Application sheet coming up. I love what I see and don't have any questions to ask so I can hop right into making something. This entire premise is a thing of beauty.
Why thank you, I've found it to be a somewhat different setting to most RPs. It should be fun :) Glad to have you on board, though! Looking forward to reading your sheet.
May be a bit rusty since it's been about a year since my last roleplay. But hopefully I won't disappoint! Thanks for the kind welcome, I like these kinds of settings that have had a lot of thought put into them, really makes me feel like I can put out some good material.
You're not alone, this is my first roleplay since a hefty absence. Maybe we can help each other get back onto the swing of it! But yeah, i've always found the lest generic settings can bring out creativity in people, especially if you force them away from the norm.
Appearance Forgotten is a young adult female, tall and thin and of slender features. Her skin is white and pale, her eyes a piercing green, and her hair jet black, long and straight, falling just below her waist. She wears a plain white gown that would be very familiar to anyone who has visited a modern hospital, a little torn and sordid near the bottom. The sleeves of this gown have been torn away and wrapped around her hands and lower arms, concealing a series of scars.
Equipment A single, small knife, a plastic tray with a single meal on it, a woolen blanket, and a small wooden puzzle-box, its contents unknown as she has forgotten how to open it and refuses to destroy it.
Memories -The knife she arrived with was used to inflict the injuries she bears on her arms -The day before she died she attempted to kill herself, but failed -She had three older sisters, and each of them was better than her at everything -She can remember a storybook that her mother used to read her as a child, the story of a girl named Forgotten -She can remember lying on the ground and sobbing after having been punched in the face -She used to practice archery, and was pretty good at it
Awakening In a moment of epiphany, the young woman made a sudden realization that filled her with warmth and love. Knowing that she had to tell her family, she quickly sat up in her bed and opened her eyes- except she wasn't in her bed, and her eyes showed her a far different place than that hospital in which she had fallen asleep. This place was grey and flat, the twilight landscape interrupted only by a few solemn spires of worn stone. Where was her- her- who was she looking for just now? She strained her mind but just couldn't remember who it was that she wanted to tell about... about what? It had just come to her, and she had already forgotten, she had forgotten so much, almost everything, just like the girl in the story book... Why could she still remember that? She could not remember her mother, but she could remember that. Was she the girl in the storybook? Was she Forgotten? "I am Forgotten." She said it aloud, and it seemed to... click. Even if that wasn't her name before, it certainly would be now.
I am kneeling in front of a throne, on which there is no one seated. A man is in front of me; he looks like me, though his hair and beard are grey. He wears a crown, and looks displeased.
Memories: Maldron is in front of a throne. A man with long grey hair sits on it, with a grand, golden grown, expensive and colorful clothes. His throat is cut wide open, and he gurgles as blood gushes out. Around him are bodies of the King's guard. The throne room's floor is full of warm, red blood. Maldron feels absolutely nothing.
Sounds like we're talking about the same person. That could be interesting.
Appearance: Rook is by no means a large man only standing at an average height for his age with a medium frame with toned muscles gained from years of hunting game. He’s gained many scars calluses over his arms and hands from the same practice. His hair is a light brown color with tinges of red and hangs down to his shoulders when he chooses not to tie it back out of his face. His broad chin and cheekbones are covered in a short, brown-red beard. Beneath thick eyebrows the same color as his hair, Rook has a set of mismatched eyes; one is a light golden brown while the other is a mossy green color. His wide-nostrilled nose is slightly off center and looks as though it was broken at some point in his life. He looks to be in his early twenties. Rook awoke in this unknown land wearing a plain, longsleeved linen shirt dyed a faded grey, a set of dark trousers with a few patches sewn on here and there, a pair of durable boots made of a cracked leather, a pair of thick leather gloves, an animal call made of a light-colored wood hanging by a leather thong, and a cloak dyed a slate grey color on the outside and a deep crimson on the insider.
