date, after Taylor himself knew the results of his appeal. One should not count his chickens before they hatch, Taylor reminded himself. It would be humiliating for the younger Smith if the elder Smith should discover the outcome of his appeal, if it were to be undesired. He would demand Cleevar to take back his words after his triumph. The younger Smith grinned mischievously at the thought of that.
It seemed like a second ago he was in Goldshire inn with appropriate clothing---light white top, brown leather pants and boots---ready to set off. Northshire just stood a few yards away from him, so magnificent with all its splendor. The smell of the flora and fauna perfumed the area wonderfully. Behind him stood a massive wall that stretched far, merging with the two green hills that dwarf many. The wall's height was no less inferior to the outcrops. Guards were constantly around the perimeter, as though expecting invaders to arrive. In Northshire, a single infrastructure stood formidably. It seemed that the architects responsible for this marvel made significant effort for it to be as ornate and large as possible, to compensate the fact that only one was erected in Northshire. Red tiles from the roof gleamed crimson brilliantly with the morning light. It is as if every tile on the roof were carefully polished every day. Every now and then, cool breeze would greet Taylor with its delicate touch, caressing his exposed skin. The younger Smith filled his lungs with the invigorating air and exhaled. Under the blessed warm rays from the morning sun, Taylor strode into the tremendous structure, invigorated and confident, eventually to be ushered to the venue.
It was not until now that Taylor realized the considerable number of Stormwind Army personnel dispatched to this location. They seemed to be patrolling the area, keeping trouble-makers at bay. These people were coated head to toe with tough metal armor. The heavy metallic guards worn by these personnel had a silvery exterior, trimmed with gold and cyan colors that glistened in the illuminating sun. Their chest plate had an imprint that looked like a lion's head, the insignia of Stormwind. Not only are they shielded with body armor, a sheathed sword dangled from the side of their waist. The hilt was gold in color; probably made of gold itself. The sheath had intricate gold designs, beautifully crafted by skilled blacksmiths. All of these metallic apparel made them look awe-inspiring, yet at the same time, intimidating. It seemed as though an attack was imminent in Northshire. In other words, the Stormwind Army is just simply impressive. Taylor contemplated about the outcome---he saw himself in the outstanding armour, striding, displaying his authority; or even saving a damsel in distress. The younger Smith eventually found himself in a room with many young eager faces, waiting to be judged.
Group by group, Taylor was told, were escorted further into a room where equipments and examiners await a new batch of soldiers-to-be. The equipments and examiners could only facilitate eight individuals at a time, which justified the grouping. Taylor came at the right time; he was eighth in line. He was in a room with not much interest. The pillars were mildly ornate and the floor was made of marble. The room he was in as pretty much empty. It seemed they expected this room to be packed, thus it removing furniture was the sensible thing to do. He could see some portions of the marble floor to be cleaner and brighter---furniture once occupied those patches of the ground. The younger Smith stood at his spot, unmoving, waiting. Soon the enforced idleness began to invite worrying thoughts that disturbed his hapless, already anxious mind. What if I fail? Am I truly prepared? Such thoughts continued to pester Taylor's mind, causing cold sweat to trickle down his face. Not only did the cold sweat did nothing to ease his worries, it even joined those unrelenting thoughts' campaign with gusto. Before he had a chance to calm his mind, the next eight individuals were directed into the adjacent room.
The physical tests ended as fast as it started. The younger Smith was quite contented with his performance as he noticed some form of approval from the examiners. The only thing that stood in his way to employment was the physiological test. Taylor entered the next room to be welcomed by a man in uniform. The uniform had designs similar to the armor worn by the guards that patrolled this compound. Sitting on a mahogany chair, the man invited the younger Smith to sit opposite of him. A mahogany table served as a border between the two. Taylor accepted the offer, moving forward to the unoccupied dark reddish-brown chair, easing his legs. The man in uniform then picked up a brush, dabbing its furry end with the grim ink from an inkwell. A piece of paper of what looked like a report laid motionless on the reddish-brown table. As the man steadied his hand with the brush, ready to attack the report, he spoke.
"What motivated you to join the Stormwind Army?"
Words came out fast and uncaringly, and one could guess he had repeated this exact same question for the past few hours. Without hesitation, Taylor explained calmly of his unemployed status and found this job's payment to be promising. And he could serve the kingdom, too.
"Anything else you want to add?", the uniformed man probed, eyes wide with astonishment, surprised by the younger Smith's nonchalant and straightforward answer.
Taylor Smith shook his head mildly in response. That was the cue for the hand with the brush; the armed hand began attacking the report with series of minute strokes. Although the judged man was unaware, the report read: A straightforward man who minded wealth but, nonetheless honest and righteous.
