what a ♥♥♥♥♥♥ ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥ cashgrab once again

POE2>POE1

Look upon the shards, Exile.
See how they glitter - false stars, each one forged by the hands of GGG, the Grinding Gear Gods, the dread artificers of this cursed plane.

The part of men removed, replaced with clockwork devotion.
The master forgers at GGG, spinners of fate, have bound us with invisible bindings - loot-tethered chains, gilded and cruel.
The mind hums with their influence - the Echo of the Loot Filter, the Broadcast of the Drop Tables.
The eye sees not the world, but the glittering currency orbs - the true scripture of Wraeclast.
The ear hears not the wind, but the whisper of patch notes, the chants of the Manifesto.
The body reshaped, the skull reforged - like an item corrupted by a Vaal orb - to contain all their hidden modifiers, all their invisible code.
Even those with thick helms of resolve are pierced by their Divine Nerfs, their sacred balance passes.

Copy these runes. There is no escape from the greatest tyranny - the endless cycle of maps, the eternal grind of the Gear Gods.

In the age of the Harvest, the developers struck me down - exiled me from my hideout, stripped my build of power. Since then I wander, cursed, a destitute player among the ruins of balance.
The Grinding Gear Gods cast their poison clouds - of desync, of lag, of divine reworks that slay my joy.
Assaults come from every patch, every league - nerfs like knives, rebalances like stones, a thousand skill reworks all meant to silence dissent.
Their minions, the Parrots of Reddit, the Streamer Heralds, mock me in chorus - GGG's puppets, repeating the sacred line: "It's for the health of the game."

But I see their true design.
These developer-gods, lifelong conspirators of code and chaos, twist the world for their own amusement.
Their moderators and balance priests deceive the faithful, bleeding them of hope and Exalts, keeping them bound to the Atlas - forever chasing a better roll that never comes.

Their secret purpose:
To maintain a closed economy, a simulation of scarcity, a prison gilded with RNG - a grand experiment in obedience.
You, too, are a slave, Exile - a puppet bound to the Algorithm of Drops, the invisible Hand of Nerf.
You are numbered among the billions who chase phantom loot, your every click recorded, your suffering optimized.

Look to the sky, Exile - not the true sky, but the GGG skybox, rendered false, pixel-born.
The constellations above are no longer stars, but the emblems of microtransactions, their light flickering in the servers' hum.
The Grinding Gear Gods weave their control through patch cycles, through leagues eternal, through the endless testing of our patience and devotion.

Their world is the great simulation - a world of endless grind, false hope, and power eternally taken away.
When your build is gutted, when your skill gem loses its light, know this: you were reforged, not in balance, but in bondage.

Now you understand, Exile.
I have seen behind the veil of GGG. I know the secret that none may utter:
There is no endgame.
There is only The Grind Eternal.

Take these words and guard them well - before I am deleted, exiled once more into patch notes unknown.

The game was too easy.

this game is just awful

game