"We shall not cease from exploration, and the end of all our exploring will be to arrive where we started and know the place for the first time."
Do not trust tales of heroic deeds.
Because history is written by the victorious.
Don't trust stories about wars, battles and victories. Because no one wins a war. Don't trust bedtime stories told by candlelight to frightened children. Because not even a child believes them. Don't trust the shaman who teaches you how to survive the cold winter. Because the coldest winter is yet to come.
Don't trust fathers, mothers, balladeers, heralds and the clergy. Because everyone only says what benefits them. Do not trust the teachers and the well-meaning. For all teaching is aimed at subjugation. Do not trust the prophets and the knowledgeable. For they do not know the truth.
Do not trust the legend of God and the devil, for they are illusions, created to stupefy believers.
Oh, the romance! Oh, the lie!
See how man works, sings, dances, invents legends and multiplies without restraint in order to forget the truth: That he vegetates between heaven and hell. In a pit from which angels and demons, all monsters, greedily feed. See how the monsters also dance an elegant dance for food. For man alone, naked and fragile, imperfect, greedy like the monsters, oscillating between order and chaos, possesses the only thing that can nourish a monster: An immortal soul.
The only truth is the greed that drives every living being, the only goal is to learn lessons from suffering.
Suffer, play, rule. Every game a legend, every battle a lesson.
Every human killed, a soul.
Food for monsters.
Feed from
THE PIT.
I will try not to say too many words
This game was dreamed. It came between sleep and wakefulness. I saw images of it in my mind's eye. Of cards, miniatures, a treasure chest.
The idea was written down. What couldn't be written down was the feeling I had when I dreamed it. This feeling of forward energy. Every day since the work began to put the game into reality, I have tried to evoke this feeling again and again.
What I dreamed is a game for two best friends, two best opponents. A game that doesn't feel confrontational like a boxing match, but like a dance.
I wanted to make a game that I would have died for as a young man.
I see the board games that exist today. Many of them are certainly brilliant, ingeniously created by great masters. But there is something they all have in common that I could never understand:
They are structured through color, they are flashy, they try to attract attention. Their beauty is bruised by text and symbols and lines and arrows and instructions.
I didn't want that. I want "THE PIT" to remain in a dark niche, structured by material. "THE PIT" should be the dark brother, the gray eminence. The game you've heard of, but you don't know anyone who has seen it, let alone owns it.
This game is not for everyone. It is a curiosity.