Equipment: Rook awoke with a crossbow made of a dark wood with a lever attachment, a dirk with a handle made of stag horn and a blade measuring about half a foot in length, an axe measuring about two feet in total, a pouch containing roughly thirty crossbow bolts, an animal call, and knapsack filled with: snares for trapping, a bedroll, spare string for his crossbow, a needle and thread, a whetstone, a few pieces of dried meat, and a half full waterskin.
Memories: A Broken Flight: He was running through a forest, a shrill laugh coming from him. Branches snapped back from the force of his body as he ran, the wind blowing through his hair and over his face. His footfalls were not heavy, and his strides did not take him far; he must be young, very young. He ran his hands along a large tree he skidded to a halt in front of. His hand was small, round, and slightly plump. The bark was old, like the loose skin of old men. Keeping his hand firmly on the trunk of the grandfather tree, he ran around it with more shrill laughs escaping his tiny mouth. He soon grew dizzy and decided to collapse where he started, landing in a soft bed of dirt and twigs. The world spun overhead, the leave soon becoming a green wheel. He continued watching the world spin until it came to a slow halt. Then, very suddenly something came crashing through the branches overhead and landed in a pile of bramble to his left. Getting up slowly to regain his balance, he stumbled toward the brambles to see what had fallen. At the bramble bush, he stepped through it gingerly, doing his best not to get stuck, but his clothes inevitably got caught on the brambles. Pulling them loose from the clutches, he continued on to find the thing that had came tumbling down to the earth. When he found it, he bent and scooped it up as carefully as he could. He set it on the bed of dirt and twigs he had fallen in himself; it was a bird. It sat shaking and terrified where he laid it; its right wing was broken and bloody. It wasn’t very old at all, like him. He stroked the bird’s head softly in an attempt to comfort it. Once it had settled down, he gathered two twigs and tore off a strip of cloth from his shirt and then bound the bird’s wing in the makeshift splint. He picked the bird back up easily and made his way back to the cottage. There, he showed it to the man there, his image blurred and distorted. He spoke, but he could not hear it; though, somehow he felt the man approved of the injured hawk.
The Painted Forest: He was in a bright forest, surrounded by trees with leaves of vermillion, but everything was blurred like a painting dipped in water before it had a chance to dry and set into the canvas. He hefted the same crossbow he awoke with up to his shoulder; it was so heavy his arms shook slightly as he held it up. Turning his head to the left, he saw someone standing there, but their face and image were blurred like the rest of the painted forest. The man, he wasn’t sure how he knew it was man, said something to him. Something about looking down the crossbow. Obeying the words he felt more than heard, he turned back to look down the crossbow at what he had raised it to. Off in the distance was stag so much more in focus than the forest that he could count all six antlers atop its head and see the rich brown fur covering its body. He took aim at this stag and then squeezed the trigger of the crossbow, sending a bolt flying from the crossbow and through the air to embed itself in the heart of the animal.
The Blurred Man’s Gift: He was in a field behind a small cottage, and everything was blurred just like the forest. Everything except for a stack of hay painted with a large target in the center. He hefted the crossbow up to his shoulder like he did in the forest and took aim at the hay target. He squeezed the trigger and sent a bolt sailing into the hay a ring from the center circle. He shot three more bolts into the hay, all landing in a small grouping around the first. A noise behind him caused him to lower the crossbow and turn to see the blurred man from the forest walking toward him. He felt the smile beneath the blurred image that was his face and saw the thin box he carried in better focus than his surroundings. The man held the box out to him as he neared. He took the box and opened it to see it held a knife with a newly forged blade and a handle made from the antler of the stag he killed in the forest. He lifted the knife from the box tentatively and examined it, feeling a smile spread over his face. Then, he dropped the knife back in the box and jumped into the blurred man’s arms, wrapping his own around him in a hug. The man smelled of the forest.
The Pyre: He was standing before an inferno, the smell of smoke and burning flesh reaching his nostrils and causing them to flare up. Everything but the inferno was blurred and distorted. He stared at the flames intently, watching the body in the midst of the pyre slowly disappearing as tongues of fire flicked up and consumed it more and more. His eyes were wet, and his nose was running. An overwhelming feeling of sadness swept over him and refused to let go. So he stood and watched the pyre for hours until it completely consumed the body and the entire pyre crumbled to ash.
