You are Taken. Dark and nameless, shifting in the corners of the world. Unmade by your god.

Oryx, the Lord of Shapes, cut you into your present form. Wielding Willbreaker, he broke you.

To be Taken is to accept the knife, accept the pain, accept the sweet pang of a question that cannot be denied.

Oryx, the Lord of Shapes, is dead. No will can replace the void of your own.

What is left for you? Who are you without the commanding will?

There is a new hand on the knife's hilt. It calls to you in the hollow chambers of your dying heart.

The knife offers [new purpose].

Will you accept it?