Information
Wraith has a minion!
Loop the Kerdan
Loop the Kerdan
Wraith
Legacy Name: Wraith
The
Galactic JollinOwner:
thoughtfulAge: 16 years, 4 months, 3 weeks
Born: July 17th, 2008
Adopted: 11 years, 9 months, 6 days ago
Adopted: March 5th, 2013
Statistics
- Level: 16
- Strength: 40
- Defense: 35
- Speed: 35
- Health: 37
- HP: 37/37
- Intelligence: 0
- Books Read: 0
- Food Eaten: 0
- Job: Stock Worker
There are so many millions of stories.
True tales, tall tales, fairy tales, romances and horrors and fantasies. One for everyone. More than one. So rich, so many.
eat and eat and eat and eat and eat
A page from a story: A tailor stitches a careful line, drawing fabric together firmly even with the thinnest of threads. Each stitch feels familiar under his hand, every motion a part of his muscle memory. He pauses. Something feels wrong. Where do his fingers move next? He shuffles the cloth around on the table, sets the needle down, lifts it again. He presses the pointed tip where he knows it must go next, but... fumbles.
Frustration draws his brows close. His mouth opens. His other mouth opens.
A darkly gleaming tentacle snakes up and sweeps the project to the floor with one angry motion.
A page: Someone is nailing a poster to a board, a poster with only a question mark where the face should be. WANTED, it says, and CAUTION and EXTREMELY DANGEROUS.
Do you know what a life is? A life is nothing more than a story you tell yourself, slowly, over many years.
I must fill this hollow! I can do nothing else!
A page: Siblings sit together, tails swishing gently at the warm afternoon air. They smile and tease each other. She turns serious, still and wide-eyed, and he sighs, tilting his head.
"I'm just not sure what to do," she says, and he laughs softly.
"You know I just want what's best for you, um..." he gropes for a name but his brain fails to supply it, allowing him only to finish lamely, "Sis."
She casts him a sharp look.
His claws appear and he rends at the air with a shriek, leaving behind gaping vents that lead to emptiness, nightmare black. The gashes leak tendrils of shadow. They seep out, then curl back in on themselves like smoke before a backdraft as the torn fabric of reality heals.
She remains, frozen but for the quivering tips of her ears. He is gone. Has been gone.
But those pages can't be from my story. They all belong to someone else, no matter how much I consume, no matter... who I am.
True tales, tall tales, fairy tales, romances and horrors and fantasies. One for everyone. More than one. So rich, so many.
eat and eat and eat and eat and eat
A page from a story: A tailor stitches a careful line, drawing fabric together firmly even with the thinnest of threads. Each stitch feels familiar under his hand, every motion a part of his muscle memory. He pauses. Something feels wrong. Where do his fingers move next? He shuffles the cloth around on the table, sets the needle down, lifts it again. He presses the pointed tip where he knows it must go next, but... fumbles.
Frustration draws his brows close. His mouth opens. His other mouth opens.
A darkly gleaming tentacle snakes up and sweeps the project to the floor with one angry motion.
A page: Someone is nailing a poster to a board, a poster with only a question mark where the face should be. WANTED, it says, and CAUTION and EXTREMELY DANGEROUS.
Do you know what a life is? A life is nothing more than a story you tell yourself, slowly, over many years.
I must fill this hollow! I can do nothing else!
A page: Siblings sit together, tails swishing gently at the warm afternoon air. They smile and tease each other. She turns serious, still and wide-eyed, and he sighs, tilting his head.
"I'm just not sure what to do," she says, and he laughs softly.
"You know I just want what's best for you, um..." he gropes for a name but his brain fails to supply it, allowing him only to finish lamely, "Sis."
She casts him a sharp look.
His claws appear and he rends at the air with a shriek, leaving behind gaping vents that lead to emptiness, nightmare black. The gashes leak tendrils of shadow. They seep out, then curl back in on themselves like smoke before a backdraft as the torn fabric of reality heals.
She remains, frozen but for the quivering tips of her ears. He is gone. Has been gone.
But those pages can't be from my story. They all belong to someone else, no matter how much I consume, no matter... who I am.
Pet Treasure
Saherimos Prayer Book
Strapped Book
Hoarfrosts Icelocked Grimoire
Fireside Stories
Book of Bluegreen Fairy Tales
Incomplete Desert Book
Handy Atlas
Voynich Manuscript
Guarded Book
Vesnali Tales
Shelf Life Overgrowth
Vesnali: An In-Depth History
Ancient Saherimos Text
Winged Stone Book
A Lizardly Tale
Spectrum Fables
Poisonous Barrage Scroll
Organigami
Build Your Own Spaceship
Biology Textbook
Dance of the Spirits
Moth-Eaten Book of Moths
Blimp Trapping
Gearbound Journal