The Final Hunt: He sat crouched in the midst of a close grouping of trees and bushes, his crossbow held toward the ground but ready to aim if he spotted his quarry. With a whistle he summoned Artimus to him; she came swooping down from the trees and landed on his outstretched arm. He stroked her head softly, causing her to closer her eyes and rub his finger a little. With a command he could not hear leave his lips, the red tailed hawk took back to the skies. He stood from his crouching position and followed under the bird back to the camp he had made. There was another man there chopping wood for a fire, his features just as blurred and distorted as The Blurred Man’s. The Woodcutter said something to him, but his voice did not escape the man’s mouth, but he somehow understood what he asked and replied with a shake of his head. He continued on to his own tent in the small camp, leaning his crossbow against the side of the tent and went inside to collapse on his bedroll. Some time later there was a noise from outside. He leapt up and ran out of his tent to see the camp ablaze. The flames and smoke limited his vision. He saw a dark shape moved toward him.
Awakening: He awoke to a soft pecking on his cheek. He opened his eyes slowly to see Artimus perched on his shoulder and pecking him to wake him up. He sat up with a groan and looked around; he was what looked like a forest made of stone and ruins with moss and vines creeping up the stones. His head pounded as he tried to remember coming to this place, but it was no use. Artimus flew up to one of the stones and looked around. He couldn’t recall anything about himself really, but he remembered the bird as clear as day. With a whistle he used on instinct alone, the bird fluttered down to perch on his arm. He stroked her head and peered around the stone forest himself. He and his familiar were the only ones present at the moment. He directed his gaze back to the bird and watched her for some time, trying to remember anything, but it was useless. He could not even remember his own name, but the bird caused a word to surface in his mind; “Rook”.
”Rook? It’s as good a name as any,” he thought to himself.
Rook lifted his arm up slightly, and Artimus took flight once more, this time circling overhead several times. He looked down at his own body, examining it; he was wearing the knife with the handle made of antler, the dark wooden crossbow, and an axe. He pulled the knife up to look at it, hoping it would bring back more memories, but alas his hopes were in vain. He sheathed the knife and turned his head skyward toward his feathery companion. With another whistle, Rook began walking with Artimus following him overhead and keeping watch for anything he could not see. He pulled his crossbow up but kept it pointed down instead of fully in front of him. He ran his gloved finger along the wood, barely feeling the old notches there.
He walked through the stone forest until his body began to protest going any further without nourishment. Rook chose to obey his body’s protests and found a smaller stone to sit on while he pulled his knapsack off and rummaged through it to see what all he had. Within the leather bag, Rook found a few pieces of dried meat and a waterskin half full. Taking these out, he ate one of the pieces of dried meat and threw half of another one to Artimus. He washed the salt from his mouth with a small mouthful of water. Somehow he knew to ration what he had and what to do to find more food, at least he would know what to do if he were in a normal forest in a location he knew of, but he didn’t know much of anything anymore other than the memories he awoke with and the name of the red tailed hawk with him in this strange land.
The Jester. "But it's just Jester to you, wise guy."
Appearance
By all means, the Jester is a scrawny looking chap. Standing five feet ten, with more lean muscle than meat, clad in dirty clown clothes and a mask that hides his scarred features and a face that never smiles, he is the very definition of an out-of-work clown. "I ain't outta work, it's just a phase."
The bells on his worn hat, though tarnished and old, still ring clearly, each and every movement making the bells dance and jingle softly, its notes haunting in the black, for friends and foes alike. "Ey, these things are a warning, y'know. T'let people know I'm comin'."
Equipment
- A dagger, old and rusty but sharp as a point, it's actually more like a broken long sword than anything else, judging by how the blade isn't whole and the hilt is longer than a regular dagger. "It hurts people just fine. No fixing needed. 'Cept to keep the blade sharp."
- A sickle. Originally a farmer's implement, the Jester, some time in his past, made one his own. It's sharp and stained with dried blood. "But most importantly it's sharp."
- A waterskin. Being a former entertainer meant keeping his throat healthy.
