So lets say you're a sword smith. Maybe there's a better name for that... whatever. You make swords. And you really enjoy doing it. It's what you're good at. It's your passion.
Now, these things, these uhhh... "Bandits," lets say. So now these bandits come around and have been sort of wrecking shit around town and you're kind of worried about that, but you're not sure how to fight them because they're really strong.
So you're doing some research and some experimenting and you design this new sword. It's a great sword, one of your best. You simply adore the work you've put into it, it means a lot to you. Then you realize that it's really effective against these Bandits... so you use it against them and sort of drive them off.
Everyone praises your discovery, so you work to recreate the sword so that others can use it to defend themselves as well. And things are pretty good for a while.
But then one day, a Bandit gets his hands on your sword... and he turns it against you. Humiliating you and leaving you beaten and broken. Your own work used against you. Betrayed by your own love.
But you survive... you recover... slowly, but... surely. You make it uneasily back to your feet in time. But you're still broken on the inside. You stand over your forge and stare down at the hot metal, but you can't bring yourself to work.
Meanwhile, the Bandits have returned in full force. Everyone is hurting and dying around you. Your research... your sword... it could save them. But every time you draw up the strength to fight, the Bandit waves your sword above his head, reminding you of your defeat... of your shame. You cower away from the fight. You turn your back on your former love.
You could help. The people cry out for your guidance. For your sword. But you deny yourself the forge. Why? For what purpose? Are you so broken? Is your defeat so utter?
Then why do you live? If your soul has already abandoned this plane, then why does your body remain?
Stand and fight. Return to the forge. Face down your burden. Take hammer in hand and pound away your shame. Certainly the sword you forge could be turned against you once more, but what is one sword against many? What is the point of living if not to try your hand again? And again? And again?!
Take your place upon the world's stage and shine like the brightest star.
Or step off and fade into oblivion.
Were it your choice. What would you choose?