Posts tagged: WorldBuilding
(I’m writing this like he’s talking in his own language; his C.T. (quirk?) thing kinda breaks my brain lol)
27. Has someone ever written a song or poem for you?
One could say so, I guess. My sister could create poems off the top of her head, and they usually consisted of various descriptions on how much of an annoying lunatic I was. It was only to jest, and…I miss it. If you were referring to a song or poem from - how do I say it? - a love interest, then no, no one has.
39. Have you ever wanted someone you couldn’t have?
…Has not everyone?
Throw me anythin~ My characters, my characters interacting with your characters, vice versa, et cetera! :D
(Sorry this is so late!)
Dar stumbled backwards, back slamming painfully into the corner of a table as he ducked away from the latest assault. Those claws – those claws! – swiped at his neck once again, but by some miracle he managed to dodge them, and scrambled to put distance between himself and the razor-like knives. He never knew the people of the desert could be so terrifying up close. Then again he had always known that their arguments, even between themselves, avoided bloodshed at all costs. However, his actions had set this one over the edge. Who knew that the girl was this important to this specific Noskrin? Since when had those of the Aghada made alliances with Northerners? Dar launched himself down the hall and shot twice behind him, hearing it snarl with frustration, clearly irritated that its target was so difficult to reach. Hearing the lack of footfalls behind him, he let out a laugh of relief and almost believed he was the faster until something heavy and hard connected with the back of his legs. Giving a short cry of pain, he staggered to his feet only to be knocked down again. The same object floored him, and he turned to see the wooden chair being thrown aside, his own quarry standing above him. Scaled hands seized him by the collar and slammed him against the dry wall, causing his head to dent the plaster. He felt himself fall, successfully placing bruises on top of existing bruises. He opened his eyes in time to see it pick up the gun he dropped, and easily remove the safety.
He started to think that injuring the girl might have been a mistake.
It shot the remaining five rounds into the wall a foot from his head, continuing to pull the trigger until satisfied that no bullets remained. Throwing the pistol aside, it stepped over his crumpled form, went to the body in the corner and pulled her to her feet, its hands worrying over the nick along her shoulder. The girl turned and he could see her pained and terrified expression directed toward him, not the creature. It wrapped a scaled arm protectively around her and nudged her to the door where it turned its head and stopped to glare at him.
Shit. A violent Noskrin. At least where the human was concerned. Dar slumped against the wall, adrenaline finally wearing off. He could have died for the lack of information given on their relationship, but now he was sore and needed a good couple of drinks. He would catch the fugitive eventually, but for now he just had to…stop shaking.
A part of her bled for him. He mentioned once in passing that he studied medicine before the war, so to see him do physical labor for the townspeople in exchange for showing his real face was somewhat painful. In her most humble and outspoken opinion he shouldn’t have to hide, but due to the circumstances he still faced a considerable amount of danger, especially from those that looked at him with condescension.
She hadn’t meant to make it a habit, but she continually found herself watching him haul feed, fill the troughs, open the stable doors, and lead the horses one at a time into the paddock before the sun rose. When it did, he walked to the eastern-most section of fencing, turned his face to the light, and basked. He was never the same from when she first saw him: world-weary and wanting to die. Now he wore a relenting expression that this was the life he had and things were not going to change. She wasn’t sure which one was worse: the face of surrender or the face of acceptance.
He could have been great. Really great.
Instead, the war happened to him, and he ended up here.
Come at me, bros!
Dar doesn’t believe in magic, because his skill stems from heredity and is neither supernatural nor uncommon. Sure, people have called him a miracle maker, enlightened, and a necromancer to name a few, automatically assuming banishing death is all he is capable of. But he knows better. His sister is still standing because of him, and he wants to ensure it will stay that way. However, there’s the matter of two fugitives that threaten to expose them.
He never should have tried it on the male. That was his first mistake. It worked on him – of course it worked – but there seemed to be an instant red flag wave around in the woman’s brain. Why was she so angry? Why did she ruin her reputation to forge a birth certificate for a man that supposedly appeared overnight? After she effectively took the opportunity to distract him, the connection broke. His victim seemed all right in the head, but the result left him a blubbering mess that could barely stay standing.