-A leather sling bag. It holds a few days worth of rations, a whetstone, a flint and tinderbox and a broken compass. "The compass helps me navigate. Don't think of it as broken, it's just leadin' me where I'm supposed to be."
- A lute. Made of a light oak wood, stained a deep brown, the lute is still perfectly tuned. "Maybe it's because I've been tuning it, stupid."
Memories
The Beat "Pleasure's all mine. Now, what am I supposed to do? Okay, so I'll be playing for the king, yeah? Alright. Is the coin good? Good enough? No it has to be perfect, man, I swear. This is my life we're talking about here, and I'm not gonna take "good enough" for an answer. Alright fine. Look, I'll sort things out on my end, you do so with yours. In two weeks, I'll be outta here and no longer your problem. Just... Get it done, alright? I'll owe you a big one. Once I'm settled, you find me and I'll see how I can repay you."
Razor's Out "Look, boss, I swear it's true. Yeah, everythin' went according to plan; guy's dead, body's fed to the pigs. No trace, I swear. Yeah, I know. No I don't know who this other douchebag is. No he wasn't part of the plan. Yes, I-...I know, I know, but he showed up without any warning! Yes I took care of him too. Yes, yes I know. *sigh* I got my reasons. Yeah, a dame, love of my life, but listen boss, I want out. What d'you mean, there's no outs?! You distinctly told me there was always an out! Well okay then, what sorta job is it? ...fine, alright I'll do it, but listen, this is the last job, alright? I do this, I split, forever, I won't see you ever again and I won't be a massive pain in the ass."
I Won't Stop "Gotta keep goin'. We can't stop, not now, not ever. Got to get outta the city, find someplace safe to rest. Yes dear I know, it'll be fine. We're not gonna die, don't worry, I'll kill all the bastards that try. Don't you look at me like that, you know where I come from, you know what you were gettin' yourself into. Look, ugh, I'm workin' things out, alright? I'm going through some stuff, cuttin' all my ties with that place, don't you worry. We'll be untouched where we're goin', I'll make sure of it. Now take the horse 'n go! I'll catch up with you! Leave these bastards to me! Don't you worry, I'll find you! Now go! GO!"
A dirt road. It's night time. Foggy. I hear horses. Frenzied hoofbeats on dirt and mud and stone. A woman screaming in fear. I remember following behind the lady. She is with child. I am riding a horse. The men behind me are similarly armed. Weary of the chase, I stop and dismount. The lady screams my name. I pay her no mind and confront my pursuants. Then I remember blood.
The Road to Redemption "Ah don't worry kid. It'll only be until we get a better place to stay, alright? Daddy's gotta work to get coin, and this is the only way daddy knows how to. Besides, it'll be in the palace! Daddy can tell you all about how the king and the queen! Now lemme see you smile. Lemme see. Smile fer me kiddo, else you ain't gettin' a good night kiss. There ya go. Prettiest gal in the whole neighbourhood, you are. My sunshine. Now get to sleep, you got a long day ahead a' you tomorrow, 'n daddy's gotta work for you n' mommy, alright? Relax, sweet cheeks, I'll be fine. I promise."
Sunlight streaming through a window. A young girl sits on a chair at a table, eating oats. I sit next to her, a hand gently stroking through her thick, brown hair. The room is homely. Small, but comfortable.
She's so pretty.
That's my girl. My baby.
My sweet, sweet child.
Heaven "Daddy's home! Oh hey kiddo, c'mere give daddy a big ol' hug! Thaaat's right! Now you're squeezin' the life outta me, leggo! Hehe, how was your day today, sunshine? You met a whole buncha new kids eh? Didja make any new friends? That's great! You'll settle in just fine, sunshine, no sweat. Who, me? I ain't silly, sweet cheeks. Well, today was a good day. I got to meet the king today! How was he? Well he's this old guy, like daddy, but his hair's all grey, and he wears this loooong cape and a crown with shiny jewels in it. Yeah, he's the king baby! The biggest fish in the sea, and daddy gets to play to him for coins! Yeah, sunshine! You couldn't ask for better, right? Where's mommy? She's sleeping? Alright, let's you and me give her a surprise, shall we?"
