While looking upon such maligned flesh may revolt those he shares the firelight with, true companionship he can always find, meditating on his lofty blade - a once officious weapon, now broken as the man who wields it.

However, if his own solace be paramount, the protection and prison of his mask may be slipped - a calming intoxication of air upon a striken visage.

Should their mental firmness be tenuous, the Leper may isolate himself to spare their peace of mind a mercy, paid for with his own well-being. Huddled by a campfire, its ruinous toll becomes most evident, to himself and those lit by the same flames. His dread sickness has given the Leper his name surely as it has taken his body. However, such force falls not nimbly, and foes may lightly evade their execution. And when his massive blade falls, death's call rings loud to all caught in its thunderous arc. His power can neither serve nor comfort others but, drawing on it, he can gain strength others can but dream of, or the endurance to bear what no other could. He has learned to channel his energy inward, a kingdom within one man. Tortured existence has taught him to count not on the care of others. The Leper not only knows but embraces such solemnity. Struggle, and futility - all one's days are a constant toil to shelter life's ember through one more night.

Darkest dungeon jester sounds