"It is simple... they are not gods at all."
I don't remember who I am or where I came from. I don't know what I did to deserve this terrible existence, but it most have been abominable. Why else would I be a prisoner in the Tower of Lies?
Today I broke rocks. Lots and lots of rocks. Hundreds of rocks. They needed to be chipped and chopped and smashed. It was sweaty, back-breaking work. But I did it. I did it until my arms ached and my hands bled. And then I did it some more.
Today an ogrim tortured me. It took me into one of the huts, locked me in stocks, and then whipped me with a lash. The pain ... it went on and on and on. I let my mind drift, trying to remember better times and better places. I know I thought about something, but the memory doesn't stick. It's like trying to grasp mist before it dissipates in the sun. Or something like that. What was I talking about?
Today I listened to Ifriz the Unraveler. He does love to talk. He goes on and on about how wonderful life is in the Tower of Lies. I could listen to his voice all day. It comforts me. It frightens me. It makes me want to cry. Why won't he stop shouting at me? Why?
What day is it now?
Bugs. There are bugs crawling on me. All over my body. Into my eyes. Into my mouth. I try to brush them away, but they keep coming back. Persistent. Insistent. Twelve.
Today is yellow.
I thanked my ogrim tormentor today. To show me how much he cared, he beat me for an hour more.
My skull itches.
Why are the rocks screaming? Every time I hit them with my hammer, they cry out in pain.
I think I used to be in some sort of guild. I think that's why I'm here. We must have done something yellow.