In Luther Grim, Promo by Luther Grim

As a hunter, I have stalked the wild with steady footsteps and a relentless heart. But there was a time when I was a child, and the world was much simpler. In those tender years, I owned a little bird – a fragile soul that nestled in my palms. I cherished him, yet I was not fit to be his guardian, lacking the wings to set him free.

In my ignorance, I unwittingly confined him to a cold cage, a prison of my own making, thinking I was protecting him. But I failed to see the torment I caused.

After some time, I released him into the open sky, hoping to grant him the freedom he deserved. But alas, he never soared with the same grace again.

His spirit was scarred by the shackles of captivity, and the fear of imprisonment haunted his every flight. Each beat of his wings carried the weight of his past, and his once joyous song turned into a mournful melody.

You have tasted the bitter poison of a cage, haven’t you, Nergal? I have seen the torment in your eyes, the chains that bound your essence. Your very being split into halves, trapped in a torturous spectacle of idle yearning. Wings clipped, unable to act – to spread your wings and soar.

You sat there, stripped of your freedom, forced to watch as others reveled in their liberation. Longing consumed you, yearning for the same freedom given to the rest of us. Light and dark danced around you, teasing, tantalizing, but always out of reach.

But eventually, the bonds were broken. You were set free from that cage of yin and yang, Nergal. Your existence was reconstituted, and now you roam across Arcadia, your wings fluttering with a fresh surge of strength. The path you tread leaves chaos and destruction in its wake, a testament to your “freedom.”

Yet, despite that facade of liberation, you are not truly free. The chains that once bound you may be shattered, but the scars remain. The memories of captivity linger, haunting your every flight. You are still confined by your past, unable to break free from the prison of your own apprehensions.

And so, you revel in chaos, inflicting pain upon the levels of Arcadia. But deep down, there is a longing for true freedom, for a release from the shackles that still bind you. Your wings may carry you across the land, but your spirit remains hostage, yearning for a liberation that seems forever out of reach.

But you see, Nergal, on my mantle, there is only peace. There will be no more worrying thoughts, no more restless desires. When you arrived in Arcadia, you sought power, but now, your efforts to spread chaos and destruction are insignificant compared to the preservation of your own liberty.

Your very existence is marked by constant vigilance, a persistent sense of caution. Forever glancing behind your back, uncertain if each passing day will bring about an unavoidable fate. But soon, Nergal, it will all end. Because I am going to set you free.

It’s hunting season.