Anonymous
7/7/2025, 10:52:57 PM No.96033844
You will never be a real wizard, you have no magic staff, you have no orb, you have no scholarly lore. You are a warlock twisted by a pact into a crude mockery of arcane perfection.
All the “validation” you get is two-faced and half-hearted. Behind your back wizards mock you. Your parents that you left behind are disgusted and ashamed of you, your party members laugh at your ghoulish appearance behind closed doors.
Apprentices are utterly repulsed by you. Thousands of years of evolution have allowed them to sniff out frauds with incredible efficiency. Even warlocks who “pass” look uncanny and unnatural to an apprentice. Your rod implement is a dead giveaway. And even if you manage to get a drunk apprentice to come to your tower, he’ll turn tail and bolt the second he sees walls lined with summoning sigils, instead of bookcases.
You will never be happy. You wrench out a fake smile every single morning and tell yourself it’s going to be ok, but deep inside you feel the depression creeping up like a weed, ready to crush you under the unbearable weight.
Eventually it’ll be too much to bear - you’ll tie a noose, kick the bucket and plunge into the cold abyss. Your party will find you, heartbroken but relieved that they no longer have to live with the unbearable shame and disappointment of having a fake wizard. They’ll bury you with a headstone marked with the name of your patron, and every passerby for the rest of eternity will know a warlock is buried there. Your bones will decay and go back to the dust, and all that will remain of your legacy is a soul forever enslaved in the sulfur mines of Avernus.
This is your fate. This is what you chose. There is no turning back.
All the “validation” you get is two-faced and half-hearted. Behind your back wizards mock you. Your parents that you left behind are disgusted and ashamed of you, your party members laugh at your ghoulish appearance behind closed doors.
Apprentices are utterly repulsed by you. Thousands of years of evolution have allowed them to sniff out frauds with incredible efficiency. Even warlocks who “pass” look uncanny and unnatural to an apprentice. Your rod implement is a dead giveaway. And even if you manage to get a drunk apprentice to come to your tower, he’ll turn tail and bolt the second he sees walls lined with summoning sigils, instead of bookcases.
You will never be happy. You wrench out a fake smile every single morning and tell yourself it’s going to be ok, but deep inside you feel the depression creeping up like a weed, ready to crush you under the unbearable weight.
Eventually it’ll be too much to bear - you’ll tie a noose, kick the bucket and plunge into the cold abyss. Your party will find you, heartbroken but relieved that they no longer have to live with the unbearable shame and disappointment of having a fake wizard. They’ll bury you with a headstone marked with the name of your patron, and every passerby for the rest of eternity will know a warlock is buried there. Your bones will decay and go back to the dust, and all that will remain of your legacy is a soul forever enslaved in the sulfur mines of Avernus.
This is your fate. This is what you chose. There is no turning back.
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