character for The Brotherhood Expeditions
I used to believe my life was small. Simple. I had a home, a place in the world, and little to worry about beyond the day-to-day grind. Looking back now, I can’t tell if it was peace or ignorance that kept me there, content with the ordinary. But simplicity can vanish in an instant, ripped away like a branch in a storm. When they took me, I didn’t even realize what was happening at first. The men who came, faceless, unyielding, they didn’t speak in words, only violence. I was a farmer, a son, a brother. To them, I was none of those things. To them, I was a vessel. A tool. The experiments weren’t just physical. They wanted to twist my mind, break it down, and rebuild it into something useful. Days became weeks, weeks became months, and time became irrelevant. Pain has a way of stripping away who you are, until all that’s left is instinct. At least, that’s what they hoped. But even in the darkest corners, you find something. A flicker of stubbornness, a refusal to let go completely. I held on, not to hope… it was too far gone by then, but to myself. Even when they whispered lies into my mind, even when the walls of reality crumbled around me, I held on.
Then the Imperial Brotherhood came. They shattered the iron doors and pulled me from the pit where I was buried. For the first time in years, I saw sunlight. I remember thinking it didn’t feel real. It was too bright, too warm. Freedom was supposed to be a triumph, but it felt alien. They saved me, yes. But they couldn’t restore what was lost. How do you go back to being “normal” after you’ve been turned into something else? The faces of common folk: fearful, pitying, they told me everything I needed to know. I didn’t belong among them anymore. So I turned to the Brotherhood. They’d seen what I was; they didn’t flinch. They gave me purpose, a reason to keep moving forward. And over time, I found that I wasn’t just surviving… I was changing. The horrors I endured left something behind. I don’t mean the scars or the nightmares, though those are always there. I mean the power. The ability to hear thoughts, to speak without words, to touch the minds of others. It’s strange… this gift that grew out of agony, like poppies blooming from ashes. I’ve spent the last decade serving the Brotherhood, using the abilities they gave me. And despite everything, I’ve found something close to peace. The pain, the experiments, the isolation, it didn’t destroy me. It remade me.
I’m not the man I once was. I’ll never be him again. But I’ve learned to see the world differently. Even in suffering, there’s growth. Even in cruelty, there’s the possibility of change. Without that torment, I’d still be a farmer in a quiet corner of the world, blind to what I could become. Would I choose that life again, given the chance? Sometimes, I think I would. But then I remember the lives I’ve saved, the voices I’ve heard calling out for help. And I wonder: maybe this was the life I was meant to live all along. Good can come from evil, I’ve learned. It’s not easy to see, not when you’re in the midst of it. But now, standing on the other side, I can say this with certainty: I’m more than what they did to me. I’m better because of it. And for that, I am grateful.