My, my, my. Just look at what the cherubs dragged in.
Another lost sheep to join the herd, hmm?
No, no--don't speak. Your words are not needed here, my dear.
I know all about you already; more than you know of yourself.
Impossible? Hardly.
No, I'm afraid you're here because you don't know who you are,
but I'm getting ahead of myself, aren't I?
I am Machiael. I'm the... warden, shall we say, of this little corner of reality.
My job, little one, is to teach you who you are. You have potential, you see
--so very much potential at that! You could change the fate of history if you so desired.
If you knew how.
But you don't.
No, you know precious little. All the knowledge you hold is of no value without an inkling of who you truly are.
And no, I don't mean any such nonsense as a birthright,
a true name, or some other such ridiculous notion. No, I mean who you are as an individual.
You are tainted by sin and it clouds your vision of who you are.
Oh, not the sin against your deity of choice, nor against morality, as ambiguous as it may be.
Not the sin of murder, though I've little doubt you've dirtied your hands with that as well, or soon shall if you've not already.
No, not the sin of your ancestors which runs through your veins.
My, your face speaks volumes. You've sinned quite an awful lot, haven't you?
Guilt is practically dripping from you now that you stand before judgment and have been found wanting.
The truth of the matter is, though, that the wondrous array and rainbow of the stains of your sin is of precious little matter to me.
No, I frankly don' t care what you've done for the most part.
Except for one thing.
You've lost yourself, my little sheep. Strayed away from who you are.
Somewhere, at some point, you made a decision.
Something which went against the very fabric of who you are.
Something which ran counter to the things you hold most dear and most precious to your heart.
Ah, you know of that which I speak, don't you?
Your eyes tell it all.
Yes, you know exactly of what I've mentioned.
Your sin against yourself.
It will not wash out of your fleece, little sheep.
Go on, try to rinse it clean.
Run the bristles raw, grind them through to the very bone!
No matter how hard or long you scrub, it's a stain which can not be undone by normal means.
No amount of effort, no amount of great deeds, no number of children rescued or kingdoms saved,
no pleads to your gods or cries for forgiveness will wash you clean of that blemish which has sunk into your very essence of being.
You can't cleanse a sin caused by not knowing who you are without first learning of yourself, now can you little sheep?
No.
No you can't.
And so you've been brought here, to a world devoted towards rediscovering oneself.
A rehabilitation planet if you will. But for whose redemption?
For the quite morally challenged K'yuubi?
Perhaps for the Humans?
Or the Dragons?
No.
Yours.
This world was made with you in mind.
And for all the others who have sinned against themselves,
regardless of species, regardless of faction, regardless of beliefs, religion,
creed, or any other factor that you like to pretend makes you different.
This world was forged and tempered in your name, and the names of all others like you,
from every other world the planes have to offer.
Delightful, isn't it?
A whole world unto yourself.
A whole world to discover.
Not to discover the world, but to discover yourself, my little wayward sheep.
Oh yes, you'll learn who you are, and you'll die trying.
What's that? Oh! You honestly thought death could free you?
Oh no.
No, no, no, no.
You misunderstand, little sheep.
You may leave when I say you may, not a moment before.
When I feel you've learned your lesson.
Learned who you are.
When you're ready to take your place among the annals of history.
To walk amongst gods.
And if you honestly think so small thing as death will free you, I'm afraid you're terribly mistaken.
You should thank me, little sheep, for plucking you from your pitiful existence of ignorance to bring you here.
You've been given a second chance, you see.
A chance to become what you were meant to be.
A chance to become someone of worth.
A chance to change everything.
Alas, but time flows so swiftly, and I'm afraid ours is up for you and I, little sheep.
You'll just have to rely upon the other Æserians, now.
They are my hands, my eyes, my ears, and they will know of your progress, of your deeds, of you.
But you are mine until you earn your freedom.
Now down to the planet you go, my little sheep.
Frolic amidst the fields of fire and graze upon the blood of your enemies.
Walk the Path to Redemption.
You need not bother telling me when you've reached the end.
I'll already know.
So welcome, my little lost sheep, to Saorsa.
It may be your home for a long, long time.
Oh yes, didn't I mention?
You can't escape simply by dying.
A good effort, perhaps...
But you're mine.
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