The Cleansing of Orphos Darkmoor

I want to take you back to a time far before the world discovered technology, when witches, goblins, werewolves, and vampires weren’t merely myths but actual beings. Imagine looming castles in the backdrop of a forest surrounded by dark trees that loomed like towers. This is where you will find Orphos Darkmoor. In a castle that looks like the gate to the underworld, he sits quietly, contemplating his existence. His life was upheaved; however, his name has become infamous.

He meticulously scrubs the floors until his hands bleed. Everywhere he can see traces of his dad and the horrors that he went through. Amidst the turmoil that was his life, he was able to become stronger and powerful. Through the use of sigils, Orphos clings to the last bit of sanity he has left. Only in his castle does he clean and offer prayers to a god that has taken his life.

Not in a way that you might think, but in a way that Orphos barely holds on to a shred of his humanity.
The meticulous cleaning habits have formed blisters where his fingers should be, and his use of dark magic has estranged his senses. He is no longer connected to the feelings raging inside of himself. It’s as if the dark magic that courses through his veins has made him a stranger to basic human emotions. The pain, guilt, frustration, and anger cling to his body like the skin he no longer has.

Wanting to feel whole and loved, he scrapes, scrubs, and scours until his pores seep blood onto the floor.
Each day he wakes up and scours. He wakes up and cleans…