[hider=The Witnessed Day]
WRITE YOUR NAME AND WHAT YOU'D LIKE TO BE CALLED.
What, exactly, is a name? What's in a name? What's in mine? Honestly, I haven't a clue. I've heard a great fuss about names, but most names are given, not taken. I, for one, have taken a name. I reached into the belly of a Nebula Shaman for it. Such primordial muck is unfit for a name, of course, so I had to forge it into something new, something much more [i]me[/i]. A name is usually a truth. But my true name is not for you to know. You may address me as The Witnessed Day.

HOW OLD ARE YOU? A LIFE STAGE IS FINE IF YOU DON'T KNOW.
I do not remember the days that I cannot remember, do you? It is junk. I am clearly older than you, and I remember days devoid of breath. If I had to guess, I would guess incorrectly. My flesh fluttered just then. My current life stage is an ephemeral prime. I will shed this lifeskin soon, growing into my next form. I am a larvae yearning to break free from my current mortal form, hunting for apotheosis on the silent heels of time. Let us use twelve hundred years as a placeholder, but years are so outdated (as unreliable measurements oft are), don't you think?

HOW WOULD I RECOGNIZE YOU IF I'VE NEVER SEEN YOU BEFORE?
It is my sound that is unique, really. The meandering song of a pickled soul. Like flesh hollow, slinking along the open ground. Such is the guttural sound of my being. Of course, most creatures are too benign to hear such music of the soul, and rely on stickly eyesight to perceive my being. Such a shame it is, really, that you folk cannot hear me for who I am. Instead, you rely on translations. I suppose you would hear my creeping presence before seeing me. Without a mouth, one learns to speak into the minds of lesser beings. Unfortunately, your minds are so primitive that I can't even read them. Regardless, perhaps the vestiges of my former incarnations offer a glimpse of the Me Eternal. Being incomplete, I cannot help the fact that what there [i]is[/i] of me swirls around like gaseous clouds. There was a nude sketch of me circling the photosphere for some time, let me see if I can find it. [hider=I have nothing to hide.][img]https://i.imgur.com/sjyEScA.png?3[/img][/hider] Of course, despite my dashing looks, I conceal myself beneath piles of distinctively yellow garb.

WHAT ARE YOU DOING WITH YOUR LIFE RIGHT NOW?
I am a hunter by trade, and by the grace of genetics, I am a master of this. Currently, I am hunting the last vestiges of my Self, which hide in crevices of the world. I do not speak in metaphor, I mean this literally.

WHY?
How else do you expect me to be whole? I am currently trying to enter a metamorphic state, so that I can realize my Self true, whole, and satisfied. Imagine me as flesh - I must be mottled away so that I can grow. So long as I exist in such a scattered form, I cannot sleep. My Self is not condensed into one form. Imagine if you were scattered like I was. Parts of my being sleep at different times. Ah, but that's not a proper way of putting it. Unless I sleep, as it were, I cannot grow. These shards of my Self, as it were, do not want to enter the chrysalis. They fear oneness with the rest of me/themselves. They fear they will be obliterated, subject to "my" (their) will. If they will not sacrifice their corpses to form the chrysalis, they must be purged, so that my mind does not wander into the waking world as I sleep. Does that make sense? I tried to dumb it down as much as I could, to be quite frank. Have [i]you[/i] ever explained what it is like to build a Chrysalis out of corpses of conceptual abstractions of your self made manifest into the world, because they would not allow you to sleep so that you could dream yourself one step closer to perfection? 

WHAT WOULD YOU RATHER BE DOING?
Sleeping, so that I may dream myself anew.

WHAT'S SOMETHING YOU'RE GOOD AT, THAT YOU'RE PROUD OF? IT CAN BE SOMETHING STUPID, THAT'S OKAY.
Fortune Telling. Do not inquire further, it is a sensitive matter. I will share with you nude sketches of my (incomplete) Self, but you will not pursue this thread any further. (If you would like your fortune told, however, that is another matter entirely. If you would like your fortune told, please feel free to visit me during times of twilight.)

WHAT'S SOMETHING YOU SUCK AT, THAT IMPACTS YOUR DAILY LIFE?
Walking. I have eight legs, but the part of my Self which held the knowledge of walking fled (on two legs, mind you) from me. I cannot fathom controlling two legs, let alone eight. Curse this corporeal form. But that's not too bad, I just focus very intently on how they move, and I can manage. I suppose I am also rather poor with differentiating reality from my own imagination. Woe be to the dreamer who can dream small glimpses of reality into immediate being. Countless times have I been caught talking to a figment of my own imagination. Quite embarrassing, really. There's also the whole incomplete Self aspect of my being, and needless to say, that leads to a whole variety of issues with my daily (oh, how I loathe alienating structures of temporal natures) life.

