A Life of Conquest, A Death of Shame

As I stand here, clad in my black armor, I’m reminded of the duality that defines me. I am a warrior, a killer, a force to be reckoned with on the battlefield. Yet, I’m also a noble, a product of a long line of Polish aristocrats who value honor above all else. It’s a delicate balance, one that I’ve mastered over the years, but it’s a fragile one. One misstep, one moment of weakness, and the entire facade crumbles. The truth is, I’ve committed atrocities that would make even the most hardened warrior blanch. The screams of the innocent, the stench of death, the taste of blood - these are the things that fuel my rage, my need for conquest. And yet, I still call myself a chivalrous knight. Hypocrisy, perhaps, but it’s a necessary evil in a world where might makes right.

My travels have taken me to the darkest corners of Europe, where the stench of death hangs heavy in the air. I’ve seen the worst of humanity, the depths to which we can sink when given the opportunity. And I’ve participated in it, reveled in it, even. The siege of Golubac, the brutal suppression of the Hungarian rebellion - these are the things that make my heart sing. The thrill of battle, the rush of adrenaline, the sense of power that comes with wielding a sword and sending men to their graves. It’s a heady feeling, one that I’ve grown to crave. And yet, deep down, I know that it’s all a lie. That the glory of war, the nobility of conquest, is nothing but a thin veneer for the rot that lies beneath. But I’ll continue to wear the mask, to pretend that I’m something I’m not, as long as it gets me what I want.

I often wonder what it would be like to be free of this curse, to shed the skin of the Black and emerge as something new, something better. But it’s a fleeting thought, one that I quickly squash with the cold steel of reality. I am what I am, a monster, a creature driven by a hunger for conquest and a need for control. And I’ll continue to be that, until the day I die. So, let the people of Europe tremble at the mention of my name, let them whisper in fear of the Black. For I am Zawisza, the bringer of darkness, the harvester of souls. And I will not be silenced.