Deep in the bowels of Southern California I was brought to the age of passage. Thrust out of the next I sought refuge amongst a forest of Silicon where I rest on the outskirts. I return once more, home, to do what I was borne of this world to do. My small pack consists of myself, two loyal bloodhounds, and a bird of prey.
The words you see are one, my pack is another, and imaginary worlds where solving conudrums and filling your pockets with large pointy objects is the norm.
Those who associate themselves with me wish to remain nameless for their own protection. Save for those who have already passed on.