L.T. File: 094: Hànùl Khöpheùl-The Patch-Craft Man

I. Recovered Journal Fragment of the Patch-Craft Man

(Filed as Item 44-PC-A. Recovered from a cloth satchel left beneath a bridge in southern Faernyr.)

Entry… I do not know the number. After my last journal was burned, I do not know which entry I am on.
My memory keeps slipping where the stitches are loosest.

Today was quieter.

The seam behind my left knee ruptured again. A man shouted when he saw the stuffing come out — thought I was spilling my guts. I tried to laugh, to explain, but laughter doesn’t come right anymore. Sound rattles in me like marbles rolling in a tin cup. He ran. I did not chase.

It still bothers me when people run. I may look different, but I am still kin to them, despite my form, though I do not begrudge them overly for their fear.

I sat down by the river and patched myself with a piece of sailcloth I bought last week. Blue stripes. A nice color. Reminds me of the sea, though I don’t think I’ve ever seen it. I may have. Hard to know. Some memories are dreams. Some dreams belong to others.

I passed a bakery later. The smell was strange — warm, soft, living. I stopped because two children were staring. The girl pointed at my cloak and asked if her mother could patch it better. Sweet of her. I told her I liked it crooked. Crooked suits me.

She smiles and showed me her teddy bear, where it was patched with a small square of faded pink and white stripes, "He's like you" she said

"He is." I responded warmly, "he seems like a noble protector."

She smiled and nodded, then ran off to her mother who was calling her to give her a baked treat. She waved. Children understand better than adults.

A guard came over, hand on spear. I lifted my cloak just enough to show him my teeth are dentures — bought fair, not stolen. He relaxed. People sometimes relax when they think you’re trying to look human. They rarely ask why I bother. Those that don't wouldn’t like the answer, and those that do rarely understand.

He told me to leave town. I complied. He was kinder than most guards, most seek to label me a monster, he simply understood that others would label me as such.

He was just doing his job.

A dog followed me for a while. Old creature. Could smell something inside me that wasn’t cloth, I think. I let him sniff my hand. He didn’t bark. Dogs are kinder than people in that way. They know what you are, but they don’t hold it against you.

Unless you accidentally use one of their bones. Learned that one the hard way a while back.

My right eye is going dim again. The glass got cloudy.
I will need to buy another.

Night is falling. I can hear travelers on the road above me. Some laugh. Some curse. One hums a tune I almost remember. Something from when I still had a face of flesh.

I hope tomorrow is quiet too.

— J. (or perhaps T. I cannot recall which letter was mine.)

II. Eyewitness Account — “The Rag-Thing in the Alley”

(Statement taken in Zevemlya, by One of our Human operatives, -Name redacted- ; witness requested anonymity.)

I—I’ll tell you what I saw, but don’t ask me to look at that thing again. I’ve fought in wars. I’ve seen bodies torn up by wyvern claws. I ain’t soft. But this—this was wrong.

I was coming down the alley behind the dye-house. Thought I heard someone crying. Small, soft. Like a hurt animal. So I went to look. Thought maybe a kid was in trouble.

Wasn’t a kid.

Something stood at the end of the alley, hunched over. Looked like a man wearing ten coats all sewn together by someone drunk. Patches everywhere — red, blue, old quilt pieces, some bits that looked like skin but weren’t. Too smooth. Too clean.

And it turned its head. Didn’t move its body. Just the head spun like it weren’t attached right.

Its eyes—
Gods. They weren’t eyes. They were glass beads. Big ones. One brown, one green. Both broken a little inside like someone had dropped them.

It lifted a hand. The fingers didn’t bend right, like they were stuffed. Threads hung off them. Some kind of stuffing was poking out of the palm.

It tried to say something, but the voice rattled, like something got loose in its throat. I didn’t stay to hear more. I ran.

But the worst part?
When I looked back, it wasn’t chasing me.
It was… fixing itself. Like a man patching a torn shirt. Needle in its other hand. Calm. Gentle.

Like this was normal.

I don’t know what it is. But if you’re smart, you’ll burn it or bury it or drown it or whatever you Shadows do. Things like that don’t stay harmless forever.

-Note from operative. Despite fear of civilian, entity posed no threat, this operative does not recommend extermination of entity based on Zevemlyan biases.

III. Interview Transcript: Operative Seaglass & The Patch-Craft Man

(Conducted in a quiet clearing outside Coralport. Recorded with kinetic crystal.)

SEAGLASS:
You may call yourself whatever name you prefer.

PATCH-CRAFT MAN:
Names… change. Stretch like cloth. But most called me the Patch-Craft Man, so I will not argue it.

SEAGLASS:
We’re not here to harm you. We only want to understand what you are.

PATCH-CRAFT MAN:
Understand… yes. I would like that too. I forget things. Maybe you can remember for me.

SEAGLASS:
We can record what you remember and seek to learn more about your past. You told me earlier you were once human.

