Скачать или смотреть TKPI | Project Fox Ghost | Misthaven Exploration

Misthaven’s exploration continues, and—shockingly—it hasn’t collapsed into ruin under your claws. I’m starting to piece together the truth behind your abilities: the flourishes I’ve logged across other projects aren’t random improvisations. They’re heritage. Roots. This place is less a playground and more a foundation, whether you admit it or not.

The Raven Temple remains an insult to basic infrastructure. No working lights. Collapsed beams. The sort of atmosphere storytellers love to call “mystical,” but really just forces me to crank screen brightness until I could watch you stumble into walls. Except, you didn’t stumble. You moved with unnerving precision, as if you’d rehearsed every vault and twist a hundred times before. That isn’t guesswork. That’s memory etched in bone.

The scrolls you unearthed were supposed to be relics of history. To you, they were matches on dry tinder. Each account of lineage, of clan rivalry, fanned your growing hostility toward Grimner of the Bear Clan. He still lives, though anyone watching could mistake his survival for an oversight. The way your anger coils when his name surfaces… it feels less like a rivalry and more like inevitability, delayed only for dramatic effect.

And then, the spirit guides. The foxes, naturally, draw out the deepest reaction—you are one of them, after all, even if twisted far beyond their simplicity. But the others… you don’t dismiss them. No, you show a strange, restrained fondness. Not the affection of kin, but the recognition of a primordial predator acknowledging those who dared follow first. Call them guides, call them acolytes—it doesn’t matter. They orbit you, and you notice. That unsettles me more than your rage.

Finally, there was the White Raven. Wounded. Arrows embedded deep, feathers tainted by corruption. And you… you snarled. Not with malice, but with something far more dangerous: the intent to end its pain. To tear away the corruption with tooth and claw, to relieve it of suffering in the only way you know—violence disguised as mercy. That look in your eyes blurred the line between executioner and savior, and I cannot decide which role you meant to play. Perhaps neither. Perhaps both.

Which leaves me with a thought I’d rather not admit aloud: maybe you don’t simply consume followers. Maybe, in some twisted way, you care for them. And that, test subject, is more terrifying than the alternative.