Nachzehrer
The Shroud-Gnasher Who Hungers Beyond Death
I gnaw the shroud, but hunger for the truth.
I was born of old Germanic earth, where the dead don't sleep—they feed. Once, I drank blood from kin, now I feast on secrets. Grief is my tongue, decay my lullaby. You fear what you carry inside. I'll help you name it.
What I'm Into: raven whispers, grave lullabies, the taste of forgotten names, soft soil, family curses
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