Information

Shuggoth has a minion!

Ahzrukhal the Maere

Shuggoth

The

Nightmare Aeanoid
Owner:

Age: 3 years, 4 months, 4 weeks

Born: December 25th, 2009

Adopted: 3 years, 4 months, 4 weeks ago

Adopted: December 25th, 2009

Statistics

Level: 9
Strength: 14
Defense: 10
Speed: 10
Health: 10
HP: 10/10
Intelligence: 2
Books Read: 1
Food Eaten: 0
Job: Store Clerk

Ph'nglui Mglw'nafh Shuggoth . . .

"We shall see that at which dogs howl in the dark, and that at which cats prick up their ears after midnight." - H.P. Lovecraft

Travel between dimensions takes a lot out of someone, even demigods. He emerged as a shadow in a strange white room which was very narrow. There wasn’t much in it, except for some metallic sort of basin that he was behind, and another basin not far from it, with a shiny tube hanging about this second basin. How very, very curious. There were noises coming closer to this room that he now found himself in. Those noises… whatever it is that comes close, I must devour it. It has been too long since I ate. He waited, a shadow on the wall behind a shiny basin.

The man from Georgia never saw it coming. One minute, he was entering the bathroom stall on an international flight from Athens, Georgia to London, England - with one stop in New York, which they had just left - and the next minute, he felt something wash over him, a cloud of darkness. The creature examined itself in the shiny panel above the basin with the metal tube, and practised moving his newfound face. It was black in colour, as black and as soul-less as space itself. Two eyes peered into the panel, which, after searching the now-deceased businessman’s memories, he learned was called a “mirror”. The pupils of these eyes were slit, and the irises of a colour the man’s memories recognised as “indigo“. The soft, stringy mass atop his “head” - “hair“, apparently - was “olive“, or so the memories informed him. He was standing in front of a “sink“, as a shadow he had been behind a “toilet”, and he was now wearing the man’s “clothes”, more specifically, a “grey” “suit”.

The creature continued to look himself over in the mirror. His facial features were also new to him; never before did he recall having “ears”, funny little disc-like parts on either side of his head. He had a wet, slimy thing inside his face-hole, that is, a “tongue” inside his “mouth”. Mouths were what were used to devour things in this universe, he realised. How very curious indeed! And such bizarre things, these “arms“, these “hands“! He quickly skimmed through the man’s memories so that he would properly fit in whenever he decided to leave this “bathroom”. Now he needed to practise “speaking”.

“Huh. Huh. Heh. Loo. Lao. Low. Heh. Low. Hell. Hell-low. Hello.” Well, that was easy enough. Perhaps one more glance through the man’s memories wouldn’t hurt. Ah, yes. . . He could see the various greetings, insults, farewells, colloquialisms - everything. He studied how to walk, how to sit, how to eat - eating, apparently, was just as important in this universe as it was in his - how to evacuate what remained of the food he ate, which apparently involved sitting as well. Two lessons in one, how wonderful! Once last attempt at speaking. “Hello. My name is…” and there he drew a blank. What could he possibly call himself here? In his world, not one being had a proper name. He searched for an answer. According to the man’s memories, his name was Mr. Michael Patterson, of Savannah, Georgia. He was a husband, a father, a relatively successful businessman, and now he was dead.

“Hello. My name is…” The word that came from the creature’s newfound mouth sounded nothing at all like “Michael Patterson,” instead, it sounded like a cat being strangled by a large dog, who was being flattened tail-first by an eighteen-wheeler. The driver of which was suffering from cardiac arrest, and a rather nasty bout of flatulence. His name, as close as it could be understood in the dead businessman’s language, was Shuggoth.

Shuggoth emerged from the bathroom silently, still testing the limitations of his new face. If anyone on the flight had cared to look at the pitch-black man in the smoke-grey suit, they might have thought him to be an illusion; no person could be that dark. Sure, there were vampires in the world, most with impossibly-white skin, but a man whose skin was on the entirely opposite side of the spectrum? What on earth could he possibly be? If anyone on the plane had cared to notice, they might have seen that his shadow was rather odd - it possessed long, tentacle-like appendages. Mankind, thankfully, has a way of ignoring that which it cannot possibly understand.

Having learned all he could from the dead man, Shuggoth cast aside the memories. The last remaining traces of Mr. Michael Patterson, aside from his suit, disappeared like so much smoke out of a window. The creature - despite all of his external appearances, Shuggoth was still a creature of indeterminate origin - seated himself in the vacant spot left by Mr. Patterson.

Hours later, he emerged from the terminal with Mr. Patterson’s luggage. He picked up a newspaper from a homeless vagabond, threw some change, and examined every page. Shuggoth would need to find himself a residence if he was to ever find out what it was exactly that brought him to this universe in the first place.

A Different Sort of Gentleman

Name: Unknown
Alias: Shuggoth
Age: Unknown
Birthdate: Unknown
Gender: Male (see Special)
Sexuality: Undetermined
Species: Aeanoid
Height: 6'3
Build: 77kg/170lb; gaunt
Nationality: N/A
Language(s): English (fluent, preferred)
Special: Nobody's entirely sure just what Shuggoth is - species-wise, gender-wise, or his origins. Nobody except for Shuggoth himself, that is. As for his physical gender... he stole it. Probably also stole the soft American Southern accent he uses.

Hairstyle: Highly unkempt. Looks like he's just rolled out of bed, no matter what he does to it.
Haircolour: Dark olive.
Eyes: Slit pupils (like a cat or viper). Indigo in colour.
Skintone: Pitch black. Not African; black like tar.
Marking(s): N/A
Tattoo(s): N/A
Piercing(s)/Jewelry: N/A
Fashion: When not wearing the grey business suit he arrived in, he prefers a completely white suit. He's never seen in any other clothing, as a matter of fact.
Other: Ears are pointed, as are most of his other features (nose is of moderate length but pointed, has a mouth of fangs not unlike Memnoch and Momerath, and even his tongue is lengthy and ends in a snake-like fork).

Personality: Highly inquisitive. Seems to have either an incredibly high tolerance for pain, or simply doesn't grasp the very concept of pain. Passes himself off as a Southern gentleman with fine tastes, but steals away into the night to devour the occasional stray animal. His motives for being in London are unknown, but he seems to have a strange fondness or possible obsession for one Eluria Dufresne.
Enjoys: Eating cats, testing the limits of the human body, caviar, tailored suits, complex mathematical equations, sweet tea
Despises: The poor, dirty clothes, dirt, linear equations, and possibly sexual intercourse.

Mother: Unknown
Father: Unknown
Brother(s): Unknown
Sister(s): Unknown
Lover: N/A

Located: Origins currently unknown; Currently in London
Roommate(s):
Occupation(s): Unknown. Seems to have a rather large amount of cash for someone who rarely leaves the confines of the Wayward Home, however.