Information


Ivor has a minion!

Do not look to the Pile of Dead Eyeballs




Ivor


The Graveyard Mahar
Owner: Haiku

Age: 4 years, 2 weeks

Born: May 14th, 2016

Adopted: 1 year, 9 months, 6 days ago

Adopted: August 22nd, 2018

Nominate Pet for Spotlight

Statistics


  • Level: 100
     
  • Strength: 100
     
  • Defense: 100
     
  • Speed: 100
     
  • Health: 100
     
  • HP: 100/100
     
  • Intelligence: 100
     
  • Books Read: 100
  • Food Eaten: 100
  • Job: Tombstone Creator


"Darkness fills the life, covers the tired mind
Like the darkest damnation, anxiety, oppression;
A wounded soul manages to escape
From exhausted body,
From the bleeding prison..."

As he dragged himself through the floor he couldn't help but think of her. As his paws grasped to every tile hoping they weren't loose, the flinging pain burned his skin whole. The muscles were sore, his bones were aching but he had to keep going. It was hell to get back to the laboratory, and even though he couldn't see its walls and cages and the hundreds of test tubes and chemical mixtures, he remembered exactly the location of this and there, he needed no eyes to guide himself there. After all, he had spent most of his life locked in there — actually one could say, Ivor did spend his whole life inside it.
Ouch! He didn't really come to his senses about all that had happened until a shard of cracked glass screamed its presence digging inside his palm. But at least he was close enough, the door to his office was left open. And with a gentle push, he was once again inside his personal cage.

His lungs begged for a glimpse of air, and he laid his back against the wall. His office, his place, it would be a relief to come back if it wasn't so awful to breathe that smell again. He knew his medical coat was collecting dust on the floor a few steps away. He knew his desk and all his research papers were either burned, torn to pieces or taken into the unknown. He knew his laptop, his diary and all of his belongins must've been destroyed by now. But that wasn't the point, none of those were the reason he returned there. It was her that he was seeking.
He had to see it coming. When he first started working at that laboratory, when he was given the task to develop that virus, that one virus, he had to see the pandemic coming. He had to know it would be used for absolute no good, why didn't his scientist's intuition warned him, wasn't he a renowned researcher back then? What was he thinking when he accepted that job? He should have known it would cause a fatal pandemic, a zombie apocalypse, and he would be known to be responsible for all of that chaos. Doctor Ivor, what a joke! Years of studying couldn't make him see what was right in front of him. He should've known he'd be taken away — and take her away from him, too.
With a lazy arm, he reached for the one thing he expected to find at the shelf beside his resting place. He was praying to the lord it would still be there... When the inquisitors slammed down his door, he didn't mind the punishment and the torture, the endless agony and pain they caused to him, the poison he had to take (his own created poison) who made him die slowly from inside out. His face was scarred, his eyes and eyelids sewn together, his scaled ripped away, the price to pay for the hell he raised seemed only fair considering all the lives his creation ended. But that portrait...
Its glass was broken but Ivor did smile. He couldn't see any of it, but he could feel the photo still there, dusty and old, left to rot in a portrait by the shelf. He felt his heart at ease, knowing his beloved was there, looking back at him, in a photograph they took on their wedding. He remembered her, benevolent and sweet, and at the same time he hoped to find her and explain everything to her, and apologize for his crimes and his disappearance, he didn't want her to see his scarred face, his rotting body left to roam the underworld. But his love for her, it still remained as beautiful as his beloved's eyes. And he just sat there, for days, with a smile on his face and a tear escaping the stitches on his face.

"Feeling of loss, nocturnal suffocation
tears like blood, stench of decayed;
Alone, without a body,
Life is turned to hell;
Living in emptiness,
Torture of the timeless."


— — —

Adopted from Patience;
Story and art by Haiku.
Profile coding: FallenSamurai;
Background image from Wallpaper Flare;
Lyrics: Disengagement by Sentenced.

Pet Treasure


Miniature HLPR Bot Clipboard

Rusted Black Garden Shears

Bloody Fabric Scraps

Discarded Rusty Bone Saw

Discarded Rusty Trocar

Afoot

Stolen Rotten Arm

Skitters Favorite Needle

Zombie Can Opener

White Bloodstained Flannel

Tweezers

Steel-Handled Scalpel

Stay Awake Eye Drops

Useless Rusty Knife

Stained White Nitrile Gloves

Sougara Wasteland Cowboy Dirty Bandage Tin

Rotten Lens

RoQ Candy Xtra Bandage Tin

Mori Bandage

Moldy Disposable Fork

I Love Your Blood Type

Hydrocortisone Cream

First Aid Kit

Torn Blood Stained Fabric Patch

Lingering Haunt Severed Tongue

Suture Kit

Suspicious Plastic Bag

Surgically Clean Bandage

Top Tier Safety Helmet

Siren Cardinale Breath Mints

Repurposed Calipers

Plague-Doqtors Mask

Orange Liquid Filled Giant Syringe

Moxie Mints

Romero Post Mortem Razor Blade

Head Bandage Scraps

Discarded Rusty Forceps

Dapper Doctor Vizier Mask

Bloody Rag

Black Stethoscope

Banshee Thread of Fate

Bandages

Zombie Chew Toy

Bag of Blood

Acetaminophen Travel Pack

Pet Friends


Yorshka
My love, I miss you so much, so much.

Darka
You can't kill what's already dead.

Rancora
I'm sorry. We're both stuck in this.

Ick
Please, we must stop the contagion.