Who am I? Who, is but the form following the function of what and what I am is a man in a mask. Of course you can see that, I’m not questioning your powers of observation, as do evidenced by the facade that thyself and the preponderance populations of the society masqueraded with, as do I. I’m merely remarking upon the paradox of having an incognito individual asking a masked man who he is. But on this most auspicious of nights, permit me then, in lieu of the more commonplace soubriquet, to suggest the character of this dramatis persona. Voila! In view thespian amateur, cast empathetically as both martyr and miscreant by the metamorphosis of Moirai. This mien, no mere mask of modesty, is a memento of the "bourgeois assumption" now void, forsaken. However, this mettlesome tribulation of an archaic mortification stands invigorated, and has pledged to subjugate these totalitarian and antagonistic tyrants, engineering corruption and decimation of personage anarchism. The only deliverance is retaliation; a fracas, held as a votive not in delusion, for the implication and authenticity of such shall one day advocate the observant and the righteous. In truth, this prolixity of circumlocution deviate most grandiloquent, so let me simply add that it's my very good reverence to be acquainted with you and you may call me lordlad. Am I like a crazy person? I'm quite sure many will say so.