The Chosen of the Script (SETTING)

There is no single form of the Blasphemous Script. It can be a pamphlet fluttering in the wind, a sinister looking tome tucked away in the back of some dusty archive, even a bit of graffiti desperately scrawled in the lost tunnels of the Buried Kingdoms. It sometimes says quite a bit, and other times it's barely a sentence. Any particular iteration vanishes completely once read. Ultimately, the only thing all versions of the script share is that it brings the person who looks upon its message in contact with the Sealed Names, entities that refuse to be forgotten. 

From then on, their life is claimed.

Their dreams become haunted by memories not entirely their own, of things that might never be, of beings that have crawled their way out of the void just to profess they once existed. These voices quiet - only barely - in the waking hours. But those whispered names remain in the mind of those who have read the script, a shadowy flame that consumes who they otherwise might have been. Their former dreams and aspirations matter little. They became nothing more than a hollow vessel.

This is not out of cruelty on the part of the Sealed Names, even though some of them are quite wicked. They are simply desperate. To refuse the edict of Ending they must always exist, even if it is only as a monstrous echo, something whispered in fear, delirium or desperation. If they cannot brand reality with their very existence, than a mortal heart will simply have to do.

For untold centuries, those chosen by the script were accepted as lost causes. This was until a certain figure, a queen whose resolve was greater than that of even the Sealed Names themselves, sought out the script by her own initiative. She remains the only being to have ever read it in full.

None know exactly what pact she formed with those fearsome shadows. But it meant that she and henceforth, all others chosen by the Script, could summon the power of the Sealed Names by declaring their unceasing existence in a manner of their choosing.

Rather than simply being consumed by that blasphemous flame, they became its cultivators. They were no longer mere vessels. They were Heretics.