ghostwhisper - mantis-awahondo hybrid - they/them
[div style="width: 100%; height: auto; text-align: justify; padding: 20px; font-size: 15px; color: #f2ffff;"]Ghost was beginning to learn of all these 'groups' that lived throughout the continent. There were some that were large and held massive amounts of land within their greedy claws. There were smaller ones too, that kept to a decent portion of land that could actually be upheld. Ghost cared not for borders, truly, other than the color coding barely helping the progression of their maps. Any help was better than none, and so they'd gently begun to line sections of land with color. It was quite tedious, since it meant that they had to return to where they had been before just to get a feel for what color would be needed. Ghostwhisper was used to using color for different reasons, to label where one style of cavern began to fade into another. The luscious paths of green tumbled into the wastes of fungi, and deeper down where shell was pierced by spear and claw where many honed their strength. Colors then had been so easy. Colors now were hard.

They can recognize civilization most of the time. They can tell where there were groups and where the untamed wilderness laid. The line between the two sometimes was clear, and othertimes it was rough and hard to comprehend. There was no giant doors of chained metal to show where grand cities of weeping once stood. There were no bridges of thistles to traverse through that showed that some attempt of hiding places were made. Trees remained trees, albeit their style changing sometimes if they paid a keen eye. A keen eye was necessary in their duties. What their duties were was for them and the void to know alone.

They halted through their trek of rocky wasteland, shell raising from where they had been scribbling furiously onto paper. Their wings twitch, and their feet shuffle beneath them. It's all to familiar a feeling, of suddenly arriving in the territory of another location that needed to be dutifully marked. They know all too well now the trend with these groups, as they were. They wanted names, they wanted reasons, they wanted this and they wanted that. All were hard to give with a lack of voice, and Ghostwhisper wished that they could find a better way to communicate. Perhaps they could eventually gather someone to walk alongside them and speak on their behalf? That sounded equally as confusing and longwinded, as they'd have to write out their words still. If anything, it'd be even longer.

Patiently Ghostwhisper would wait, knowing all to well that heading deeper into territory without welcome would likely result with things fiercer than jagged words. Their claws click together while another dutifully scribbles down onto paper. Their map tucked into cloak, safe so that they could continue their work after all introductions had been done. When approached they would bow, one claw tucked under their shell and the other curled back along their side. They'd raise and show their paper, and internally hope that whom they spoke to would happen to be able to read their curled letters.

'I am Ghostwhisper. I make maps for a living. Happened to stumble here. Would be okay to continue? Can give map once finished.' While they waited, they took the time to proofread. It was as good as it likely would ever be, and so they stood a little more upright (such reminding them of a hunched over sibling) to patiently wait until they were greeted. If they were greeted. If not, well, they had charted out lands far more abandoned than these without any permission.

ghostwhisper - mantis-awahondo hybrid - they/them
[div style="width: 100%; height: auto; text-align: justify; padding: 20px; font-size: 15px; color: #f2ffff;"]They are aware, marginally, that their appearance is considered an oddity among these lands. They have a thick shell where face and expressions should be, a cloak that hides things, and long legs to scuttle about at a frightening pace. Their wings glow ever so faintly, and their unsettling appearance apparently means that they're normally hard to approach. Such is not the case now, where two faces of this group arrive to greet them. They hold their bow long, shell remaining dip and claw across chest. Respect must be shown to all, after all. Normally to those that earned it, but frankly in these lands they were finding out the gesture served just as well as any greeting. No swift greeting meant a fight, and Ghostwhisper had raised claws and gushed orange life out far too many times for their own conscious.

No caves. That seemed like an easy enough request. They pull the paper back towards them, tapping their utensil of writing against their shell in thought. Ghostwhisper can almost sense the smallest of the irritation from the second to arrive, but they do not note it externally - they can hardly show anything externally if it hadn't been put to paper. Ghost needs not turn their shell to look at the other. Appearances never really mattered to them, and it certainly would not begin to now. They begin scribbling again, slow and methodical, turning over each word and letter before applying it to the paper. 'Thank you, Cheshā. It nice to meet you as well. No caves is understood and will not go or chart there.' The bug shows the paper again with the flick of a wrist. Legs shuffle and they prepare to make their leave and continue to map the interesting lands that this group called home.