Reviled
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Reviled

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Dennison
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Hello there! 

I'm new to the cabal, so I'll share a few facts about myself, shall I?  

I'm 44 years old, I work in academia in a support role, and I'm no expert on MMOs. The Secret World was my first, in fact, and I only started six months before Secret World Legends launched. But I'm learning fast, and I'm happy to learn with you and to share what I've learned. 

I live on the west coast of the United States, I have two cats and a dog, and I have a fondness for disco music that I refuse to apologize for. I'm a good cook, but not a fine chef. I'm an actual ordained minister, but only so I could officiate weddings. I adore donuts, but have diabetes, so there's proof the universe is a fickle and cruel place in a nutshell. 

Message me any time, I'll respond... though I can't promise I'll respond immediately. Use the forums here or contact me in SWL. 

My main is Reviled, of course. 
My alt is a Templar, nickname Splendid. 

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Illuminati

The bee came as I slept, and I awoke to pain. 

My blood was on fire. It burned, quite literally.

I remember screaming, and there was light, and it seemed as though my screams were the source. Like it was a sound so raw and primal that you could see it. 

There was no hiding the fact that I had been changed. There were dark scars, all over my body and face, my circulatory system scored in sharp relief in dark, pulsing lines. As my blood sang in new power, the scars writhed and moved. Like fiery serpents beneath my skin. 

I feigned illness, relegating the Sunday services to one of the Deacons. I was a minister at the time, you see, in a small Methodist church in rural Maine. I couldn't very well deliver a sermon looking like I was possessed by demons, with fire and light and thunder accompanying my every step and gesture.

I drew all the curtains and spent a week trawling some really sketchy depths of the internet trying to research what had happened to me. I didn't learn much, but my queries attracted attention. An Illuminati agent approached me, offering answers. For a price. 

In the dead of night, and wearing a hat and mask to conceal my scars, I drove to New York to pay it. And that price? 

I learned the world was absolutely infested with evil. More than I'd ever feared or imagined. The Illuminati shared that horrible knowledge with me, but also gave me the tools and training to stamp it out. Which I proceeded to do. Something about these creatures, and the men who serve them, fills me with a righteous fury. The other agents I trained with said they were unnatural, and as servants of Gaia we were compelled to destroy them. I don't know about Gaia. I'd rather have believed we were agents of God. 

But I don't believe that. 

I'm not a man of God any longer. I've seen the dead walk, but no rapture. I've seen demons rise from the Pit, but no angels to rebuff them. I've seen priests of false gods wield power that was all too real. And what good was my faith in the face of all this? 

No, what I turned to in those moments of crisis wasn't the Word. It was the Blood. The pulsing, writhing, twisted blood that courses through me now. The gift the bee conveyed to me. At first, it was simple enough to wield, the power of life itself. I used my own life to smother and pierce the undead, I warped and twisted the lifeblood of living monsters. I'll never forget the day, when facing a Wendigo in the suburbs of New England, that I pulled it's beating heart from its chest and crushed it in my hand. From ten feet away. 

Recently, I've learned to control it better. To use it to heal. The fact that it was only after I lost my faith that I was able to perform miracles has cost me sleep, I won't lie. 

There are answers out there. I've found some, enough to point me towards the ones I seek.

Until I find them, I'll continue to explore. I've been to the Far East, to Egypt, to a doomed island not far from my old home... and everywhere I've been, I've carved a bloody swath through the abominations between me and the answers I seek. I haven't found them all, but then, I'm not done carving yet, either. 

It's horrible work. The killing, I mean. I can feel it wearing away at my soul, like an acid. I hate it, and I hate what I've become. But if walking this path means someone else won't have to, then I suppose I can live with that. And there are younger bees, new agents of change every day, it seems. I trust that if I become the monster, they will do what is needed.

In my darker hours, I believe that's not a question of 'if,' but 'when.' 

Call me Reviled. It's a pleasure to meet you. 
Let us be friends, let us utterly destroy our enemies, and when we succumb to the forces of darkness or the blades of our allies, let us leave the world a better place for our efforts.