Archhive Logos

by **Octo** Wed Apr 10, 2019 6:52 pm

Name:
Logos (Archhive is a title/honorific)

Race:
Cockroach

Racial Attributes:
Bigger than usual. More specifically, 5' 9" in length and 2' 9" in width.

Age:
203, post-sum.

Gender:
Male

Personality:
Spoiled after decades of reincarnations and divine favors, Logos speaks as if yanked off a pantheon and made mundane. However, wisdom and open-mindedness beyond his many years were honed throughout this miserable existence.

Appearance:
Obscured mass covered by the most opaque of silky indigo blankets. His form hibernates within this veil, avoiding any form of exposition. The single relevant opening in his garbs reveals nothing to prying eyes but an eye in itself. Violet antennae resembling tentaclish horns are what seem to rag it open, but that is all which protrudes from his abnormal wear. The antennae are long, entwining across his covered back. While he usually rests enveloped like a bagworm, he is no stranger to crawling for the purpose of locomotion.

Alignment:
Rogue

Occupation:
Self-sufficient street-dweller.

Relations:
Fragments of data on all. Personal connection to none.

Backstory:

Once a stray sentience like the thinking masses. Curiosity led a bold man to discover beings and truths none of his kind could fathom - not due to their magnitude or foreboding, but rather by proposing takes of immeasurable absurdity on the infrastructure of symbiosis. Driven to desperation, he beseeched these entities for the power to correct these obscure anomalies in the cosmic ecosystem. Yet, as they promised power, the beings imposed a trial. The man was to relinquish his hominid shape, becoming something in the image of these fickle, yet stern creatures.
His days of articulate, fleshy freedom were over, for this trial has no goal. Shedding bone and chitin for a plastic shape is but a stage of atonement everlasting.

------------------

A somber cityscape. The land where masses murkily bubble in Dankonese and the stars do not contrast with the sky. A place where the sewers’ repulsive brew creeps from the depths, and the eerie smog looms from above.

An affordable nest for a charitable act.

Mendicant entities are not uncommon in its plazas; wraiths who weaponize emotion and guilt to drain the citizens’ fruits of labor. However, good badlands allow no such individual to perpetuate. They hide like rodents, reproduce, and perish abruptly. Truly, the dog-eat-dog-eat-lion streets are no place for contest between its specimens.

But there is one urban figure whose image never fades. A cloaked statue of eerie longevity. One who does not bother the reserved, and does not resort to stealing to preserve his existence.

“I am no thief,” it ushers, “for thieves rob items of value. Banish something from your home, and it is unwanted. Valueless. Ownerless.”

“And giving these items a worthy end is my lifeblood.”

Ghetto-bred cockroaches can sometimes exhibit a strange behavior. They can act alone or in groups. Their path is not jittery. They do not linger, they do not wander. They have a goal, and a destination.

“I am their mother. I am their bed. I live off the city’s coprolite, yet I know more about it than its citizens. If you’ve discarded it, I’ll find it. So make sure to hold what’s valuable to you - lest it lay in my hands. While I can do nothing with this knowledge, I know who can. And if you do, too, pray to your gods they don’t find me first.”

Regardless of whether one moans or groans over crawling life, erect posture and good manners stem from it. Cultures, cities, families, glass, medicine, buttons, melodrama. Gifts attained from archaic, forgotten stepping stones. Ingrate lifeforms cannot be terminated – so they must be reminded.

Reminded of their place within the primal stratagem.

Interests:
- The preservation of life
- The strategic deletion of life
- Raw sugar

Disinterests:
- Malodorous and unclean entities (ambiances are fine)
- Poison

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