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» Logos - Archhive
Logos - Archhive EmptySun Jan 26, 2020 9:48 pm by Flynn

» Riisa vel Siefreet
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» Guldfaxe - He of the Golden Mane
Logos - Archhive EmptySat Jan 04, 2020 5:54 pm by Octo

» Uriah Engraham
Logos - Archhive EmptyThu Jan 02, 2020 9:26 pm by Flynn

» (Ch. 1) Threading Needles
Logos - Archhive EmptySat Sep 28, 2019 8:58 pm by Flynn

» (Ch. 1) Iron Road
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» Troupe de Cartes
Logos - Archhive EmptyWed Sep 18, 2019 12:07 pm by Zechs

» Lu Scarlet - Light Wanders
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Logos - Archhive EmptySun Sep 01, 2019 7:12 pm by Cedric

» Kayden Lhyeu
Logos - Archhive EmptySat Aug 31, 2019 10:07 pm by Cedric

» (Ch. 1) Fleeting Webs of Wires
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» Rejuvenation and Restoration
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» Reflective Surface
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 Logos - Archhive

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AuthorMessage
Octo
Awaiting
Octo

Posts : 123
Join date : 2014-01-26
Location : Luciotavola

Character information
Character Information: President of the Bafflegabinet

Logos - Archhive Empty
PostSubject: Logos - Archhive   Logos - Archhive EmptySat Jan 04, 2020 9:26 pm


Name:
   Logos (Archhive is a title)


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 ragged, make-do blankets, scavenged from unwanted cotton and fabric. 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, if one looks long and deep enough. 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:
   Unaligned


Occupation:
   Self-sufficient street-dweller


Relations:
   Fragments of data on many. 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.
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Flynn
Admin
Flynn

Posts : 263
Join date : 2013-11-21
Location : Majesty

Logos - Archhive Empty
PostSubject: Re: Logos - Archhive   Logos - Archhive EmptySun Jan 26, 2020 9:48 pm

XmLki of the Fifth Ideal-- a Bygone [Shard of Polymind/38%]

"Irrevocable is your existence, small bane." The meanings crooned attentively, the phrases input within the insect-like monster's receptiveness as if they had always existed as a memory, only now dredged to light.

"Kings held in level to denouement struggle atop this pinprick of a world, yet the squabbles of those keen to ideal consideration rest upon a triumvirate of--"

"Lies" the voice shuddered as it cut off, then twisted into sounds of gurgling upon continuation. "Lies Lies Lies Lies Lies Lies Lies Lies
Lies".

---

"Marvelous, it hears the Ideal. A savant of pinpricks it shall become-- a metamorphasisofwingsandwordsandpapers/itwillbecomeideal/ashellwelcomemysister/itwillinheritus/yes"

"X-You/

Eat

Dirt".

--

The voice slipped away from memory, the present existence turned to wisps and dust. A corpse remained nearby, one body having never known the spark of life or consciousness before its inception. A capsule; a container for gods. The Shard of Polymind had shed, returning to the Bygone host. The shell began to crumble, its identity within the world having been stolen. The god was birthed; it neither male nor female with an irregular flatness to its features, yet the facial construction was of divine nature-- enchanting in a primal way, only to those who saw it as a visage. A river of glistening icy blue hair fell from its head, enough to cover itself a hundred times over. It sizzled to ash. The scent was like rain on soil.


Welcome, small bane.

_________________
From the heart of Ire, I will regain everything.
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