Information
West_802
Legacy Name: West_802
The
Reborn MontreOwner:
miaoAge: 15 years, 2 weeks, 4 days
Born: June 11th, 2009
Adopted: 15 years, 2 weeks, 4 days ago (Legacy)
Adopted: June 11th, 2009 (Legacy)
Statistics
- Level: 1
- Strength: 10
- Defense: 16
- Speed: 10
- Health: 10
- HP: 10/10
- Intelligence: 0
- Books Read: 0
- Food Eaten: 0
- Job: Unemployed
The Gatekeeper
I am corrupted by the flames that burn in the pits of hell
I am purified by the light that shines from heaven
I am hungry for the end of the neverending torture
I am thirsty for the sweet ambrosia of eternal bliss
I am rattled by the screams of the tortured
I am soothed by the songs of the angels
I am West
Just another day
You step on the metro platform, a leather bookbag slung over your shoulder. A hobo lies to your left, fast asleep on his bed of...whatever that green stuff is, oblivious to the rumbling that has entered the station. A behind you trips, her coffee goes flying as you step back to avoid it staining your new white blouse.
A jaring blow smashes into your body...
You're still here...
and then.. it goes black.
Hey, hey you! Wake up. I don't have all day you know, there are plenty of others waiting to be sorted.A small montre prods you disapprovingly, and you reluctantly wake up from the nightmare. "Wait.. Where am I?..."
"GAH." The montre walks away, stepping into another room.
You finally notice your surroundings. It looks like a bed in a mental institution, a metal frame, itchy blue blanket and small, hard pillow. Grey walls seem to close in on you, and despite the unknown which may lay outside the standard white door, claustrophobia, and fear of staying in this strange place without the montre's company (no matter how queer and easily frustrated it is) drive you to go after it.
You step outside into another bland white hall, just in time to the montre's form dissapearing into another door marked by guess what? Another white door. Click the small noise echos in your ears as it filters through the huge expanse you stand in.
A huge filing library of sorts stands before you, dwarfing you in it's giant size. You hear the sound of the little montre's fluttering wings and you walk cautiously over.
West sorts departed souls into either heaven or hell. This is a massive task for one montre, as he must fill out extensive paperwork for each departed soul (the under and over worlds have not yet gone digital). He is constantly stressed out and has a very short temper. He also has little sympathy left for the departed; he's heard every sob story, every excuse.
I am corrupted by the flames that burn in the pits of hell
I am purified by the light that shines from heaven
I am hungry for the end of the neverending torture
I am thirsty for the sweet ambrosia of eternal bliss
I am rattled by the screams of the tortured
I am soothed by the songs of the angels
I am West
Just another day
You step on the metro platform, a leather bookbag slung over your shoulder. A hobo lies to your left, fast asleep on his bed of...whatever that green stuff is, oblivious to the rumbling that has entered the station. A behind you trips, her coffee goes flying as you step back to avoid it staining your new white blouse.
A jaring blow smashes into your body...
You're still here...
and then.. it goes black.
Hey, hey you! Wake up. I don't have all day you know, there are plenty of others waiting to be sorted.A small montre prods you disapprovingly, and you reluctantly wake up from the nightmare. "Wait.. Where am I?..."
"GAH." The montre walks away, stepping into another room.
You finally notice your surroundings. It looks like a bed in a mental institution, a metal frame, itchy blue blanket and small, hard pillow. Grey walls seem to close in on you, and despite the unknown which may lay outside the standard white door, claustrophobia, and fear of staying in this strange place without the montre's company (no matter how queer and easily frustrated it is) drive you to go after it.
You step outside into another bland white hall, just in time to the montre's form dissapearing into another door marked by guess what? Another white door. Click the small noise echos in your ears as it filters through the huge expanse you stand in.
A huge filing library of sorts stands before you, dwarfing you in it's giant size. You hear the sound of the little montre's fluttering wings and you walk cautiously over.
West sorts departed souls into either heaven or hell. This is a massive task for one montre, as he must fill out extensive paperwork for each departed soul (the under and over worlds have not yet gone digital). He is constantly stressed out and has a very short temper. He also has little sympathy left for the departed; he's heard every sob story, every excuse.
Pet Treasure
Holiday Cookie Gift Box
Pet Friends
East_119
I'm.. I'm not quite sure where you belong...