That was fast. All over in an hour. For many it may seem to be a long process, however, it was incomparable to the days of unemployment Taylor had endured. The uniformed man then explained that the testimonials and results would take a few days to compile and assess, thus it was impossible to reveal the results the outcome of Taylor's appeal. It left the younger Smith with anxiety and slight disappointment, but it was expected---these appeals need careful assessments, otherwise Stormwind would have unreliable soldiers to defend itself. Traitorous aspects would arise too, so it does not make sense letting its guard down. The uniformed personnel then kindly eased his worries by stating he was one of a kind. In a complimenting way, of course. Escorted by yet another personnel of Stormwind Army, Taylor reached the entrance where he originally entered the formidable architecture. The moment he was out of the shade, he could feel the heat from the now glaring sun. From the diminished shadows and the escalated temperature, it was safe to assume it was noon. The sun glared with increasing intensity on Elwynn forest, making Taylor's journey back to the inn an uncomfortable one.
Days passed and the highly anticipated were released. The younger Smith could recall one of the Stormwind personnel mentioning that certain towns, including Goldshire, will be informed of the results. Stormwind personnel would be dispatched, albeit in smaller numbers, near inns where participants of the recruitment drive could easily obtain their respective result. There was no time to waste; a continuously elongating queue awaits him. He did not need the extra incentive though; the younger Smith's mind was persuasive enough. After wolfing down his butter toasts and scrambled eggs, Taylor hurried down the cumbersome stairs and exited the inn, his head pounding with excitement. The moment his eyes laid on the outside world, it was greeted by a sight of a crowd, well, crowding around three seated man, probably representatives of the army. A table separated the three and the burgeoning crowd. People came and integrated into the group and people left. Some left, wearing a big grin on their face, conversing animatedly with their counterparts about his or her apparent successful appeal; some left with solemn looks, backs slumped over, not wanting to speak, not even with the aid of a nudge by their friends.
He stood in front of the three uniformed men, waiting for either of their response. There was a whole lot of flipping sounds as the three searched for the right page. One of them stalled, staring intently on a piece of paper as if he struck gold.
"Taylor Smith. Am I correct?"
The younger Smith nodded in response.
"Congratulations my boy, welcome to the Stormwind Army!"
A hand shot out and Taylor was glad to oblige. He was then given a letter which contained further instructions. Just then, a loud unhappy voice ruined the moment. Almost instantly, all heads turned to face the source. It was a burly man, his head red with anger and disbelief. He bellowed words at the uniformed man attending to him. The man was getting more and more aggressive; he was using his large hairy hands to pummel the poor table now. The other two reached for their shields and weapons---but it was nowhere to be found. They had not expected any trouble whatsoever. Before anyone made a move to take control of the situation, Taylor intervened.
"Are you through? Others are waiting for their results. Kindly take yourself and your comments away"
The younger Smith spoke in a polite manner, yet at the same time mockingly. The burly man turned his attention to the speaker, his head practically fuming this time. Taylor's words stung his pride horribly and it seemed he was about to explode. The man, without warning, retorted not with words, but with a charge meant for the younger Smith. Right before he charged, the man overturned the large, heavy oaken furniture onto the three representatives of the army, immobilizing them. Taylor's mind was quick to react and so did his muscles. As the crazed man sped towards the younger Smith, his whole body tensed up to increase the impact, Taylor dodged just in the nick of time. Taylor was just inches away from colliding onto the burly man. Adrenaline was now being pumped into his body after that near miss. The younger Smith would need it. Eyes belonging to the rogue widened in surprise as the only thing that he managed to ram were the air around him. Astonishment dissipated soon, replaced by rage. The bloodthirsty man then reached for his boots, extracting two jagged daggers concealed within it. The blades glimmered under the bright sunlight, striking fear in the hearts of onlookers whom dispersed quickly to avoid involvement. The three men trapped beneath the infernal furniture still struggled, desperately trying to pry themselves out. The armor they wore proved to be a burden for the first time. Soon brave souls began to notice the three's fate and started to assist them, ignoring the danger that was present. The hell bent man once again charged towards Taylor, daggers ready to spill blood. Nearing his target, the rogue extended intending to stain it with warm blood. Taylor denied his request by dodging yet again, however, this time using his thick arm to parry the man's attacking arm, buying precious time to deliver a crushing blow onto the crazed man's chin. The rogue's head jerked back violently, his legs instinctively stepping back to maintain his balance, avoiding further punishment in the process. The burly rogue fazed by the punch, shook his head vigorously in an attempt to clear his mind and the new pounding headache. He was quick to put all of it to the back of his mind; he wanted to make the younger Smith pay dearly for his actions as fast as possible. The hell bent rogue regained his stance and once again, charged, with fire in his eyes. The armed man began executing a series of frenzied thrusts and swipes at the younger Smith when he was within range. This time Taylor could not avoid his swift attacks and suffered several cuts on his arms. Fresh warm blood oozed out from his wounds continuously, strength slowly being drained away. It was clear the mad man wanted Taylor dead now, and Taylor knew he would not last long in such a fight. The younger Smith swallowed his pride and ran to a nearby building, which happened to be a forge. Being in a building would not stop that bloodthirsty rogue, Taylor told himself sharply. Just then, he spotted wooden barrels around him. I'll have to improvise, Taylor mused.
