Information

Velen
Legacy Name: Velen

The Glade Noktoa
Owner: FoxSake

Age: 6 years, 6 months, 5 days

Born: October 18th, 2017

Adopted: 2 years, 8 months, 2 weeks ago

Adopted: August 4th, 2021

Pet Spotlight Winner
July 24th, 2022

Statistics

• Level: 50
   
• Strength: 125
   
• Defense: 125
   
• Speed: 122
   
• Health: 125
   
• HP: 10/125
   
• Intelligence: 149
   
• Books Read: 148
• Food Eaten: 1
• Job: Landscaper

Keeper of Avernus Garden

"There is no such thing as death. In nature nothing dies. From each sad remnant of decay, some forms of life arise so shall his life be taken away before he knoweth that he hath it."
- Charles Mackay

For the stuff of lore and myths, it was kind of disappointing. This was The Garden after all, wasn't it? The legendary entrance to the underworld? The fabled source of the Elixir of Immortality? You had some preconceived notions of what to expect; some fire and brimstone maybe, with that classic sulfuric smell - or even a frozen wasteland with the souls of the damned trapped in ice. Whatever you expected, it certainly wasn't something this... ordinary.

It was just a metal gate, overgrown with vines and shrubbery, with "THE WAY" spelled across the bars. You glance around, maybe this was the wrong place after all. Out of the corner of your eye, you catch some movement coming from the foliage besides the entrance. In fact, it seemed like the foliage itself was moving. Caught by surprise, you forget to breathe until the vines and branches stretched out to the sides to reveal themselves as wings to what appears to be an owl made of vegetation. Its feathers so closely resembled the leaves around it that it was practically indistinguishable from its surroundings. The bird rose with a yawn before snapping its beak shut and swiveling its head slowly towards your direction. The movement disturbed a couple of butterflies fluttering about its giant moss-covered antlers, which you previously mistook as branches, that adorns its head. Again, the beak opens, but rather than a hoot, you hear the wind whisper into your ear:

Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch'intrate."
Abandon all hope, ye who enter here.

Igne natura renovatur integra.
Through fire, nature is reborn whole.

Vulnerant omnia, ultima necat.
Every hour wounds, the last one kills

Omnes una manet nox.
One night awaits us all.

Acta deos numquam mortalia fallunt.
Mortal actions never deceive the gods.

Then, the noktoa's eyes begin to widen as it lets out one final warning. As you stare into them, its eyes begin to fade into the colors of harvest: first, the brilliant embers that light the trees and warm the crisp air. Then, the shades of rot and decay as the once crimson apple lays dull and neglected upon the ground. Its previously taut and inviting shell now cracked and broken away, exposing the vulnerable flesh now riddled with holes from insects that have bored their ways in. And finally, a strange stillness. Finally, before you sink further in its gaze, a low screech escapes its throat:

Sic gorgiamus allos subjectatos nunc.

We gladly feast on those who would subdue us.

The gate swings open as the noktoa folds its wings tight against its body and tucks its head underneath, returning to its camouflaged slumber, swallowed once again by the surrounding vines and branches.

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