A Job "Yeah, I'm the king's jester, so what? You got anything against that? I make the funnies and make people laugh for coins. It's my job. So sue me. No you can't pull that on me no more, wise guy, I left that life behind. I left it behind, dammit! I swore an oath! I went on one last fuckin' job! I gave it all up! And now you're wantin' me back in?! No way! I have a wife and daughter I have to upkeep! What d'you mean the coin's not enough? I get paid well enough to enjoy life, wise guy, so keep yer money comments to yourself! Look, I made her a promise that I'd stay away from you forever. Yeah, I know I made a promise to you too, but I am not gonna repay you by offing the person I work for! Maybe a drink or something, yeah, but not like this! You want to kill the king, fine, I'll have to work at the tavern again, but I am not the one to kill him. Go find someone else. I'm done with you."
No one ever told me about the prices one pays for freedom. In hindsight, I guess I was foolish enough not to pay attention to his words. There I stood, blood soaking into my boots. Bodies all around. Everyone was dead. There was nothing else to do, so I ran.
I hid.
But I swore one thing.
I'd make him pay.
Awakening
Shit...my head. Hurts.
I was surrounded by darkness. Enclosing. Trapping me in its embrace. I shook it off and stood. I was disoriented, confused, head was spinning, nothing was making sense, but as I got right with myself things started being more and more coherent. I wasn't on a road no more. I was in this...place. Smelled damp, moldy. Like the inside of someone's old sock drawer. Unfamiliar terrain. Felt like dirt beneath my feet. I could see in front of my face but the dark around me was thick, heavy, like a fog someone had dyed black. Pea soup. Hell, I couldn't have asked for a worse place to wake up from...whatever had knocked me out. At least I still had my things with me, else I'd have tracked the damn cutpurse that took my gear and made him pay. Now, I had to get out of here. There was...somethin' that needed doin'.
But what?
Wait, where am I? That, my friend, is the million gold question.
The hell? Who're you? I'm you.
You're me? Wait...who am I? You're you, and I'm you.
Wait that doesn't make any sense. I'm me. See? That makes perfect sense.
I shook my head. What in the world?! I tried to think, to focus on my name, but nothing came up. Absolutely nothing. Then, as I was trying to calm myself, memories drifted up from my unconscious like a wellspring. A woman. A young girl. Blades, knives. A king. Blood.
Death.
Shit. This didn't make any sense at all. I didn't even remember what I was doing before I woke up! This was stupid! The wrong man in the wrong place can make all the difference in the world.
Shut up! I'm trying to think here!
Okay, focus.
I took to examining my surroundings a bit more. At my feet, there was a torch, still damp with, as I sniffed my fingers, oil. Slung on my shoulders there was a pack. Inside there was food (thankfully, something right in the world), a waterskin, some other assorted junk, but what I saw was two pieces of flint. A striker, excellent. I fished the stones out of my bag and picked up the torch. Holding the thing between my knees, I struck a spark with the flint and poof, it went up instantly. Light. More things going right for me today, whatever today was. I kept the stones back in the bag and held up my light. It cut through the black like a knife it did, and I saw more than I wanted to.
Irregular stone obelisks jutted out of the ground around me. Some were broken, the rubble scattered out on the dirt, while others extended high, way high into the black sky, farther than I could see. There were no trees, no paths, just the obelisks. They weren't even evenly spaced apart, more like someone had just tossed stone seeds out on the dirt and let them grow into these...things, without caring for organisation or something. Typical. Pfft.
The light also, well, lit myself, and for the first time I could gauge myself. I felt like myself, after all. I reached up to touch my head (I must've hit the back of it when I went down), and found myself touching fabric. Cotton, in long spindles that tapered off to a point ended by a...bell.
A bell?
Okay, I was wearing a hat of some sort. Fine. I took it off and held it in front of me without burning it. The thing looked like some sort of strange, otherworldly beast in the flickering torch light, with its long spindles of fabric and slightly reassuring bells and their soft jingles. The colour on the fabric was faded, yes, but I made out colour. There was patches of red, green, yellow, blue, orange, every other colour in the rainbow, and as I looked down I saw the same sort of attire, faded coloured tunic, pants and soft leather boots. I put the hat back on my head and went to touch my face, but a cold plate got in the way.
