Conan: Cultist

Your memories of the past have long since rotted away. You can't even recall your own name. Your bookshelf, however, is packed with pointless works of fantasy, describing the cold of deep winter and the silence of death.

"Ghouls"? Just the ramblings of daydreamers.

Your life is probably going to be plain and uneventful, until you taste your friend's bones with your own mouth.

Bitter memories, accompanied by the unique chill of bone, flow down your throat. You suppress your instinct to vomit and carefully search for the information you need.

"All things must pass."

You now understand what you must do.

Theme: The body is the mind's prison, and the world is the body's prison.