Wye
(#32966919)
Level 1 Bogsneak
Familiar
Vulpine Lamp
Click or tap to view this dragon in Predict Morphology.
Energy: 0/50
This dragon’s natural inborn element is Plague.
Male Bogsneak
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Personal Style
Apparel
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
8.52 m
Wingspan
7.99 m
Weight
1036.26 kg
Genetics
Antique
Ripple
Ripple
Sand
Facet
Facet
Metals
Runes
Runes
Hatchday
Breed
Eye Type
Level 1 Bogsneak
EXP: 0 / 245
STR
7
AGI
6
DEF
7
QCK
7
INT
6
VIT
7
MND
6
Biography
Wye // The Undead Soldier
The owl circles above his head, wings cutting through the wind as it keeps watch. Sometimes, this soothes Wye. Sometimes, it frightens him. It is easy to close his eyes and hear death flapping towards him, can sometimes remember what it was like for the owl to Reap him.
Tonight, the owl isn’t waiting for him to drop dead. It is keeping their small campfire safe. When it is satisfied, it will come and sit on his shoulder. If it is in a good mood, perhaps it will not try to steal his food. Wye always lets it have some anyways. Food doesn’t quite taste the same after coming back. Sometimes it turns to dust in his mouth, grit and rot that seeps past the bones and stains his chest.
Sometimes, if he focuses enough, he can keep his mouth, and he can chew. It still doesn’t change the flavor, but it’s something.
He doesn’t want to be maudlin about this. Life, or death, or maybe Fate has dealt him this hand, and it is his now. Even before death, he was not much in the business of making choices about his life. It was part of why the RHAF appealed to him so much. Serving the Empire, his entire life’s path laid out before him.
Wye is embarrassed to admit the lack of purpose is harder to deal with than the current non-existent state of his skin. The world has changed in some fundamental but undetectable way. The fields still look the same out here. The farms he pass seem about right. But there is something Different, as if while he was sleeping another world switched places with his. He feels it in his bones, the Wrongness of it all.
That will never go away, says Thoth as it lands on his shoulder. He does a good job of not jumping, only startling a little as the bird’s talons dig into his shoulder. Sometimes, Thoth likes to eat pieces of Wye’s rotting cheek to spite him. It’s alright: the cheek always comes back, only to rot away again and reveal the cold white underneath.
You will always feel wrong , the owl continues, gobbling down a vole whole and fluffing its feathers out a bit. You’re not meant to be here.
Wye nods. He knows that. Thoth hasn’t let him forget it. He’s sorry, he really is. He’s apologized to the bird multiple times.
Thoth says it doesn’t make up for his continued existence, and he’s not sure what to do about that. He doesn’t think he can die anymore. A week ago, a bandit stabbed him in the chest, left the sword in him when he saw Wye’s face and ran.
When Wye looked down to examine the injury, he only saw a rib cage, empty and hollow. The blade hadn’t even nicked a bone.
"Did you get enough to eat?” Wye asks Thoth instead of apologizing again. The bird ruffles and pecks at his ear, pulling away a bit of flesh. Sometimes it hurts. Sometimes, it just tickles. Sometimes, he doesn’t feel it at all.
Still, Thoth takes some meat when he offers it. They sit there in front of the crackling fire for a while in silence, allowing the Wrongness of the world to wash over them.
When the sun rises, Wye puts the fire out and gathers his armor, settling his helmet over his head and carefully wrapping his mantle ‘round his shoulders. Thoth takes to the skies to scout their path, and Wye has to admit: it is nice, to have someone else watching his back once more.
He’s happy, at least, that he has a friend.
Official Portraits
kind | loyal | lost
The owl circles above his head, wings cutting through the wind as it keeps watch. Sometimes, this soothes Wye. Sometimes, it frightens him. It is easy to close his eyes and hear death flapping towards him, can sometimes remember what it was like for the owl to Reap him.
Tonight, the owl isn’t waiting for him to drop dead. It is keeping their small campfire safe. When it is satisfied, it will come and sit on his shoulder. If it is in a good mood, perhaps it will not try to steal his food. Wye always lets it have some anyways. Food doesn’t quite taste the same after coming back. Sometimes it turns to dust in his mouth, grit and rot that seeps past the bones and stains his chest.
Sometimes, if he focuses enough, he can keep his mouth, and he can chew. It still doesn’t change the flavor, but it’s something.
He doesn’t want to be maudlin about this. Life, or death, or maybe Fate has dealt him this hand, and it is his now. Even before death, he was not much in the business of making choices about his life. It was part of why the RHAF appealed to him so much. Serving the Empire, his entire life’s path laid out before him.
Wye is embarrassed to admit the lack of purpose is harder to deal with than the current non-existent state of his skin. The world has changed in some fundamental but undetectable way. The fields still look the same out here. The farms he pass seem about right. But there is something Different, as if while he was sleeping another world switched places with his. He feels it in his bones, the Wrongness of it all.
That will never go away, says Thoth as it lands on his shoulder. He does a good job of not jumping, only startling a little as the bird’s talons dig into his shoulder. Sometimes, Thoth likes to eat pieces of Wye’s rotting cheek to spite him. It’s alright: the cheek always comes back, only to rot away again and reveal the cold white underneath.
You will always feel wrong , the owl continues, gobbling down a vole whole and fluffing its feathers out a bit. You’re not meant to be here.
Wye nods. He knows that. Thoth hasn’t let him forget it. He’s sorry, he really is. He’s apologized to the bird multiple times.
Thoth says it doesn’t make up for his continued existence, and he’s not sure what to do about that. He doesn’t think he can die anymore. A week ago, a bandit stabbed him in the chest, left the sword in him when he saw Wye’s face and ran.
When Wye looked down to examine the injury, he only saw a rib cage, empty and hollow. The blade hadn’t even nicked a bone.
"Did you get enough to eat?” Wye asks Thoth instead of apologizing again. The bird ruffles and pecks at his ear, pulling away a bit of flesh. Sometimes it hurts. Sometimes, it just tickles. Sometimes, he doesn’t feel it at all.
Still, Thoth takes some meat when he offers it. They sit there in front of the crackling fire for a while in silence, allowing the Wrongness of the world to wash over them.
When the sun rises, Wye puts the fire out and gathers his armor, settling his helmet over his head and carefully wrapping his mantle ‘round his shoulders. Thoth takes to the skies to scout their path, and Wye has to admit: it is nice, to have someone else watching his back once more.
He’s happy, at least, that he has a friend.
Stats & Info
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Religion The Eleven Faction Valencia Job Holy Guard Family All dead. Friends Thoth the owl. Kind of. It's complicated. |
Likes Flowers, history, animals Dislikes Alderic, being dead, skeletons (they frighten him) Hobbies Teaching himself to read Skills Swordplay, following orders, heavy lifting |
MATE
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FAMILIAR
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SYMBOL
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Exalting Wye to the service of the Lightweaver will remove them from your lair forever. They will leave behind a small sum of riches that they have accumulated. This action is irreversible.
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