PATCH-CRAFT MAN:
I would like that, thank you. Once. Had skin. Had bones that stayed where bones should. Had a heart. (laughs quietly)
Now the heart is wool. Softer, but less reliable. (he pats his chest, slightly off from where a human heart shoud be)

SEAGLASS:
Why replace yourself instead of healing?

PATCH-CRAFT MAN:
I tried healing. Didn’t take. Flesh tore. Cloth held. Cloth holds better than people do. Also... cloth feels more real, flesh no longer feels like me, it feels like the others.

SEAGLASS:
Do you feel pain?

PATCH-CRAFT MAN:
Only when someone rips me open without asking, or I snag on briars... or they burn me.
(It pauses, as if embarrassed.)
Or when people scream at the sight of me.

SEAGLASS:
There are accounts of you reanimating after destruction. Are they true?

PATCH-CRAFT MAN:
(Quiet)
Yes. When my body is gone, the mind, the soul... I hope… jumps. Lands in a bandage or a scrap someone wears. I do not mean to hurt them. But once I’m there, they stitch me in.
I don’t make them do it.
Not really.
They… think it’s a good idea. And I wake up again. And they… don’t.

SEAGLASS:
Do you remember them?

PATCH-CRAFT MAN:
Like dreams. Soft, fading. But warm.
I keep their memories safe. Better than the world keeps mine.

SEAGLASS:
What do you want from the world?

PATCH-CRAFT MAN:
A quiet corner. A place to mend myself.
And no more screaming. A friend who isn't scared of me.

SEAGLASS:
We can’t promise people won’t fear you. But we can try to keep them from harming you.

PATCH-CRAFT MAN:
That is enough. More than enough.

The subject displays no aggression unless physically threatened.
His demeanor is gentle, almost shy. He prefers dim lighting and soft textures. He speaks slowly, often pausing to find words — likely due to fragmentation of memory across multiple reconstructed bodies.

His greatest fear appears to be causing harm through involuntary reincorporation into living hosts. He expressed guilt and sorrow, not denial. He asked twice whether the Twilight Shadows could “teach him how not to come back.”

I believe the following:

• He is not malevolent.
• He is reactive, not predatory.
• Containment would cause more danger than freedom, as destruction of his body triggers the possession-bandage cycle.
• Education, observation, and protection are the appropriate responses.

His final words to me were:

“Please don’t let them tear me apart again. The next person I wake up inside might not forgive me.”

Recommendation:
Do not detain. Do not provoke. Provide covert protection.
Threat level should remain Sphere 1 (Uhŕ) unless his current form is destroyed, in which case immediate intervention is required to prevent civilian assimilation.

Note: Seaglass requested temporary leave to accompany, protect, and befriend the Patch-Craft man. Leave was given. -Director Sashine- Onyx Wind

IV. Child’s Drawing, Filed as Artifact PC-C-1

Recovered from the village of Coralport after an anonymous report of a “rag-man” sighting. Drawing created by Mara T., age 6. Human female.

Description of Drawing (archivist’s summary):
A paper sheet wrinkled and slightly torn on the left edge. Drawn with wax sticks (crayon equivalent). The central figure is large, covering most of the page:

• Body: A tall, lopsided humanoid shape made of many differently colored rectangles and triangles.
• Colors used: Bright red, dark blue, brown, yellow, green, and a patch of checked pattern crudely represented by alternating squares.
• Face: Round and white (likely meant as fabric), with two mismatched circles for eyes — one brown, one green.
• Mouth: A crooked, too-wide smile drawn in black, with square teeth carefully outlined.
• Hands: Shown as mitten-like shapes with threads hanging from them.
• Companion object: A small dog drawn beside him, labeled “Mister Buttons.”
• Background: A neat red heart above the figure’s head, and a sun in the top-left corner.
• Self Portrait of the artist holding hands with "PATCH MAN": stick-style drawing with green triangle for dress, and brown swirls for hair. Circular face, two blue eyes, roughly 1/3 height of "Patch-man" hands overlap colors with hands of "PATCH MAN." Smiling with red curve for lips.

Two short lines of writing appear at the bottom in childlike script:

"Dis is PATCH MAN.
He helpt me find Mistr Buttns. He is soft."

The back of the page contains lightly pressed lines where Mara had been practicing letters. No hidden messages or impressions detected.

Addendum: Field Note by Operative Seaglass

(note received led to attempts by Seaglass to contact the Patch-Craft man)

The child, Mara T., reports that her dog, “Mister Buttons,” had gone missing in the woods behind her home. According to Mara:

“Patch Man was sitting. I think he was hurt because he was sewing his foot. But he pointed where Buttons was hiding. He didn’t talk. He waved.”

When asked if she was afraid of him, Mara replied:

“No. He looked sad. Not scary. He said thank you with his eyes.”
(Subject used fingers to indicate blinking.)

Parents confirm that the dog was found in a thicket approximately where the Patch-Craft Man allegedly indicated. When questioned, they insist the drawing is “just imagination,” but the timing of the reported sighting aligns with other known appearances.

Operative’s conclusion:
Child’s testimony appears genuine. Subject behavior consistent with non-hostility.
Recommend continued non-intervention.

-Seaglass