Information

Ruach has a minion!

Minion the Bibli

Ruach
Legacy Name: Ruach

The

Custom Nostalgic Paralix
Owner: Akita

Age: 12 years, 8 months, 1 week

Born: July 23rd, 2013

Adopted: 12 years, 7 months, 2 weeks ago

Adopted: August 21st, 2013

Statistics

Level: 20
Strength: 69
Defense: 69
Speed: 69
Health: 75
HP: 75/75
Intelligence: 25
Books Read: 25
Food Eaten: 0
Job: Unemployed

רוח

Beneath the scorching dunes deep in the driest desert, where the sun bleaches the sand white and the wind whispers of forgotten civilizations, lies a sanctuary known as the Library of All Knowledge. Here, in chambers carved from ancient rock, and cooled by the breath of eternity, dwells She who has no name. Local desert dwellers and theologians refer to her as "Ruach", theologians respectfully call her The Keeper, and still others dare not speak of her at all.

She appears as a massive old shaggy dog, an appearance as humble as her sworn undertaking is noble. Her coat, a tapestry of matted ashen silvers and terracotta reds, is home to countless moths, their iridescent wings catching the warm yellow light of oil lamps as they flutter between the strands. Some say she is made of paper itself, that her being is woven from the first words ever written.

The library stretches endlessly around her in all directions, its shelves carved directly into the cavern walls and rising impossibly high, disappearing into dark shadows. Ancient scrolls from Babylon rest beside manuscripts from monasteries that will not exist for another thousand years. Books bound in scales and leather share space with clay tablets bearing the word of sleeping Gods. Every secret ever whispered, every truth ever hidden, every lie ever believed, all of it is guarded and cared for by Her.

She has been here since before time as a concept existed. When the universe was young and unnamed, her breath gave life to the first words, and her exhale still carries the power to spark consciousness in the lifeless. Angels descend through cracks in reality to seek her counsel, their wings folding respectfully as they approach her reading corner, her "throne". Demons, too, rise from the depths below, shadowy figures bowing before her imploring for a shred of wisdom.

Some whisper that she is the source from which all divinity flows, not God, perhaps, but the keeper of the thoughts from which gods are born. She neither confirms nor denies such claims, for she is too busy with her work: reading, writing, collecting, preserving. The moths in her fur carry messages between the pages of existence, and in their gentle flutter, the universe continues to write itself.

In the deepest hours of night, when the desert above grows cold and still, she can be found at her great desk, a quill moving across parchment that never ends. She writes the secrets of all that is, was, and ever shall be, her ancient tired eyes reflecting the light of a thousand libraries, each one a star in the vast constellation of knowledge she guards.

And sometimes, if you listen very carefully to the wind across the sand, you can hear the fluttering of moth wings and the sound of her quill being strewn across a page.

Profile @ Akita
Overlay @ ~~Shalashaska~~
Art @ Doc-Roe