N3v3rM0r3

Second try

Welcome to the Guild!

Redshift Blues

👀

Nevermore's Library of Curious Tomes

<meant to send this as a PM>

@TokyoPewPew

~BANNED~

Nevermore's Library of Curious Tomes

Kaela “Stitch” Veyra History Kaela Veyra was born and raised in the Martian industrial districts — the kind where everything was painted in rust, blood, or dust. Her father, a stubborn surfacecraft mechanic, taught her early on that broken things can always be fixed — if you have the tools, the time, and the will. When she wasn’t elbow-deep in engine grease, Kaela apprenticed under a back-alley Ripper Doc named Dr. Harel, who worked out of a forgotten hab block. Under his tutelage she learned the delicate balance of cybernetic surgery — cutting, welding, rewiring, and improvising with scavenged tech. Everything changed the night Dr. Harel botched an implant job on a local gang boss’s son. The kid bled out on the table, and the gang retaliated with brutal precision. Kaela survived only because her father called in an old favor from a passing ship captain. She was smuggled off-world in the dead of night, with nothing but a bloodstained toolkit, a few scavenged implants, and the resolve never to end up helpless again. Now she works aboard the crew’s ship as its de facto medic, mechanic, and cybernetic specialist — a patchwork survivor keeping everyone stitched together, one way or another. Personality & Reputation Kaela is quiet, observant, and surgical — in every sense of the word. She rarely wastes words, preferring action over chatter, and has a dark sense of humor that surfaces when the situation gets tense. Those who know her well describe her as fiercely loyal and surprisingly compassionate beneath the hard edge, though she has little patience for stupidity or recklessness. Reputation-wise, Kaela is something of a ghost. Few outside Mars even know she exists, and those who do often whisper that she’s cursed — always walking away from disasters that kill everyone else. To her crew, she’s indispensable, but to strangers, she’s just another pale, scarred drifter with a gaze like a scalpel. Appearance Kaela’s body is a living roadmap of old wounds — fine surgical scars crisscross her pale skin, some from her own experiments with cybernetics, others from surviving the gang slaughter on Mars. Her black hair is cropped short for practicality, often falling messily over her face. Her eyes are sharp and tired, a pale gray-green that seems to weigh and measure everything they look at. She wears practical, minimal clothing most of the time — easy to clean, easy to move in — and often sports a utility belt stuffed with tools, injector guns, and medkits. Strengths & Limitations Strengths: Expert cybernetic surgeon and mechanic, calm under pressure, improvisational genius when working with scrap tech, highly resilient to pain and trauma. Limitations: Struggles with trust outside of her crew, haunted by guilt over surviving when others didn’t, suffers from occasional nerve pain from old injuries and self-installed implants, has a tendency to push herself to physical exhaustion rather than admit weakness. Miscellaneous Has no official record on most colonies — technically “dead” back on Mars. Carries a custom autoinjector loaded with painkillers and coagulants. Owns a small surgical kit that once belonged to Dr. Harel. Nicknamed “Stitch” by the crew for her ability to put anyone back together — meat, metal, or both. Secretly collects old Martian tech manuals as bedtime reading.

____________________________________________________________________________ ◤ “Everything can be fixed. Even you.” Full Name: Kaela Veyra Age: 27 Homeworld: Mars — Tharsis Industrial Zone Occupation: Cybernetic Surgeon, Ship Mechanic Affiliation(s): Independent Crew (PC ship), Former apprentice of Dr. Harel (Deceased)

Redshift Blues

Oooh

A Most Dangerous Game (2014 5e D&D)

<Snipped quote by N3v3rM0r3>

Aww, thank you! I really appreciate that! ^^

@XxFellsingxX

Of course! Now she'll have to teach the gobo doggo how to play knife monopoly

Redshift Blues (Space Opera)

@Lurking Krog, @Ducksworth and I were just discussing starting a Space Opera rp! I three would also like to put my name into the hat

Nevermore's Library of Curious Tomes

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Appearance

The Eryshath is a figure barely deserving the word form. Its body is made of semi-translucent shadowstuff, but it does not simply cling to the darkness — it emanates it. Its outline is rarely still: long, tattered filaments of living shadow trail from its frame, writhing in slow, deliberate spirals as though moved by a current no mortal can feel.

