Trapped Within Own Stories ⋅ The Suffering
A nightmare, built by your own hands out of an unwillingness to accept the truth of who you are and what you have done. Memories pile one upon another, and in this heap of reflections, it is impossible to find your own. And why even look? A reflection is not who we are.
Slayer
Bound by blades that grant no peace—neither to you, nor to those upon whom you inflict your pain. To touch another is to pierce them. Even those like you are your enemies, for all you know how to do is fight. You don’t need a reason, you are him in the flesh.
Marksman
Both a victim on a hit list and the executioner who carries out the killing. The weapon you relied upon so heavily has become an extension of yourself—a parasite that feeds on your fear of death, a fear that drives you to inflict death upon others. To disobey an order meant your own death. You died the moment you carried it out.
Nooseman
Having already passed judgment upon yourself, you have become the embodiment of that very sentence—wherever you go, you carry it with you. It has become such a compelling narrative of guilt that you are terrified to let it go. Who are you without your story, without this game of memories?
Good, Neutral, Evil
You tread paths that lead in different directions, yet they all originate from a single point: you. And wherever you go, you will lead yourself there: you will adapt events to your story, to your friends and enemies, to yourself and Blackmore. Regardless of how you begin your journey or how you end it, it is all the same thing: shards of the very same glass.
You always return incomplete, for you choose one thing while rejecting another—good without evil, your own kind without outsiders, dreams without nightmares. There is no such thing as a true story; there is only the one you chose to tell yourself.
The Creature
Everything you are is an illusion of your own making—one that no one else can see. It is a convenient justification for continuing to evade yourself within the depths of madness, a place where you are powerful and free to perpetuate the chaos you yourself created. This prison was not built against you, but for you—and you sought to enter it, for only here do the rules you made up actually apply.
The strong conquers the weak, the weak limit the strong, the strong gets rid of the weak. As the weak disappear, the strong also disappears. Now, you are left helpless and alone. All that remains is to invent enemies—foes you are actually capable of facing. Your entire struggle is, in truth, the fear of surrendering to your own nightmares. And those nightmares—they are you.
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