.:I would like to adopt!:.
.:Number:.
16
.:Picture:.

.:Name:.
Krettr
(Old Norse for “Spirit”)
.:Species:.
Shapeshifting Animal Spirit
.:Personality:.
I am a wanderer. The spirit of some mortal soul damned to an eternity of walking this Godforsaken land. I go by no name, for I received none. I am silent; an observer to the suffering of the beasts I walk among. However, I relish in it. I was born from death. However, there is a piece of me deep inside that yearns for what I had before. Bits of a past life haunt me, and I must find the answers, for I do not like the unknown.
.:Likes:.
Silence – Krettr finds the silence intriguing. Since he, himself, is mute, silence is all he really knows. He finds fresh battlefields the best when it comes to silence, as the smell of death accompanies it.
Death – He, being a creature born as a herald to the God of Death himself, Krettr enjoys the smell and sight of the dead and dying. It’s the noises he hates; the sounds of grieving mates and agonized cries awaken memories inside himself. Memories he’d rather repress.
Twilight – The time of day when the sun first sets, and the world slows. Krettr finds that the silence during this time is the most beautiful, especially twilight in the North, when the cold winds ruffle his fog-like “fur.”
.:Dislikes:.
Pained Cries – Cries of dying warriors and the mournful howls of mates bring forward memories of his past life, a glitch in the fibers of his being. Memories of a single howl being cut short.
The Unknown – The memories that haunt Krettr’s mind drive him to the brink of insanity. Because of their incomplete nature, due to them not even supposed to exist, he can’t find the complete story of the past.
.:Song:.
Snuff by Slipknot
.:Background:.
A mournful, fearful howl cut through my mind, a phantom numbness running though my fog-like body, the residue of a long distant memory. But this…this memory, was stronger than all the others. Especially now, as I looked at the dead male before me. He was a young wolf, not having been mature for long. But his presence was strong...I once knew him…in my life, not my death.
Maybe I should start from the beginning. I have no name, though the beasts I walk among call me Krettr, or spirit. I was created by the almighty God of Death himself, formed from the soul of a traitor to the war, a double agent. At my birth I was nothing, a shapeless fog, much like all spirits that enter the Darklands. But, the God knew of the betrayal I performed in life, and chose me to become the first of a species he would use to herald his arrival. He said that traitors were one of the most fearsome things to mortals, as they all closely guarded their secrets. He was indeed right.
I gained my body though the bonding of my soul to a bleached skull. At my creation, I became a leopard, one of the God’s favorite creatures at the moment, because of the leopard Lord’s fondness for mass killings. I never felt truly settled in that form, but, I said nothing to the God. Instead I stalked silently though fields of dead and dying, letting them feel my ghostly presence, letting them know death was coming. This was my existence, and I grew to love almost all of it. There was a problem, though. I loathed the Darklands, where I kept when I was not needed. I longed for the cool air of the mortal’s world. And, for the first and last time, I spoke up to the God. In his fury, he cast me from the Darklands, stealing my voice, and my body. I was to never return to the Darklands; I was to haunt the mortal world until the end. And I was elated.
I drifted along the winds to the North, where the suns did not shine, and clouds hung low enough to touch. I was searching. Searching for the body I truly longed to have, but none of the skulls called to me as I moved, until I reached the skulls of the wolves killed by the leopard Lord. I had vaguely heard the story of the deaths of these warriors, but the full story had eluded me. So, in the silence that would haunt me forever more, I ghosted through these skulls, as I had done with countless others. Nothing in the pile called to me, but, a skull buried in the mud a few paws away caught my attention. It seemed discarded, unwanted. Like me. I had found the one.
I bonded to that skull, taking the form of a wolf, tendrils of fog creating each individual “hair” on my new body. I had been reborn.