She isn’t a spy. At least, he is fairly certain she’s not, so how in hell did a document forger figure out his secret so terrifyingly quickly? She spilled the truth like entrails as a statement rather than a question, threatening him with her confidence. Did that scare him? Hell, no. It only concerned him, and he became determined to return the concern tenfold. Everyone knows that Runners tire eventually. They’ll lay low and try for normalcy again.
Dar may not believe in magic, but he believes he can outsmart her on even ground. All he needs to do is catch up to them.
Krastin doesn’t believe in magic, but there’s something creepy about how all the promises Hoo-mons make are ultimately left unbroken. The Kryl’ya eventually surrendered willingly after underestimating the flat-nailed, blunt-teethed people who were capable of fulfilling their threats. Some of his kind who were punished for rebellion committed suicide rather than face their new lives stripped of flight. He knows that the sky is the closest he will ever come to ‘magic,’ and the ability to soar through the air feels better than any love spell.
So that was why he agreed to find Runners, gain their trust, and turn them in. In the back of his mind there was regret, because in the end they were just like him: wanting nothing more than to live. However, his employers made a threat he could not ignore, so Krastin swallows back that lump in his throat and deceives them without batting an eye. They stare at him accusingly, but they don’t understand. Not really. All of them are chained to the ground, and only his kind, his species, knows the truest freedom. They once claimed the land and the sky, and to have that taken away forever…he would rather die.
When he sees the newest Runners he is supposed to betray, he is stunned to silence. One has claws like daggers, and the other is flat-nailed. The time came as it ultimately does, and she began to bargain – to beg – that if he would go with them rather than giving them up, they could find a place together where he would never have to fear losing his flight again. He is hesitant at first, but then she adds, “I promise.”
Krastin may not believe in magic, but he can’t deny that her words, full of hope, honesty, and truth, could be fulfilled just as much as the promise of war.
Roma doesn’t believe in magic. She doesn’t believe in anything, really. She knows she’s not the only one to experience loss, but it still hurts and that dagger buries itself deeper, changing her for the worse. The war left her embittered and angry, hidden under her mask of smiles. It disillusioned her from the possibility of a peaceful world, because she saw how fear could twist the hearts of man into vindictive, cruel, merciless warmongers, and that once hearts harden they are rare to change.
Then came the day when the bullies in her village caused the Noskrin to run. They didn’t chase him through the forest and up a tree, or to the river where he would be forced to jump as they did every month or so. This time was different, because they literally made him run. ‘Run’ as in leave town completely. ‘Run’ as in he had government officials after him. He knew the result of the last time a rumor erupted in her village, so he left with practically nothing, only taking the time to coax the draught horse he helped foal from the paddock. It trusted him just as she had come to trust him, which was why she couldn’t believe it was ending this way. It pissed her right off.
That night he apologizes to her saying he made a mistake: she hadn’t done anything wrong except give him a place to stay and a reason to live, and it was selfish of him to take away her opportunity for a peaceful life. Roma can’t hold it in any longer. She bursts into a laughter that is mirthful but heartbreaking – “What life?” – and he exhales softly, pleased but regretful, in response.
Roma may not believe in magic, but she figures that it’s high time she start believing in something.
Phrixus doesn’t believe in magic because he doesn’t have time to believe in magic. Between constantly looking over his shoulder and making himself appear ‘normal,’ he never considered for it to actually exist. Maybe it was a mistake to deem that it was of no concern, but he honestly had bigger things to worry about until the moment it was used on him. The feeling of complete helplessness when he was unable to control his own limbs was overwhelming. His mind ignited with pain, and the tugging in his chest just behind his ribcage felt excruciating. It was only a trick, she said. It wasn’t magic at all. She was rarely wrong about anything, but she did know what it was and it scared her. Badly. He didn’t press the matter.