The crazed man soon reached the entrance of the forge, determined to spill more blood. A cry was heard-it came from Taylor. He was now charging towards the armed rogue, both arms carrying large round barrel lids, acting as bucklers. The rogue heard rapid footfalls, turning to the source to see two brown, round objects speeding towards him. Dumbfounded by Taylor's unorthodox method, his mind could not register the situation and received the impending impact. The wretched man lifted off the ground slightly from the crash, finding himself soon on the coarse ground with several bruises and scratches. In a kitchen nearby, the occupiers felt a minute tremor.
Taylor prayed the mad man to stay down, but it seemed he had not tried well enough. The burly rogue sprung to his feet, ready for more punishment, be it for him or the younger Smith. The hell bent man began his offensive once more, madly stabbing and slashing at Taylor, whom blocked the attacks effectively with his duo shields. Bits of wood came out of the shields at first, but as time went by, the ferocity of the strikes increased with time, and soon chunks of wood were excavated from the wooden lids. The younger Smith could feel each strike dig deeper into the shield, nearing his arm-the shield is near its breaking-point. The sorry state of his guards forced Taylor to retreat back to the forge. The mad man knew he had the upper hand now-soon the shields would be as useful as firewood. He closed in slowly towards his prey, relishing the victorious moment. As the younger Smith retreated without breaking eye contact with his attacker, his foot struck something incredibly hard and dense. He risked a glance at the annoying obstacle. Just then, an idea hit Taylor like an anvil, literally. This might be crazy enough to work, Taylor thought. He began to position himself, grinning and hoping fervently. The younger Smith then threw his shields like a Frisbee at the rogue, enraging him.
"What? Giving up already?", Taylor taunted.
Words stung its target horribly and the rogue summoned all of his energy to charge at Taylor, his bloodied blades ready to sink into live flesh. At the last moment, Taylor gathered his strength in his legs and jumped out of harm's way, revealing a large grey anvil firmly riveted to the ground. The burly rogue saw the anvil, but was not quick enough to halt in time. His wretched legs collided painfully with the stubborn hunk of metal, causing the respective body to somersault in the air, except the fact that most people land with their limbs, while for this case the rogue landed on his body, flat on the hard, unforgiving floor. Once again, occupants of the nearby kitchen felt the tremor, this time more significant. Taylor examined his handiwork with pleasure, smirking slyly at his unfortunate attacker. The man slowly got up in intense agony, his entire body wobbling. Pain surged through his body, replacing his dissipating rage and determination. The three representatives of the Stormwind Army finally were freed from the dreaded furniture, arriving to the forge to find Taylor with injuries but still standing quite well, while the same could not be said to the rogue. At the sight of the Stormwind personnel, the rogue was quick to take to his heels. "You two. Get on your horse and subdue that trouble-maker!" The two was quick to comply. They hurried to their mounts, stabled outside of the inn. Taylor and the remaining uniformed man watched as the horses galloped past them, slowly disappearing over the horizon. Just then, a chef was seen outside of the Goldshire inn, scanning the area for the source of the tremors.
The uniformed man, probably a captain or some high-ranked personnel, turned his attention to the younger Smith. It was obvious he wanted to do some talking.
"Your bravery is admirable. So are your skills, however it needs more polishing. You will make a fine soldier, Taylor. Though you must be careful not to engage in a fight you cannot hope to win."
Standing at the entrance of the inn, Cleevar soon discovered traces of red stains on the rough ground and began to search for its source. His eyes, or rather the trail of the mysterious liquid, soon led him to his younger brother with a Stormwind Army personnel. His brother had bloody streaks on his arms-injuries no doubt, and quite bad ones. The stains on the ground probably came from him. Conclusion was made up in the older Smith's mind---all this definitely had something to do with his impulsive sibling. Without hesitation, Cleevar hurried to the two, angry and worried about his brother.
"Pardon me sir; I'm terribly sorry of what my brother had done. Please forgive-"
The uniformed man was quick cut him off and clear up the confusion.
"Him? He didn't start it?"
"For your information, I helped finish it!"
Taylor retorted. The man, yet again, was quick to explain the incident before the bickering intensified. He even mentioned about Taylor's new career in an attempt to ease the tension.
"Well, I'll have to go now. A report needs to be done and I am eager to learn the news about the rogue from my subordinates. Farewell."
The uniformed man then got on his horse stabled outside of the inn and galloped towards the mighty city of Stormwind. Taylor had an immediate liking of that man. Not many had complimented the younger Smith. The warm feeling inside Taylor soon evaporated as his brother began to break the silence.
"Well, it's good that you've found a job. Now stick with it. And don't mess up! I'm still paying repairs for your previous employer, thank you very much!"
Taylor opened his mouth, ready to retort, but no sound was heard. He'll forgive him. This time. I've got a job now, don't I, the younger Smith thought. Humans are just insatiable, he added.
Notes from me:
So how was it? Hope it was not as bad. Too much words? I feel the same way. For one chapter anyway. I'm don't know whether to continue, so if you want me continue, tell me! One more thing. Help me put this story into a timeslot of Wacraft. Preferably the part about Rise of the Lich King. Feed me information, I have not even read the book yet. Yes I'm bold to fit a story into an unknown domain. I play WOW, so I might have some idea how it goes. Please review. Just click on the button below and type whatever comments, please, I want to know how many actually finished this.