Nahnu

Nahnu stalks silently in a world the same shade as her fur, with one exception. The most vivid and brilliant red that runs in the veins of everything living, and the same red used to dye her own feathers and cloak. She knows not why everything she comes into contact with is suddenly coated in blood and becomes cold and stiff like stone, only that it's something she does that causes it. She isn't sure if it's her large cleaver she hugs them with, or if it's just a curse wanders with.

Nahnu longs to understand the brilliant colors others tell her of, this thing called a blue sky or inky oceans. But Nahnu never will, as she is a work of sentient art, carved carefully by an artist and brought to existence through magic tainted with necromancy and blood. She is a statue with the only purpose of killing mercilessly and ceaselessly, a stone cold killer.

Nahnu doesn't understand why others avoid her like the PlagueBringer's territory, why they scream and children run away from her. She wants to understand how others smile and can love, but whenever she tries to understand, be involved, they all either end up as another corpse on her list of the dead, or they run, terrified. She doesn't know what she does is bad, and she doesn't even know what about exactly she does that's bad. But everyone else sees a terrible walking disaster, a bloodthirsty monster never sated that can't be stopped as it walks though a clan and turns it into a boneyard. They see something soulless and cold. But in reality Nahnu just doesn't know. But one day, maybe someone will understand and be strong enough to survive her appearance as she guards the entrance to Khloros' little pustule of a clan from unwanted visitors.
Many have been wondering why those who leave don't always come back, and why no-one's come to visit in a while... then again. Who really visits this place?

By Me (ShadowPiper)