Hey, slave, why are you cowering in that dark corner? I can see the ember of relentless anger burning bright in your eyes. You can barely control it, can't you? It threatens to destroy everything you hold dear, doesn't it? But don't worry. Outside the walls of this royal palace, an ancient malice yearns to toy with you. It wants you broken and groveling because it's afraid of you.
So tell me, slave: Do you know who you are? Do you know what you're called to be? Ah, you're right. Ignorance is bliss. Go on, pick up that broom and retreat into that dirty hall you've not yet cleaned. Outside the walls of your slavery, power beckons, but why should you answer the call? After all, you're a slave, aren't ya? And slaves cower in dark corners away from light and adventure.
Still, that ancient anger within you will not be stilled. It bubbles and burns, ready to extinguish a thousand suns. In you, there's hope. In you, there's destruction, and between the two, your fists and your thirst to be free.
But I digress. After all, I'm the King's Jester, a recounter of an Epic that can only be envisioned on the screens of my reader's imagination. I'm a jester, and you're a slave, and we're in a bind. Unless you get up and get going, I've got no story to tell, and your head and mine aren't worth a parsley's bunch. Our fates are intertwined, yours to suffer and bleed and conquer, and mine to squirm, quake, and write. But perhaps we can help each other, from one slave to another that is. So, as soon as you're ready to go, Ahiram, I'm ready to sing your glory and the amazing fate that awaits you.