I am the master of my fate

[New hand on the journals today. While the writing hand is confident, the script itself is rather careless: someone is jotting down his thoughts casually, as if he were talking not writing.]

This is all rather marvelous, isn't it? The way words appear on the page on their own. I'd not have believed it – who would? – but here it is. How are you, then, strange city's people? Is it true that you all hail from different worlds, but that none of you can remember any of them? What a wretched state to be in. But at least we're all exiles together.

Picking a name for your own self is queer business, but as there's no helping it, call me Ilyigan. It rings natural when I say it at the end of "I am" and that will have to do. And now that we've made introductions, tell me: what does a fighting man do in this glass cage? I'd wager all my coin, such as it is, that it is not so peaceful as it seems.