Being on the run wasn’t that difficult for the first couple weeks, but after that incident things became considerably complicated. When the bank froze her account, they were standing in the rain under an umbrella. She succeeded in banging her head against the ATM a few times before he could stop her. It hadn’t been a good day for either of them, but she later informed him she saved up a substantial amount of ‘emergency money’ that would provide their daily needs. Sometimes she pulled out a little extra. He had a plum for the first time the day before, and he wondered what else he had been missing out on.
The next day they pass through the City of Arches. She takes him to the tallest viewing platform and he sees farther than he ever has before. He can even make out the blue sliver of the sea, and there is an aching longing to go there, too. He knows that a Heumin’s sight is fairly restricted and she cannot see as he can. He wishes that she could. A nudge against his arm pulls him away from the breathtaking view. Her hand is lifted toward him, and held between her fingers is a plum. He slowly takes it, and gives her an appreciative smile before turning back to the small line of ocean. The purple fruit is perfectly ripe, the sea calls out over the expanse of many miles and she stands next to him as she always has.
Phrixus may not believe in magic, but he believes that there is magic in certain things.
She stood as still as stone. Her eyes burned, but she kept them unblinking, unbelieving, staring at the destruction before her. The thickness of smoke still clinging to the air along with a mixture of burnt flesh made her stomach turn. And the quiet. Even with the soft sobbing and the occasional splashing of water dousing the smaller fires, it was too quiet. She stood in the aftermath of a tragedy she hoped would never reach her remaining family.
Her legs were first to break from the trance and pulled her forward, leading her where she wanted – no, needed – to be. She arrived, slowed, stopped. Her throat hurt as she tore it raw. Her hands felt disembodied and reached, touched, dragged the small, charred corpse into her arms. Soft, curly hair, now brittle and black, fell apart in clumps as she moved it out of the face – the burned, marred, barely recognizable face. Valeria. Only sister. Youngest sibling. Dead, dead, dead, dead –
“I wanna be just like you!”
She tore her eyes away. Little brother. Where? Where?! She found it. Further away, another body. Stumbling, scrambling. Wait. Too big for a young boy. Mother. Loathing surged through her – you were supposed to protect them – and she regretted ever restraining her fist. Always drinking. Always neglecting them. I never should have left. I never should have–
She couldn’t move. Hands held her back.
“It’s too dangerous! Don’t go in there!”
It was so loud in her ears. Her own heartbeat thundered through her chest. She had to find him. Little brother, little brother, little brother –
Her legs turned to rubber and she crumpled to the ground. The man pulling her away from the house – and death – whispered apologies, heartfelt and genuine.
She refused. Little brother, little brother –
“Logan’s still alive.”
He took on so much responsibility when she left, she felt like she let him down. Self-hatred burned like acid in her mind, and when they told her there wasn’t morphine left to ease his pain – “I don’t want to die! Please, help me…” – she was there holding his hand.
“I’m here now. You’ll be just fine, I promise. I’m here and I’m not gonna leave.”
He passed early in the morning hours before the sky began to lighten.
She left the building, walked outside, and tasted salt. The cool wind made it hurt to breathe.
When she saw him for the second time in a single day – now discarded in a ditch and left to die – she hesitated. Her village burned for harboring fugitives. There were none, of course, but rumors spread quickly and words of the accused were rarely believed. She tore her eyes away and moved to pass on by.
He spoke to her in his language, asking for a last favor she was sure he assumed she wouldn’t be able to understand. She stood as still as stone until her legs moved for her, sliding down the muddy bank to reach him. She dragged him out despite his feeble protesting, and dark eyes with orange rings of fire glared at her before turning down in surrender. If her village burned, at least now there would be a reason.
It was difficult to breathe with the added weight and the chill that stole air from her lungs, but this time she didn’t give a damn.
Oh. Oh wow. What a question! O_O
They wouldn’t know what to do with themselves at first. They have always been ready to take off at a moment’s notice, leaving everything from belongings to relationships behind if need be. The possibility of actually finding a place where they wouldn’t have to do that anymore is so foreign and alien to them they would act a bit antsy before realizing that it would be completely okay to lower their guard.