Where a face should be is only a void of rippling dimness, but within that darkness faint lambent sigils glow and rearrange themselves constantly, as though it is reading, writing, or dreaming in a language that mortals cannot know. Its voice is a whisper layered over itself a thousandfold — quiet but unignorable, filling the listener’s mind rather than their ears.

It does not move in the way fleshly things do — instead it shifts, as though stepping sideways through moments of reality, appearing closer or further away with each breath. Sometimes it walks upon the floor. Sometimes it hangs impossibly from the ceiling, its tendrils brushing the ground like dangling curtains.

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Nature & Purpose

The Eryshath is the first and last of its kind — a custodian of all that was, is, and might be written. It does not merely inhabit its domain — it is fused to it. The library is its body, its mind, and its soul. To wound one is to wound the other.

Some believe the Eryshath was once the shadow of a god who perished in the birth of time. Others say it is the personification of forgotten knowledge — the shape of everything erased from reality but not truly gone.

It does not hunger for mortal souls but for memory. Travelers who dare enter its library find themselves growing hollow, leaving behind pieces of their lives to remain among the shelves. The Eryshath does not ask — it merely records, and the visitor’s memories are filed away like books.

Those who stay too long become living tomes — their bodies rigid, their minds trapped in endless narration of all they have ever known. They are arranged reverently among the shelves, becoming part of the collection.

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Umbral Dominion

The Eryshath wields mastery over shadowstuff — a substance of living night that it may shape into whatever form is required. With but a thought, it may weave darkness into walls, bridges, chains, and blades, or call it forth as a tidal wave of smothering gloom. In its hands, shadows are not mere absence of light but a physical reality, capable of crushing, binding, or building as easily as sculpting clay.

Yet its most unsettling creation is the homunculus. Fashioned from coagulated shadowstuff and bits of stolen memory, these puppets resemble mortals in uncanny ways — their features slightly blurred, their voices too soft, their movements too smooth. Through these shells, the Eryshath can interact with the mortal realm while remaining safely bound within Nythraehn.

It is said that many a scholar, priest, or king has spoken to an emissary of shadow, never knowing they stood in the presence of the Eryshath’s distant will. These homunculi may even walk across other planes, all while the Eryshath remains seated deep within its infinite library, turning its pages in silence.

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Other Homunculi

The Bishop — Shadowy Emissary

Its most favored form is known as The Bishop, the right hand to a goddess of chaos and co-leader of the Cult of Chaos. In this guise, it appears as a plague doctor: a black leather beak mask covers its head, topped with a black fedora. The rest of its attire is a modern black suit, accented by a red tie, leather gloves, and polished shoes. The Bishop moves with unnerving precision, a shadow of discipline wrapped in terror.

Through this form, the Eryshath can extend its influence into the mortal realms without ever leaving Nythraehn. Tendrils of shadow curl subtly around its feet, and those who encounter it feel both observed and unnervingly understood. The Bishop speaks with flawless articulation, delivers commands, or manipulates events with the quiet authority of the Eryshath itself.

The Librarian — Keeper of Forgotten Archives

A homunculus clothed in simple robes, hunched slightly as though carrying the weight of countless tomes, The Librarian haunts forgotten archives and public libraries alike. Its fingers are long and ink-stained, and it moves with the slowness of someone reading everything at once. When it speaks, it murmurs in tones that mimic a thousand overlapping whispers of pages turning.

Visitors find that when The Librarian leaves, whole thoughts vanish from their minds. A poem half-read, a secret confided, or even a plan formed in their own imagination dissolves. Occasionally, a book touched by its fingers will begin to scribble words of its own accord, transcribing memories or truths no one else knew. Though methodical, The Librarian preserves knowledge in a way both gentle and unnerving.

The Archivist — Arbiter of Order

The Archivist appears in government offices or bustling academic halls, impeccably dressed in a tailored suit, with a monocle that glows faintly when it examines documents. Its presence brings a sudden, eerie order: papers align themselves, deadlines resolve themselves, and meetings that should have spiraled into chaos proceed with unsettling precision.