The memories came the next night. The moon was high, occasionally breaking through the thick clouds. I rested myself on a cliff that overlooked the leopard den. There was something about this place that called to me. Probably the smell of death, but I felt that it was more than that. I heard it then. A howl that sliced through the night, faint and echoing, but, it was impossible. Wolves no longer roamed these lands, due to the mark on their heads by the Lord. I then recognized it for what it was: a memory. A ghost of the past, a howl cut short. I didn’t understand. I had never heard this sound before, so how could I remember it?
I later figured out that the memory was not mine, but a memory stored within the skull I had bonded to. I also learned that the memory was triggered by the cries of the dying and the cries of the mourning. And, in this world, it was hard to ignore. That howl followed me across the land, along with a few other sights and sounds. I remember pups. I remember snow. I remember guilt and hatred. What I hated and what I was guilty about, I did not know, nor did I ever think I would know. At least, not until this night.
As I stand before this dead wolf, I finally understand. I finally know what these memories mean, and who I am a shadow of. I know of my past life. I was a traitor, but not out of spite, but out of love. Once, my family meant the world to me, now I have none. The dead wolf at my feet was my own flesh and blood, my son. Now, hopefully, he was resting in the Exalted Land, unlike myself.
I was a general, a father, a mate. I was also the traitor and cause of the genocide of the wolves. I had it all, but I fell from grace, despite my good intentions.
I was Kiewjo. Now, I am silent.
.:Word Count:.
847
.:A picture you drew:.

(Note: This was my first attempt at lineless art. I liked it so much, I decided to use it.)
.:Other:.
Ever since I received Kiewjo, I wanted a reason to extend his story, and make it into either a novella or a comic. I believe Krettr would be an excellent addition to Kiewjo's story. Krettr's story will be longer than this, however, as there are more scenes I would love to add into the story.
I connected instantly with him, as soon as Spotty posted him. If Spotty ever creates the species like Krettr, I will do my best to adapt Krettr to her specifications of the species.
So I can find this: Trillian
.:Number:.
16
.:Picture:.

.:Name:.
Krettr
(Old Norse for “Spirit”)
.:Species:.
Shapeshifting Animal Spirit
Spotty wrote:A restless animal spirit of sorts? This one has the skull of a wolf, but that isn't necessarily it's own skull. The "species" I never created used to pick a skull from a dead animal it found, attaching it to it's neck trying to make a new shape for itself. Without a skull the spirit is like a dark shapeless fog, with it it takes on a animal shape that loosely resembles the species of the skull.
.:Personality:.
I am a wanderer. The spirit of some mortal soul damned to an eternity of walking this Godforsaken land. I go by no name, for I received none. I am silent; an observer to the suffering of the beasts I walk among. However, I relish in it. I was born from death. However, there is a piece of me deep inside that yearns for what I had before. Bits of a past life haunt me, and I must find the answers, for I do not like the unknown.
.:Likes:.
Silence – Krettr finds the silence intriguing. Since he, himself, is mute, silence is all he really knows. He finds fresh battlefields the best when it comes to silence, as the smell of death accompanies it.
Death – He, being a creature born as a herald to the God of Death himself, Krettr enjoys the smell and sight of the dead and dying. It’s the noises he hates; the sounds of grieving mates and agonized cries awaken memories inside himself. Memories he’d rather repress.
Twilight – The time of day when the sun first sets, and the world slows. Krettr finds that the silence during this time is the most beautiful, especially twilight in the North, when the cold winds ruffle his fog-like “fur.”
.:Dislikes:.
Pained Cries – Cries of dying warriors and the mournful howls of mates bring forward memories of his past life, a glitch in the fibers of his being. Memories of a single howl being cut short.
The Unknown – The memories that haunt Krettr’s mind drive him to the brink of insanity. Because of their incomplete nature, due to them not even supposed to exist, he can’t find the complete story of the past.
.:Song:.
Snuff by Slipknot
.:Background:.
A mournful, fearful howl cut through my mind, a phantom numbness running though my fog-like body, the residue of a long distant memory. But this…this memory, was stronger than all the others. Especially now, as I looked at the dead male before me. He was a young wolf, not having been mature for long. But his presence was strong...I once knew him…in my life, not my death.
