Behold, the face of the iron clad savior. Born from a molten forged womb, bound with the souls of the fallen societies throughout history, she eats the rocks of wisdom and drags her hind quarters across the grounds of the un-funnie babies. She has the mass of the universe in her stomach, swaying in the northern winds of the Valkyries, and eyes as cold as the 9th world of mist and shenanigans. She speaks to her fellow gods on her own separate phone line, paid for with the gold coins of her labors, awarded by part time endeavors at Lisa Frank enterprises. Every 3rd month of the calendar year, she travels swiftly to Cancun frontlines, consuming any and all beverages presented, at the otherworldly gathering of spring break. Her body crashing into the pools sounds the horns of 2,000 dying soldiers, mixed with a really fucking big explosion. Her armor is bedazzled with gem stones and rainbow sprinkly-tee hee's in custom fashions of her medieval traditions, intimidating all who confront her. Fascinated by long divison, present has single handedly solved world hunger and the supposed goblin immunity to humanly weapong. Awarded 3 nobel prizes for going to taco bell, her reputation precedes her ancient Roman ancestors. She is the heart of the wicked and well, and the brains of all who encounter her.

Behold, the face of Present.