Pain Threshold
Inland Empire
Interfacing
Encyclopedia
Authority
Composure
Physical Instrument
Shivers
Esprit de Corps
Drama
Logic
Now open your eyes and witness the (small) wonder! The HMS Modest Kingsman has left the docks. You are neither the greatest nor the strongest icebreaker on the seas, but you are what you are.
Conversation · Mirror
Speakers · 17
(Bow down.) Yes. My heart forever beats for Revachol, I am all she has left. The constant kingsman.
Yes... you truly are. (Tightness -- in gaseous form -- leaves your body.) She's lucky to have you, watching her sleep.
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Fine... The three of you, all together, ride an aerostatic into the sunset. The question remains: Will you sacrifice love to keep Revachol safe?
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Remember: Kingsmen are not born, they are made. And the only thing that can unmake us is that which drove us to rise above in the first place. We keep that thing locked in the deepest cellars of our mind. So deep we forget what it is.
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We keep it buried like a horrible secret. We feed it through the cracks in the floorboards out of a sickening sense of nostalgia. Just enough to keep it alive. And yet it still comes to us in moments of weakness, unbidden, a source of shame and panic...
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A day will come when you need to take a shotgun to that cellar, shoot whatever is down there in the head, and walk away, never looking back.
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Your heart can belong to Revachol or it can belong to darkness. As long as it's torn between them it's broken and useless.
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You will be free to love Revachol like no one has ever loved her. You will be her champion, and she will be faithful to you. If you can just make this last sacrifice, you will finally know happiness.
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So ask yourself, when the time comes, can you shoot the past in the head, walk away, and never look back on its rotting remains?
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The bloated whores, schizophrenic anarchists and deformed moneylenders tremble, trying to shield their eyes, as he -- Le gendarme en diamant -- walks by!
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Face it, bröther. No one's got the willpower to build her up again. They won't do what has to be done.
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Face it, bröther. No one's got the willpower to set things right. They won't do what it takes.
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The problem is obvious: You simply can't hack it. You're a failure. It's all too much for you.
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Look at yourself: You go about with this mopey look on your face like a dog who's been beaten with an old stick.
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Hey! It took a minor neurological miracle to get your face to this point!
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You've let your guard down. Now the combined armies of Pain and Shit are streaming through your gates, pillaging your stores, carrying off your wömen...
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- That stupid Expression was your last line of defence, but now even that has collapsed. The combined armies of Pain and Shit are streaming through your gates, pillaging your stores, carrying off your wömen...
- You've let your guard down. Now the combined armies of Pain and Shit are streaming through your gates, pillaging your stores, carrying off your wömen...
Oh yes, they're all gone. Carried off by foreign invaders because you failed to uphold your most ancient and noble vöws. The worst part is they might even prefer it this way...
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Now, every night, while you masturbate in the ruins of your not-so-great-anymore hall, they're getting pleasured by foreign men with superior testosterone levels and far more advanced sexual practices than your feeble grunt-and-thrust.
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- Now, every night, while you masturbate in the ruins of your not-so-great-anymore hall, they're getting pleasured by foreign men with superior testosterone levels and far more advanced sexual practices than your feeble grunt-and-thrust.
- What's that? Can't hear yourself over the moans of your wömen in the hands of foreigners who play them like instruments. Be careful, or they'll wear you like a sock, Harry-boy.
No, it's far too late. All that remains is for you to feel bad, because you failed, and there's nothing you can do about it. That is the way of the world...
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- Yes. It should be awful, because you failed. Failing is weakness and weakness is awful. That is the way of the world...
- No, it's far too late. All that remains is for you to feel bad, because you failed, and there's nothing you can do about it. That is the way of the world...
- You don't even have anything to say for yourself, do you? Just gonna take it all lying down? Why not grab your ankles while you're at it? That's why you never stood a chance.
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It turns out you've already been wearing your true face. The face of The Loser. The face of He Who Could Not Handle It. Now, get out of your sight.
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- It turns out you've already been wearing your true face. The face of The Loser. The face of He Who Could Not Handle It. Now, get out of your sight.
- Let this new face be a reminder, an unalterable mark of shame. This is the face of The Loser, the face of He Who Looks at Himself and Despairs. Now, get out of your sight.
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Let this new face be a reminder, an unalterable mark of shame. This is the face of The Loser, the face of He Who Looks at Himself and Despairs. Now, get out of your sight.
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What's that? Can't hear yourself over the moans of your wömen in the hands of foreigners who play them like instruments. Be careful, or they'll wear you like a sock, Harry-boy.
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- Now, every night, while you masturbate in the ruins of your not-so-great-anymore hall, they're getting pleasured by foreign men with superior testosterone levels and far more advanced sexual practices than your feeble grunt-and-thrust.
- What's that? Can't hear yourself over the moans of your wömen in the hands of foreigners who play them like instruments. Be careful, or they'll wear you like a sock, Harry-boy.
You don't even have anything to say for yourself, do you? Just gonna take it all lying down? Why not grab your ankles while you're at it? That's why you never stood a chance.
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- Now, every night, while you masturbate in the ruins of your not-so-great-anymore hall, they're getting pleasured by foreign men with superior testosterone levels and far more advanced sexual practices than your feeble grunt-and-thrust.
- What's that? Can't hear yourself over the moans of your wömen in the hands of foreigners who play them like instruments. Be careful, or they'll wear you like a sock, Harry-boy.
Yes. It should be awful, because you failed. Failing is weakness and weakness is awful. That is the way of the world...
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- That stupid Expression was your last line of defence, but now even that has collapsed. The combined armies of Pain and Shit are streaming through your gates, pillaging your stores, carrying off your wömen...
- You've let your guard down. Now the combined armies of Pain and Shit are streaming through your gates, pillaging your stores, carrying off your wömen...
Oh yes, they're all wiped out. Your bushels of grain, your salted meats, your hogsheads brimming with bitter ale. All gone. Your fields have been put to the torch, your great-hall is a ravaged husk. You are bereft.
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That stupid Expression was your last line of defence, but now even that has collapsed. The combined armies of Pain and Shit are streaming through your gates, pillaging your stores, carrying off your wömen...
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