Profanator

You are a poor fellow.

A pariah, a bum, an outcast. Society doesn't want you, or you don't want it. The reasons why this is the case can be the most diverse, and we don't care about the details. The fact is that you shun civilization.

The world around you is pampered in a reassuring game of power and money that you don't feel you belong to. While the people around you fought with each other, feeding on each other to try to triumph or succumb, you took a step to the side. You left behind a world that you judged to be self-referential, in which you knew you could never be happy. And in doing so you embraced life.

Life is that of the profanator.

That's what they call those like you, who live on the fringes feeding on what they can salvage from the ruins of the past. Crypts, abandoned buildings, haunted dungeons are places that normal people abhor. For people like you, however, they are an opportunity. They hide potential riches: art objects, lost texts, secrets that so-called civilization actually desires. And then you are the one who faces the mysteries of these ruins, looking for these fruits of the earth to resell them to the highest bidder, in exchange for money, a hot meal, a roof over your head.

In your way, even if society refuses to accept it, you too have a function in this world.

You are a profanator.

This is your life.