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Climbing the Tower-TOG RP

Idk, I'm looking over what spots aren't filled.
May make a Guide character or a Wave Controller, depending on the role and what I'm feeling like.

Climbing the Tower-TOG RP

Hecc, a TOG RP? A unexpected surprise, but a welcome one.
Is the RP closed or still open for late submissions?

Oblivion: A Story Forgotten

It felt strange. The leaves under its foot, wind brushing against skin. The forest was both familiar and unfamiliar, like an almost forgotten childhood song. It traced the dancing shadows in the undergrowth, the silent strolling wildlife, the distant but always close smell of bark and dirt. It started to walk, unconciously registering its own body as it moved through the woods. Waking roots of memory suggested only that it had somehow always known to have a body, and to move as it did now. Its muscles remembered what its memories forgot.

Those muscle memories were what brought the bow up to bear against the giant being that stood watch over it, and those same memories would know to lower its aim. It was outmatched in a scale beyond scales. That beak could probably swallow it whole, its little bow included. A floatsam of memory clicked back into place. The King of the Forest. The Honcho. The Big Cheese. It was pretty sure at least one of them was correct, anyway.

And the King asked it if it had summoned the King? As much as it was impressed at the thought of being able to summon royalty under its command, it didn't recall having summoned a horny owl before. All it knew was that the light had murmured something about potential, and it had leapt to its suggestion without much forethought. What was clear, however, was that the King posed a question, and it should probably answer.

Of course, it should address the regal giant in its proper majesty.

"Why are you asking me? I just got here."
It realized, as it was much smaller than the King, that it should speak up.
"I HAVE NO CLUE, I JUST GOT HERE!" It shouted at the top of its lungs.
It held up the bow, waving it around in its vision.
"THIS YOUR'S?!"

Oblivion: A Story Forgotten

Puppet of the Bow

Well, shit.

That was the first thought that came to its mind. The second thought:
What a mess.

It didn't know how it got here, or what "it" even was. It felt strangely misdirected, floating upside down in the primoridal nothingness despite the absence of orientation. Any attempt at recall only came up with blank anachronisms. It was truly untethered from the chains of causality, only to keep its own voice of thought to keep it company.
But if it knew one thing, it was that being nothing was boring as hell. Maybe it could recite poetry or some pretentious songs of love, if it had a mouth or even a poem to recite. But it had neither, so it kept floating, floating, floating...

When the light spoke, its train of thought immediately latched unto the new source of change. It would take anything as long as it was not 'boredom'. The light moulded into something material, concept grounding down to being.

Instinctively, it raised a hand to grab the object. Just as fast, it stared, startled at the fact that it was 'seeing', and that the fleshy apendage that it had was a hand.
Neat.
It decided to grab the object, curiousity greedily taking in the object's every detail. The It ran its fingers on the side where it tapered off into nothingness, then silently yelled as the object 'bit' it. A blade.
Great, as soon as it found out that it had a hand, it was about to chop it off.
It wondered if the blade would bite it again if it touched the other side, but primordial logic kicked in place to stop its stupidity from spiraling out of control. If it had a sarcastic clap function then it would do it to congratulate its own stupidity, but it didn't know if it had a second hand.
Wait, it did.
The second hand reached out, then while on its way to the first, it bumped into something new.
This time, it was not a blade, but a curve. Then a sharp downwards turn looping back to the first.
A word formed in its mind. A bow. Curious, as it didn't even know its own name - yet it knew that the bow and blade was to be together, and that the blade was to sing through the air when the bow decided to fly it so.

Right. It had a bow.
What next?

From Oubliette to Oublioth [R.I.P]

Name? She was asking his name. They were obviously nobles, most likely from a foreign land. He hadn't too much experience with the lands to the east of City, but he recognized the melodic accentuation from a travelling map maker. Illiserev, the land of flowing riches. The land that was Nivinia, once, before it turned into a husk. Ciel noted it was unusual for people of their stature to be stuck in a mess like this, but nonetheless, they were undoubtedly of high importance.
That meant Ciel had to make a good impression.

"C-ciel." The boy stammered, trying and failing to keep his twisted tongue straight. "Ciel L-lalune." He kept his head down, trying to hide his embarrased face under the folds of his tattered cloth. "Cie-l Lalune...ciel-l..." he murmured, trying to get the pronounciation right. Every time he stumbled upon something new, like trying to push down the air on a badly sealed pillow.
His embarrasment was two fold. First was that he still couldn't speak straight, even though he had secretly practiced it in his lonely days. And yet here he was like a toddler, struggling to even recite his name in front of strangers. And his pipsqueak voice combined with common tongue didn't help at all.
Second was that when he was pressured, he still resorted to his Lalune name. A bloodied name, an accursed name, yet in the deepest and most honest recesses of his thoughts, he was still a Lalune.

