Information
Uti has a minion!
Unlucky the Captured Pixie
Unlucky the Captured Pixie
Uti
Legacy Name: Uti
The
Common HarvesterOwner: Ligfyr
Age: 13 years, 9 months, 3 weeks
Born: August 12th, 2012
Adopted: 13 years, 9 months, 3 weeks ago
Adopted: August 12th, 2012
Statistics
- Level: 3
- Strength: 10
- Defense: 10
- Speed: 10
- Health: 10
- HP: 10/10
- Intelligence: 16
- Books Read: 16
- Food Eaten: 0
- Job: Store Clerk
Uti: Old Norse, adj. - "unshielded".
She crept along the ground in darkness, grey fingers seeming too fragile to hold her ethereal body down; arms too weak to lift it higher than this painful slither. Earth caught on her cloak, stones prised and pulled it away. Ragged and torn, it was all she had to keep her separate from the elements around her, to hold her consciousness inside the uncertain bounds of her body, away from the eager tug of the wind or the clammy embrace of soil and stone. The wild world corroded her essence like the gentlest of insects degrading a corpse. Remove the cloak, the elements whispered to her on the long black tongue of the wind. Remove it, and become one with us...
Wavering, she paused on the crest of a muddy hill, propped up on two spindly arms to stay above the sucking earth, aching to her centre with longing and fear. It would be so easy to slip the garment away, to allow herself to float free of all pain, to rise, laughing, into the air, fall with the rain, disperse until she was nothing and nobody, with none of the cares that came with being her... Terror gripped her all at once in its shuddering fist. Non-being threatened at the edges of her awareness, oblivion yet more terrifying than the agony of being alive to fear it. She clasped her cloak, her only protection closer to her throat, as a small child clutches a limp toy in place of the parent it knows is away, too distant to hear a stifled sob in the clinging darkness.
Trees rose in thin lines of black ink against the murky bruise of the sky as she hurried desperately onwards, repeating over and over in her voiceless, fear-choked voice: "I am Uti, I am real, I am Uti, I am real..." But the more she said the words, the the more their meaning faded, and the more her sentence wavered and fell into silence. Brown ridges of mud rose in endless procession before her, another to replace each one which fell beneath her tremulous fingers. She did not want them to fall. She wanted them to hold her secure, even as the blackened trees held the mice in their roots, the birds in their reaching branches. Nothing had ever enclosed her in safety the way those creatures' nests coddled them. She would not be welcome in their homes. The familiar crimson glow which tinted her night vision was a constant reminder of their hostility. Was she to be feared? Her own red eyes, reflected from the rain pools, gazed the sly, steady gaze of truth back at her, reproachful malice glimmering in their bloody depths. Where was she in those wells of cruelty? Nowhere. Nobody.
The building wave of despair finally crashed over her, and Uti, the little fragile life that was all her feeble cloak could hold, slumped, crumpled, to the muddy floor. As the chill of the night came, frost began to spread across the rain-lashed earth. Cold seeped into her, and she let it come. She wanted to freeze. Ice would cradle her, numb her, take away the pain. Ice would make her warm as no summer's day ever had. Ice would blanket her, give her solidity, a shape of her own, a being to call herself at last. Ice would dull the fire in her eyes. She would be calm. Peaceful, at last.
She crept along the ground in darkness, grey fingers seeming too fragile to hold her ethereal body down; arms too weak to lift it higher than this painful slither. Earth caught on her cloak, stones prised and pulled it away. Ragged and torn, it was all she had to keep her separate from the elements around her, to hold her consciousness inside the uncertain bounds of her body, away from the eager tug of the wind or the clammy embrace of soil and stone. The wild world corroded her essence like the gentlest of insects degrading a corpse. Remove the cloak, the elements whispered to her on the long black tongue of the wind. Remove it, and become one with us...
Wavering, she paused on the crest of a muddy hill, propped up on two spindly arms to stay above the sucking earth, aching to her centre with longing and fear. It would be so easy to slip the garment away, to allow herself to float free of all pain, to rise, laughing, into the air, fall with the rain, disperse until she was nothing and nobody, with none of the cares that came with being her... Terror gripped her all at once in its shuddering fist. Non-being threatened at the edges of her awareness, oblivion yet more terrifying than the agony of being alive to fear it. She clasped her cloak, her only protection closer to her throat, as a small child clutches a limp toy in place of the parent it knows is away, too distant to hear a stifled sob in the clinging darkness.
Trees rose in thin lines of black ink against the murky bruise of the sky as she hurried desperately onwards, repeating over and over in her voiceless, fear-choked voice: "I am Uti, I am real, I am Uti, I am real..." But the more she said the words, the the more their meaning faded, and the more her sentence wavered and fell into silence. Brown ridges of mud rose in endless procession before her, another to replace each one which fell beneath her tremulous fingers. She did not want them to fall. She wanted them to hold her secure, even as the blackened trees held the mice in their roots, the birds in their reaching branches. Nothing had ever enclosed her in safety the way those creatures' nests coddled them. She would not be welcome in their homes. The familiar crimson glow which tinted her night vision was a constant reminder of their hostility. Was she to be feared? Her own red eyes, reflected from the rain pools, gazed the sly, steady gaze of truth back at her, reproachful malice glimmering in their bloody depths. Where was she in those wells of cruelty? Nowhere. Nobody.
The building wave of despair finally crashed over her, and Uti, the little fragile life that was all her feeble cloak could hold, slumped, crumpled, to the muddy floor. As the chill of the night came, frost began to spread across the rain-lashed earth. Cold seeped into her, and she let it come. She wanted to freeze. Ice would cradle her, numb her, take away the pain. Ice would make her warm as no summer's day ever had. Ice would blanket her, give her solidity, a shape of her own, a being to call herself at last. Ice would dull the fire in her eyes. She would be calm. Peaceful, at last.