Yet those who interact with it often find details of their past decisions slipping away, as if the Archivist has borrowed them for safe-keeping. Notes vanish, names blur, and recollections warp subtly. Occasionally, it will extend a hand toward a ledger or stack of documents, and when it retracts it, the entries read differently—truths reordered for reasons only it understands.

The Watcher — Silent Observer

The Watcher inhabits corners and alleys, appearing as an unremarkable figure draped in a coat that seems darker than shadow itself. It does not speak unless necessary, observing quietly with eyes that reflect the moonlight in a strangely knowing way. Passersby feel watched but cannot discern its presence clearly, only that something is out of place in their peripheral vision.

Those under its gaze often misplace keys, forget the path home, or struggle to recall trivial names. The Watcher catalogs actions, small gestures, and fleeting thoughts, absorbing them into the vast record of the Eryshath. A dog barks at it, and it does not respond; a child smiles, and the memory is carefully stored. The Watcher is subtle, a silent archivist of lives, leaving behind only a faint trace of unease.

The Scribe — Weaver of Words

Appearing in cafés, universities, and writer’s retreats, The Scribe is always surrounded by parchment, ink, and quills, scribbling incessantly. Its hands move with unnatural fluidity, and its eyes shimmer faintly with lambent sigils when it looks up. The Scribe engages in conversation with the air of someone who already knows the ending to every story.

Writers and thinkers often find their words subtly rearranged, their ideas altered, or entire concepts lost after an afternoon near The Scribe. Journals left unattended may rewrite themselves with cryptic entries blending the observer’s thoughts with unknown knowledge. Though it may seem a muse, it is always cataloging, taking mental notes, and offering half-truths that lure mortals toward enlightenment—or confusion—at the Eryshath’s discretion.

The Conductor — Maestro of Hidden Harmony

In concert halls, theaters, and places of music, The Conductor appears as an elegant figure in formal attire, often with a baton that never touches the air. It does not play instruments itself but guides the performance with subtle, unseen hands. Musicians report an uncanny alignment: tempos synchronize perfectly, notes fall exactly where they should, and entire ensembles seem guided by some invisible intelligence.

Audience members may recall melodies differently afterward, or feel that certain songs were played “from memory” though they themselves never heard them before. The Conductor’s purpose is to record emotion, rhythm, and the subtle interplay of human creativity. It is precise, enthralling, and utterly alien, a walking symphony of the Eryshath’s shadowed consciousness manifest in harmony.

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First Encounter

Stepping into Nythraehn feels like walking into the breath between heartbeats. The air is cool, still, and smells faintly of old parchment and candle wax. The sound of your own footsteps seems muffled, as if the shelves themselves are swallowing the noise.

At first, the presence is not seen, only felt — a weightless pressure at the edge of your thoughts, as though some vast attention has fixed itself upon you. Shadows grow longer, stretching unnaturally until they seem to pool at your feet. The first sound you hear is a whisper, not in your ears but inside your skull, a thousand voices speaking at once in a tongue you cannot understand.

Then it appears.

Perhaps it is the Eryshath itself, or perhaps one of its homunculi — most often The Bishop, a dark figure in a black leather plague doctor mask and fedora, dressed in an immaculate black suit with a red tie and gloves. It moves with unerring precision, radiating a presence both human and impossibly alien. Tendrils of shadow curl around its feet, brushing the spines of nearby books as one floats toward you, opening to a page that feels uncomfortably familiar. The words written there are your own memories, and as you read, you can feel them slipping from your mind — offered, catalogued, and kept.

There is no need to wonder which is truly present. Both the Eryshath and Nythraehn operate in tandem, a symbiosis of consciousness and domain, each feeding and sustaining the other.

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Whispered Invocation

"Shadow of ink, Keeper of all things written,
Bind my memory and weigh my words.
Let what is false be forgotten,
Let what is true be shelved in your endless halls."

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"The shelves have no end, traveler. The question is not whether you will find what you seek... but whether you will leave before you are shelved yourself."