His face felt hot, and his mind lurched to a half-baked solution. He should advertise his skills, no? That way, he should be able to distract them from his horrendous speech.
"I-I can cl-imb and um..hide w-well. I can scou-t if-if you need."
That was good enough right?
No, no it was not. But Ciel was a turkey if he was going to broadcast his horrendous speaking skills further.

Oblivion: A Story Forgotten

Definitely interested in this RP. I seem to have missed the Interest Check but will hopefully be staking in my application soon.

From Oubliette to Oublioth [R.I.P]

Quiet/Silent characters are neat and cool... When they're the main protagonist and all other characters are drawn to them for plot-reasons. Unfortunately, as seen in "No matter how I look at it, it's your fault I'm not popular!", when you're not in a story and ain't the main character, being the silent/quiet type doesn't really do you any favors... :P
Just like in real life! 8D
Who woulda thought that people would prefer to interact with vibrant, outgoing and talkative individuals, over silent, taciturn and stoic folk? :o

@Xaltwind

Hits too real man D:

From Oubliette to Oublioth [R.I.P]

I guess part of the drawback of making a sneaky mute is that you can never tell if people don't notice you or are just ignoring you lol

From Oubliette to Oublioth [R.I.P]

I saw Shrek and instantly jumped to All Star XD
Honestly didn't expect to hear a ballad from Shrek.

From Oubliette to Oublioth [R.I.P]

Ciel leveled an arrow at the retreating figures, maintaining his aim as the bard retreated off into the distance. The Mark's aura still hung over them, the purple-crimson shades tracing their movements like echoing shadows. Tempting him to let the arrow fly, tempting him to exact the old saying, 'eye for an eye'. They cut him and are getting away with it. Picked on others and walked away. Hurt for unhurt. It felt like sharp flint digging into his stomach, demanding to be fixed, demanding to see the red aura savour their wounds and sate its vengence.

Ciel held on tight on his bowstring, crushing the crude arrow's fletching as he fought to swallow his own adage. No, he had to be better than this. The bowstring saggged, the arrow uselessly dropping on the ground. Only as he put his bow back did Ciel address the growing dullness in his side. His side had continued to spill blood, now staining the entire left side of his clothes wet with crimson. He didn't acknowledge it too much, not out of any form of stoicism, but that pain was much quieter to him. Like muffled screams under a cloth, desperately trying to reach the other side but only going to far as to make distant acknowledgements. Was it a blessing or curse? For now, at least, Ciel could keep on his senses rather than kneeling over in pain.

Ciel tried to recall the last time he had to use a triage spell. It was in basic training, every Lalune had to learn some form of emergency healing spell. But as Ciel tried to wave the daggers' casting amber over the gash at his side, he could only muster a weak simmer and nothing more. Ciel whined in frustration. If there was any skill he shouldn't have forgotten...! He'll have to fall back to what he knew - physical remedies. He ripped off some of the tattered remainders of his sleeves (Ciel had to admit, that bard had done some very clean cuts) and tied it around his waist. It wouldn't necessarily heal the wound completely, but it would at least serve to stopgap the blood for now. Luckily, it missed tendons so it shouldn't affect his mobility too much, provided that someone didn't decide to exacerbate his wounds any further. Speaking of it, though... Ciel should probably thank the stranger who covered for him when he was downed. He didn't know so much about the other people in the group. Same sides in brawls rarely meant anything more than "I don't hit you, you don't hit me". But the least he could thank those who meant he was still alive right now, even if he was just a bystander who got roped in.

Then it occured to him that Ciel had missed his previous chance to introduce himself. To them, he was just a stalker who suddenly jumped into their fight. But surely they wouldn't attack him now? Ciel was guardedly optimistic, but still nervously dug his heels. It was the right thing to do - he'll have to do the right thing. Ciel sheepishly approached the spellblade, then bowed slightly in thanks. He didn't have anything to offer, but if they needed his skills, he would be happy to oblige. If only he could say these things, rather than stumble on every second word. Instead of making a fool of himself, Ciel decided to keep silent and hope that his body language conveyed no hostile intent. Better they mistake him for a mute than a fool who couldn't keep his train of thought straight.