Maybe I should start from the beginning. I have no name, though the beasts I walk among call me Krettr, or spirit. I was created by the almighty God of Death himself, formed from the soul of a traitor to the war, a double agent. At my birth I was nothing, a shapeless fog, much like all spirits that enter the Darklands. But, the God knew of the betrayal I performed in life, and chose me to become the first of a species he would use to herald his arrival. He said that traitors were one of the most fearsome things to mortals, as they all closely guarded their secrets. He was indeed right.
I gained my body though the bonding of my soul to a bleached skull. At my creation, I became a leopard, one of the God’s favorite creatures at the moment, because of the leopard Lord’s fondness for mass killings. I never felt truly settled in that form, but, I said nothing to the God. Instead I stalked silently though fields of dead and dying, letting them feel my ghostly presence, letting them know death was coming. This was my existence, and I grew to love almost all of it. There was a problem, though. I loathed the Darklands, where I kept when I was not needed. I longed for the cool air of the mortal’s world. And, for the first and last time, I spoke up to the God. In his fury, he cast me from the Darklands, stealing my voice, and my body. I was to never return to the Darklands; I was to haunt the mortal world until the end. And I was elated.
I drifted along the winds to the North, where the suns did not shine, and clouds hung low enough to touch. I was searching. Searching for the body I truly longed to have, but none of the skulls called to me as I moved, until I reached the skulls of the wolves killed by the leopard Lord. I had vaguely heard the story of the deaths of these warriors, but the full story had eluded me. So, in the silence that would haunt me forever more, I ghosted through these skulls, as I had done with countless others. Nothing in the pile called to me, but, a skull buried in the mud a few paws away caught my attention. It seemed discarded, unwanted. Like me. I had found the one.
I bonded to that skull, taking the form of a wolf, tendrils of fog creating each individual “hair” on my new body. I had been reborn.
The memories came the next night. The moon was high, occasionally breaking through the thick clouds. I rested myself on a cliff that overlooked the leopard den. There was something about this place that called to me. Probably the smell of death, but I felt that it was more than that. I heard it then. A howl that sliced through the night, faint and echoing, but, it was impossible. Wolves no longer roamed these lands, due to the mark on their heads by the Lord. I then recognized it for what it was: a memory. A ghost of the past, a howl cut short. I didn’t understand. I had never heard this sound before, so how could I remember it?
I later figured out that the memory was not mine, but a memory stored within the skull I had bonded to. I also learned that the memory was triggered by the cries of the dying and the cries of the mourning. And, in this world, it was hard to ignore. That howl followed me across the land, along with a few other sights and sounds. I remember pups. I remember snow. I remember guilt and hatred. What I hated and what I was guilty about, I did not know, nor did I ever think I would know. At least, not until this night.
As I stand before this dead wolf, I finally understand. I finally know what these memories mean, and who I am a shadow of. I know of my past life. I was a traitor, but not out of spite, but out of love. Once, my family meant the world to me, now I have none. The dead wolf at my feet was my own flesh and blood, my son. Now, hopefully, he was resting in the Exalted Land, unlike myself.
I was a general, a father, a mate. I was also the traitor and cause of the genocide of the wolves. I had it all, but I fell from grace, despite my good intentions.
I was Kiewjo. Now, I am silent.
.:Word Count:.
847
.:A picture you drew:.

(Note: This was my first attempt at lineless art. I liked it so much, I decided to use it.)
.:Other:.
Ever since I received Kiewjo, I wanted a reason to extend his story, and make it into either a novella or a comic. I believe Krettr would be an excellent addition to Kiewjo's story. Krettr's story will be longer than this, however, as there are more scenes I would love to add into the story.
I connected instantly with him, as soon as Spotty posted him. If Spotty ever creates the species like Krettr, I will do my best to adapt Krettr to her specifications of the species.
So I can find this: Trillian