You are a Kell. The hand that
guides your House. The sword that smites your enemies. The shield that
protects your kin from the Whirlwind. But your life is pain and
paranoia. They claw and slash at you, they plot and scheme against you.
You have been taken.
Let your hand rest. Sheathe your sword. Set down your shield. Their claws cannot reach you. Their machinations hold no power.
What do you draw your determination from? What drives you to rule?
Your
people were once strong and powerful. You commanded kingdoms and
empires. You want to reclaim this glory. But your people have become few
and conflicted. Others seek to usurp your throne and steal your dreams.
Weakness plagues your people's hearts.
If weakness infects them, you must take it from them.
There is a knife for you. It is shaped like [feed me your pain].
Take up the knife. Drink its edge. Take your new shape.