WHAT'S SOMETHING YOU LOVE THAT PEOPLE WOULD PROBABLY JUDGE YOU FOR?
Feet. I think I remember dreaming about having feet, once. Did I ever have feet? In the past, I have been labeled a perverted entity when discussing this. My interest is purely one of envy. Why must I balance myself on eight legs, as if a spider? Feet seem much more efficient than fine points. Perhaps I will dream myself eight feet when I am finally allowed to do so.

WHY DO YOU FEEL LONELY?
I cannot find satisfaction with my Self as is. I see in others the things I must (re)claim for my present singular Self. How would you feel if you were starving, and you watched gluttons around you all day? They do not know what they have. If I cannot even turn to myself for company, then how can I hope to tolerate others? (You have me to turn to.)

DESCRIBE YOUR PARENTS, CARETAKERS, OR WHATEVER WAS RESPONSIBLE FOR FEEDING YOU.
My current iteration took its name from Nebulous shamans in the Ventorl Wilds. They worshiped me as if I were a God. They fed me stories about how I used to be one of them, in an earlier iteration of being, and how I was the next step of evolution. (Perhaps this is where our ego comes from?)

HOW DO YOU FEEL ABOUT THEM?
I pity them. I will not discuss this further, at this time.

WHERE DO YOU FIND LOVE AND COMFORT NOW? HINT: THE ANSWER IS NEVER NOWHERE.
Nowhere. (That is a lie.) Fine. I find love, and comfort, within the waking dreams which oft confuse me. If I were no longer allowed to dream, I would perish. I cannot sleep, which is a burden, but without dreams, I would unconsciously dream myself out of being. A lesser form of life would not understand. (He doesn't mean to be so haughty, you know. He finds love, and comfort, in his dreams, but it's been so long since he's dreamed of breathful life. I shouldn't be confessing this, he wouldn't appreciate it, but he also finds love and comfort in the very things which make him lonely. He likes to see that others - as much as he insists on your form of life being lesser, he doesn't believe it - have the parts of himself which he hunts. It gives him hope.) You're right, I don't appreciate it.

WHY ARE YOU DIFFERENT FROM EVERYBODY ELSE?
I am not. I seek to be satisfied with my Self. Doesn't everyone? I could take the low road, and say any amount of things like, "Eight legs", "Dreaming into reality", "Being shackled to the mortal realm by a truename", but the truth is that I don't see these things as making me different from everybody else. Is the big man different than the small man, solely because he is big? They both seek to be their best Self. Am I truly different? I hope that answer makes you happy. (It does.)

WHAT DO YOU WANT MORE THAN ANYTHING?
To sleep, perchance to dream. (Come on, you can do better than that.) Fine.

To become one once again, to crawl into the Chrysalis which will propel me into the sleep I need to dream myself a form anew. I wish to be free of the burden of corporeal existence. I wish to cut the shackles of life from my Self - whole - so that I can stop worrying about missing bits of my Self. I want to be satisfied, so that I can dream - truly dream, not just daydream - again. I want to dream of melting down into genetic soup, so that I can unform into a being no longer bound by form.

DO YOU TRUST ME?
No. Truth be told, I am afraid you will try to do something stupid, like saving a shard of my Self which is convinced it is an individual from being reintroduced the rest of my Self. I believe that you are a strange entity with agendas which you keep to yourself. Do not take my distrust personally, I have simply not found the part of my Self which keeps my paranoia in check. (He forgot to mention his paranoia, didn't he? That should probably be in the sections about loneliness, and impacts on daily life.) Fine, I admit it. Since [i]someone[/i] can't keep their mouth shut, I suppose I have no other choice, anyway. I do not presently have the capacity to fully trust others.
[hr]
OOC: Give a non-spoilery synopsis of a short adventure plot that would be personally meaningful to your character.

The Witnessed Day has shards of the Self scattered across the world. He seeks these shards to reintegrate into his own Self, so that he may grow into a fully-realized, and satisfied, individual. Most of the shards are easy to track down, easy to reintegrate. One has been giving him trouble, and he has ran out of solutions. It refuses to reintegrate, and so The Witnessed Day must destroy him in order to move forward with him Self. Think of it as bounty hunting, except the bounty is letting The Witnessed Day grow into an even grosser looking bug. Of course, being a strange fluke of synthetic-organic (un)nature, The Witnessed Day isn't the only party interested in his Self.
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