We are the victims of a psychopath who you may know. He victimized us and no one knows our story but us. We will tell you our stories so that this madman can be stopped. We cannot rest in peace until his sins are known.
We are five in all. An elder, an innocent bystander, a dead man, a child, and a lost musician. He came to us, earned our trust, and we suffered the consequences for trusting him.
I am the lost musician, devoured by seagulls. My tale is not so different from the child's. I was going for a swim when I met him; I had gotten lost at sea and was on the verge of drowning. I thought I was saved when he brought me ashore, but that was where things went wrong. He smiled at me, with that twisted grin and pulled out his blade. He carried me just above the part of the shore where the water stopped and he began going to work. I was too weak to fight back; all I could do was resign to my fate as his blade carved my flesh away. I could hardly move when he got up, it hurt too much to do more than look up to see him pile dead fish atop me. When the seagulls came, I screamed in horror as I realized his plan. He looked at me with my own face and laughed as I was being eaten alive by those wretched birds.
I am the elderly man, trapped in a blizzard. I thought I was going to die by being frozen before the spring sun came to warm me. I was wrong. He came up to me and provided me with heat from warm water, I began to thank him. It was then that he smiled and pushed me down, silently walking away as though nothing happened. I was helpless as I laid there unable to get up off the ice and up to safety as the spring's first sun rose and the ice below me melted. I realized at that moment he kept me from freezing so that I would drown.
I am the dead body, suffering even after death. He was not my killer, but what he did was just as terrible. I was dead by the time he found me, but my spirit cried out for the suffering my people were enduring. He came to my tomb and opened it, I remember the chilling look on his twisted face, I was watching in horror as he took out his blade and carefully cut my face off and put it over his. He seemed to be smiling, even gleeful at the thought of wearing my flesh over his face. Almost as if he believed it was just a game, something fun, he walked around wearing my face as he searched for his next victim.
I am the child, caught in the forest. I was wandering through the forest when I scrapped my leg on something. I didn't think much of it, scrapes and small cuts happen all the time when you're wandering through the forest. As I continued, I began to feel dizzy; I stopped at the stream to wash my face and the cut before sitting down beneath a tree to cool off. He snuck up behind me and said that he could fix my problems. I could hardly walk, so he carried me off. I was placed with my feet stuck in the ground, I couldn't get free. He told me that I was poisoned, and I would soon be feeling its effects. I stood there struggling to get out when my arms slowly became harder to move. And eventually they froze in place, just as the horrified look on my face as the poison took my ability to move it as well.
My last memories are of the pain I felt as his blade sliced through my skin and removed it from my body, and watching him put it on like a suit. If you look for me, I can be found dried up and stiff, my corpse appearing and feeling almost like wood.
I am the bystander, lying at the bottom of a cliff. I don't remember everything, but I do remember the look on his face as I fell. I was caught in the blizzard like the elderly man, but I wasn't as lucky. When I saw him coming, I hoped that I would be given warm water. Instead, he sat there waiting for me to go to sleep. He played songs and sang lullabies, until I was drowsy. He told me that I looked sleepy, and that I should let myself drift off, before he pushed me over a cliff. As the spring's first sun rose, the thick snow from the blizzard began to melt and filled the ravine where I was laid, dying on the ground. I didn't bleed out or die from the impact, my death was the result of water forcing itself down my throat and flooding my lungs as well as the rest of my body.
We are his victims, and we have told you our stories to warn you. Beware the madman, he is cruel and heartless. He is known by many. We are... ... ...He is here.
I am the madman, who tortured these souls. I love the feeling of wet, dead flesh pressing up against my skin, and I tortured these souls because I had no choice. You won't believe me when I tell you, but I did it all for the greater good. I used their flesh for my own purposes, and they should be thanking me. You should be thanking me. You want to report me to the authorities? Go ahead, tell them Link sent you.