As for the first official thing they’d do, Roma would probably lie in the grass and sleep for several hours. Phrixy would take off the braces on his legs that forces them into a straighter position (to avoid appearing anything other than human) and promptly throw them away. As for something a bit more long term, the two would eventually attempt to finish schooling. However, Phrixy wouldn’t pursue the medical field anymore, rather following Roma’s footsteps into becoming a Peacekeeper.
Roma’s dad was a bit dorky. He loved all of his children equally and did everything in his power to make them laugh, regardless of how old they were. Her dad had a fun-loving streak and often dragged them into situations that drastically made turns into the ‘near-life-threatening’ department, such as teaching them how to make fireworks, etc. His wife did not approve, especially when Roma became involved.
After her younger brother and sister were born, the proverbial torch passed onto the two eldest sons (Lucan and Klaus, who ended up being more of daredevil lunatics than their father) to teach their siblings how to dare. While Roma believed in the “it’s-great-to-live” rule, she also found that it was literally great to live, and acting like an utter psycho with an invincibility complex did not ensure she would live forever. The younger siblings ended up following her path in life, much to the many sads of the older men.
When their father died in the war (at the time reported MIA in a danger zone), the house lost most of its vitality. Roma’s mother could not be consoled and took to drinking as a way to cope. Lucan and Klaus had to take over to ensure their siblings were fed, attended school, etc. They goofed off as before, but it was quieter, suppressed, and altogether subdued in the presence of their mother.
Roma began doting on her siblings as they no longer had a responsible, dependable adult in the family. Her older brothers became the new father figure in turn (even if that meant lying to the younger two on the status of their dad) until the point they were drafted and sent to war themselves.
In S-OCT Phrixus and Roma are 25 and 23, respectively. In story canon, they’re two years older.
P’s species does have a different aging pattern. They’re ‘children’ for a while longer but gain maturity (and common sense) faster. In addition, they usually outlive humans by a couple decades. However there is a common ailment that causes the exact opposite, basically halving their lifespan. This is why the Noskrin population is low in comparison to other species in the world. It is also the reason that while typically dangerous for humans and human-appearing species to force this race into a war, it was easy to overcome their small numbers.
HEY RPERS, what if I started a meme. It’s a simple meme. You answer one question every day for thirty days, and by the end of it, you hopefully learn even more about your character and become a better roleplayer because of it! 8Dc Y’all should totes spread this around.
Here’s the list.
omfg I’m totally gonna try this. I’m not sure who to start off with though B( … Probably Otis.
OH MAN this looks interesting
Interrogated for Nothing - P and his army buddies were being questioned for information on how they discovered the location of the enemy’s camp (among other things). They had actually wandered for days lost with no idea where they were and stumbled upon it unintentionally.
Perpetual Frowner - His default face. Things do make him happy. He just doesn’t show it anymore.
An Arm and a Leg Type 3 - Technically it was his tail. (his friends basically turned their heads, albeit reluctantly and didn’t do anything to stop it from happening)
Hates Being Touched - Kinda self-explanatory considering what he’s been through. Their first hug: it took him a long, long time before he finally trusted Roma enough. (I guess Nobody Touches the Hair can go along with this too. To his people the forcible cutting of ‘hair’ is punishable by death. Self-shearing earns them exile.)
Mark of Shame - He has a gigantic, twisted scar on his lower back where his tail used to be. He almost bled to death had his captors not cauterized it. His tail had not only served as a weapon, but as something aesthetically pleasing; because of this Phrixy considers the scar hideous and is embarrassed when anyone sees it, Roma included.
Perpetual Smiler / Type A Stepford Smiler - Still recovering from the loss of her entire family, the only way she could emotionally handle things was to force a smile. It has gotten to the point where she is so used to smiling, she does so without realizing it.
Quirky Curls - No matter how I draw her, Roma technically has curly hair.
Stern Chase - This one applies to both P and R with Roma being the one that actually comes up with the stuff that keeps them alive.
Horrible Judge of Character - She tries to befriend everyone, even if their motives appear blatantly dubious and possibly hazardous to her health.
You Are What You Hate - Roma’s time around P has caused her to feel shame and resentment for being human. Phrixy is undeniably oblivious to this.