The hell?
I was wearing a mask?
My mask. Our mask.
I tried to make out the features of it in the light, but apart from the two holes for eyes, I didn't see anything else on it. It was as pale white as the whites of my eyes. Funny. I looked like a fuckin' joke, like some sort of clown.
Clown...was I one? Was I a jester
a jester? That sounded about right. I didn't even know my own fuckin' name, what a joke, but I guess I could call myself Jester until then. Yeah, that would work. Fuckin' Jester the...jester, make you laugh, make you cry, make you bleed your fuckin' bones dry. Har de har har.
Well whatever the case, I didn't feel safe here, not at all. I had to get moving. With one foot into the black, the other soon followed. I didn't know where I was going, or where I was gonna go, but I had to find answers.
I had to. Or else one of us is going to get very, very
MAD.
Ding dong The king is dead Someone stabbed him in the head Floor is bloody Floor is red The king is fuckin' dead
Serves the prick right.
Click on the hider to read my latest, depraved, slightly crazy creation.
Yes I enjoyed making him.
Yes I enjoy watching you squirm. the same way i watch you at night
Alright, looking good. I'll be looking to set up the IC within a day or two, depending on how long the rest of the sheets and applicants take to be compeleted to a workable level.
But, as with many ideas, this one comes with some doubts.
One of them, the more boring and mundane one, is that of simply time - from mid-April to early May, I'll be out of country, and since it is work rather than vacation, I may just come to be that I'll either be only able to cram in a short reply or two, or not be able to reply at all. Would that be something you can work with? (Alternatively, would this RP be open for applications later on?) What do you expect the average turnover for posts to be in general? I personally only dare to promise roughly one post per week to take account of all possible times of excess preoccupation. At worst, I will still post once in two weeks.
The other doubts are more related to the RP itself, and the world it takes place within. I have a very distinct type of character in mind, as well as a potential progression through subsequent awakenings, should any come to occur in the story (naturally depends on whether said character of mine gets themselves killed or not ... I'm actually rather inclined to start out with my character's second or third awakening, not the first - but I fear it might go too far from the intended purpose of the RP, so I'm not sure whether I could actually do it). Without revealing too much, I'd focus less on hopelessness and fear (not all people are the same, and thus won't react even remotely the same, either) and more on transformation, for the lack of a better term. Progression. Would that eventually lead to a monster like those described wandering the planes - who might not be as mindless as implied - or something else entirely, not even I know yet. It all depends on the IC and what said character is subjected to. Now, some integral questions. Is it possible for the physical form to change from one awakening to the next? Same - is it possible to the personality to alter in ways it simply could not in living beings? Do beings generally retain the memories from previous awakenings, or are they "wiped" after each? I would like my character to only retain some (brief scenes or images of whatever left the strongest impressions on them in IC), and for those to mingle with the "living" memories and perhaps contort them, slowly replacing rather than erasing them. I'll also hint that not all memories may necessarily be true to begin with, but rather snippets of dreams or imaginations - even the human brain simply makes things up all the time without us realizing it, after all... Finally, would it be feasible for me to start out with a non-first awakening (to ... further along things a bit)?
...Also, what is a "mer"? I do pardon myself if it is a silly and ignorant question.
Those things said and asked, should it be at all possible for me to fit in my character as I intended and envisioned them, I'll put together a CS by next Monday the latest.
Hey, fancy seeing you here Shien. Those are some good questions. As far as awakenings go, at least, my own character is described as having perished a couple of times beforehand as well, so there should be no problems for yours to also have. Changing shape upon subsequent awakenings seem like an interesting concept; curious to hear what NewSun has to say about that.
Also, my impression is that "mer" refers to elves, although we have no elves in this RP and I am sort of thankful for that. In the Elder Scrolls games for example, high elves are also called Altmer, wood elves Bosmer, dark elves Dunmer and such. Hence "mer".
