Information

Rite has a minion!

Dormiir the Griim

Rite

The

Nightmare Tigrean
Owner:

vixen

Age: 8 years, 3 months, 3 weeks

Born: December 28th, 2015

Adopted: 6 years, 4 months ago

Adopted: December 23rd, 2017

Pet Spotlight Winner
April 6th, 2022

Statistics

Level: 5
Strength: 12
Defense: 13
Speed: 12
Health: 12
HP: 12/12
Intelligence: 4
Books Read: 4
Food Eaten: 0
Job: Suds Mopper

R I T E
NSFW- violence, blood, gore
A peculiar black cat watches from the dead tree. Nothing dares breathe beneath her shadow.
There are stories told of me, woven in the stillness of the dark. They are carried on trembling tongues, obscured in the hush of low whispers.
The ravens laugh in the trees at night. They know that she is silent, sleeping. But for how long?
The houses in the black woods are dreaming. Their foolishness lulls them to slumber. Ignorance buries them. How long do they have until she comes?
There is a house in the clearing, surrounded by trees. Like the others, it is still. It will do.
I close the distance between us in an instant- or was it a millennium? Time means little. I have seen the birth of countless kings, the rise of vast empires, the death of vicious tyrants. I have lived a thousand of your lifetimes. Time does not exist. It is everything and it is nothing. It is. Your kind enjoys putting names to things they don't understand.
The ravens cease their heckling and watch me from the trees. Their black eyes bulge in anticipation. They peck at their flesh as if anxious, pulling the feathers. The blood they draw excites them, erupting into a cacophony of shrieks. Impatience will be met in kind. I cast a glance over my shoulder, towards the trees. I meet their hungry gaze in silence.
The ravens see something bright in the void below the branches- no, two things- two orbs of white against the sheet of black. There are more now, seven.
One of the birds ruptures. The others remain motionless as the corpse convulses, viscera slipping off the leaves and splattering onto the earth below. They dare not make a sound.
I turn my attention back to the house.
There is a decrepit porch wrapped around the crumbling farmhouse, clearly neglected. It would appear to have been abandoned long ago if not for the candle twinkling faintly in the highest window. A fatal mistake. Hadn't they heard the stories?
The house weeps as I climb the porch steps. I leave scorch marks in the rotted wood. This house has had many nightmares. It would be merciful to burn it down when I am done.
The door is locked and bolted. Several gashes and grooves mar its face. They are deep. There is a cross hanging from a hook nailed into its surface. It dangles from a bit of frayed rope, the wood splintered from age. It is crude and rather primitive. In a way, I pity them. Almost. Did they hope this would keep me out?
Reaching out, I swat the thing. I expect a reaction but there is none, no shock- no sting. I watch it swing helplessly, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, until it goes limp. Lifeless. I rip it down and tear it to pieces.
I sense warm bodies within the walls- two adults, one child. They are human, for the stench of your kind is putrid and rather unmistakable. They are still.
They are afraid. They lock their children up at night and pray that I won't come for them- little lambs lost in the black woods, hunted by the snarling wolf. My name is carried on the bitter winds in the sunless sky. It is the frigid dread that makes them shiver in the dark.
- - -
I see another house in the clearing, surrounded by trees. Like the others, it is still. It will do.
Credits

Morte concept, writing, and coding © vixen
Nightmare Tigrean and all images © Subeta