I am the Keeper, here. I am the eight-sided clockwork, and the seconds ticked off by gear-wheels of hunger and desire, and the screams that peal through the endless convolutions of the maze for all the damned to hear. It is the only conversation allowed.
There are rules here, laws I was free to make, and free to force myself to obey:
The crystalline wheels of pain must be kept moving - my Hells are fluid, not frozen, tempests of torment whose only point of stillness lies at the apex of my own spinning geometry. To this end, I must have souls. Many souls. Countless souls. Souls are the tension that winds my springs.
To this end, I created the Cenobites to bring me those who belong here. Occasionally, they procure others as well.
Those who embrace their suffering may become Cenobites themselves, in the fullness of the time that I mete out.
Those who do not, may not.
Those who know the proper configuration are under no obligation to stay.
Those who do not, are.
Forever.
That is all.