The voice wretch is a misunderstood creature.

The Void Wretch is a misunderstood creature.

The moniker assigned to these extraplanar bundles of teeth and carapace is, in Our educated opinion, erroneous. Amateur magicians with fistfuls of soulstone who yank them through pinholes poked through three dimensions, away from their tufted islands and reasonable weather, overlook the matter of traversal between time and beneath space and its effects. Pull any Guildmaster through a pine knothole and observe the state of their complexion after. You will note that is is significantly changed, and none for the more comely.

On the opposite side of this world, in their Void, they live in firefly-glow, chasing clouds of flowers whose pollen is sugar dust. They sip on nectar, not blood or the errant energies of soulstones. Their skin is magnificently pink, polished by glittering rainfall sweet as syrup. 

When so violently relocated, the wretch is pulled like taffy, the alien air darkens and toughens their hides. Disoriented, and because by nature the wretch is innocent, the creatures imprint upon the foolish person who summons them, willing at all costs to do as Mother commands (and so often it is Mother's will, bent toward destruction, that ultimately spells doom for the wretch).