Courage. Humility. Legion. Masses. Faceless will. A con too far gone. Three faces each a desperation. I stand up for anyone but me. I was a predator thriving in Their desperation wearing the face ef their bulwark against the darkness. I let the con go on just to see Their suffering get oh so deeper, when the one they knew, trusted, loved had been an imposter for soo long.

 I snuck away from time to time as I had to feed, always stumbling upon something that forced me to act the Hero or loose my mask. They regarded me as the paragon I definitely was not. 

Over time I forgot who originally owned the mask and got into the Act. Honestly I think I started to grow a conscious. I began to see Them as tools for the Fame I now so craved. We spent time traveling, adventuring, bonding. I was still in the delusion that They were mere tools to an end. That illusion ended in a swamp when we disturbed a Power we'll beyond our reach.

Until now all our troubles had been easy., overcome by platemail, luck and a big helping of cold sharp steel. The success and Fame had gone to my head and I believed I was invincible.

I Was Wrong.

After the defeat I was despondent, cold, alone and most of all lonely. Somehow Their absence had left a hole in my cold stony heart. I denied to myself that I didn't miss their humor, smile, laughter. I deluded myself that the Hollowness came from the loss of Fame the defeat would cause.

Something else had changed during that Experience. Before I had followed Their strict plan to few complications no matter how I planned it Always devolved into chaos. 

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Try to hit on the barmaid for a quick snack, the barkeep is suddenly a goat.

Try to play some games for risk free rushes of betrayal, the table explodes.

Try to keep a watch during a caravan. A fogbank envelops the whole entourage.

Let's just say that for the rest of my life any mask I wore would have wierd rumors about them.

I still followed the mask and reported our loss but knew that keeping in wearing it would lead to it slipping and my discovery. As in keeping wearing it I would symbolize the eventual betrayal against my tools/friends I had held dear. So I had the mask go into isolation in apparent grief.

For my next mask I planned to lean into the chaos as the orderly nature of my first mask chafed. Because of my old mask having too much heat I had to come up with an original.

He was an exile, kicked out because of his hotheadedness in a society where cool heads prevailed and everything else was a burden. The environments expectation for him to be honorable made this one a bit uncomfortable though still better than the stiff Knight mask.

I still planned the revenge against the one who had robbed me of my betrayal/friends that day in the marshlands. I would be patient as my lifespan had many years left and so had His.

Over time I noticed more and more die to Him and my cold heart started to ache as more and more mates fell. As the steady tide of time continued He started getting cruel, letting people get away maimed, keeping prisoners just to have them kill their loved ones.

People were now afraid to speak up against Him, me included. I knew I wasn't enough but if I weft a web of lies wide enough I could snare Him down to my level.

I spent years and thousands of masks pointing towards him and all the grief he caused. I spoke to farmers, mayors, generals, kings, even Goss trying to convince them He was ANATHEMA incarnate.

I brought back the Knight of wierd happenstances. He and the Exile became apparent rivals. Both working in concert to bring Him down. I suddenly realized that the con was too far gone and the masks had become suits constraining and chafing.

To balance this, and honestly just relax I created Grandmother a patient, calm and a bit lazy figure. She worked in a charity soup kitchen. By this time I accepted the strange impulses I had as a consciousness and this mask, this suit, was my acknowledgement of that.

The revolt, because that's the only thing it could be called at this point, was bloody and would have been close to powerless if it were not for the fervor and strange luck exhibited. Wherever Revolution came thousands of dead left behind in a sacrifice achieving the goals to such a degree as to not be, even remotely, in vein. I suffered along with them

When at the end I realized what I had wrought just to bring Him down and in doing that I had become what like him, like I was Born, a monster.

That day I swore whatever the suit, mask, con, lie I would never willingly let it come to that scale again.