Ohki Dohkie and the
"Conserve your motions. Count 'em in fingerlengths. A man who is about to fall swings the wildest!"
It's the tendency for small, broken things like her to gather together.Trash collects trash.She had a decently sized group formed up. Seven other scholars, in varied artforms.Being near her didn't go well for her new group of friends. One by one, they all disappeared. Sometimes she'd get to say goodbye.Now there's one small, broken thing here. The girl's a spellsword, wielding a war-weathered book from Mhach and a somewhat rusted sword.She's a very amicable, eager and outgoing person. Eager to earn her keep. Not willing to talk much of the past beyond stories that lead nowhere, nor does she plan for the future. She makes excuses for both.Something bad has happened to her, but it hasn't reached her yet.It's on its way.
Are you doomed by the fates? You may feel a inexplicable draw towards her.There was a small group in Sharlayan dedicated to unraveling something related to Astrology. Someone from Sharlayan may remember her being a part of that sect. What happened to them?Echo-blessed may see visions of what she saw. The sky. Several odd artifacts being lined up in a pattern. A horrific scream. The smell of iron in the air... And more!Some voidsent might want that book she's carrying. It has something about it, akin to a lure. How has she not been bothered yet? (Ask.)
Rules and OOC
Be normal. Please, for the love of God, be normal.
The above rule does not extend to IC. I'm well and aware that IC and OOC are different. Don't be weird OOC.
This is a R-18 space. I would rather not interact with minors.
There may be times where Ohki Dohkie may become a bit too much. This is a big psychological horror warning when you get to know her. If it becomes too much for you OOC, please let me know.
Ohki Dohkie is a low to mid-tier character. She's not particularly strong. She's pretty pathetic, actually.
I am an experienced roleplayer, in CST. Typically online during overnights to early morning.
Carrd is a eternal WIP.
I do not 'roleplay.' I do not 'act as a muse.' I play toys; and if I do not remember what I wrote, then I pass away.
"O-Oh! You want to know how I look...? I mean, I'm right here? Oh! You're blind, aren't you?"
Lithe, short. Freckles dot her face. Her outfit's somewhat off, her coat's a size or two too big for her. Her weaponry seems notably in dire straits. The book she keeps is weathered and ragged, and her sword is dealing with rust.Someone with aethersense will see... That she's perfectly normal. That's a rarity these days, don't ya know? It's a steady green hue. Pleasant. Wintergreen scented even.But one more mystically attuned is going to feel the weight of a thousand ponze of bad luck wrapped tight to her. It clings to her skin. Permeates her being. It lashes out of her like a flame. It drags others in, making them feel all of that weight.
I journeyed, long in walking, far beyond the place of stopping
Where there was no more returning to the people I had known.
I saw the world forgotten, where the grass gives up on growing
And I knew that I would never make another journey home.
"Oh, hey! What're you digging for in my stuff!? Stop it! I mean it!"
In her pockets, you'll find:Twenty gil.One sandwich (half eaten).A one paged diary, covered in arcane scratches. Would you like to read it with another's eyes?
tip: everything you pretend to be becomes a part of what you are. even the facade you wear for the sake of deception reveals a crucial truth.
Death is certain. Life is fleeting. Which to ponder?Behold the mountain.It will remain.Consider it later.Behold the flower. It will wither.I suggest you consider it now.
You see no note in your hands now, but something else is here. Wet, naked, and tremoring. Bestial. Covered in feathers and fur and scales and the blood of an army coats it. A wretched form, miserable and alone.It slowly turns to stare at you. A dry, empty gaze. Hope has left here long ago.She's a weed, you know. A blight unto others for what she's done.But the funny thing about weeds is that they tell you what the soil is lacking.Deep compacted soil can grow dandelions very easily, aerated soil does not.Grass that invades your garden can be suppressed with enough shade from established plants, or a layer of mulch to prevent them from getting to the surface to begin with.Before roots can ever begin to establish, you need healthy soil to begin with.A solid foundation to build your stance upon.Without it, it will always be a struggle to gain footing whether it be in gardening or in life.So what is the soil lacking with her here? What can be gleamed by her existence?When you understand and know, come back here and tell me.
You give the note a good shake, and... You realize that the note is actually blank?Well, now hold on. There's still something here. Let's just take a deep breath and step back from it.Order is only chaos with patience and penmanship, after all! We just need to pick at this in another angle.
"You've had court jesters?""GODDAMN SURELY I'VE HAD COURT JESTERS!"
"I'M LOOKING AT ONE OF MY WORST ONES RIGHT NOW!"
I once used to cast my gaze upon the sky for hours on end. It was a vast and... Well, it was a noisy sky, you know? My friend had done the same for most of his life. He said he could read the Heavens this way.Ehehe... It was so pretty, back then. Why, there were eves I'd catch myself lost in the stars, til the sun would come to greet me!I guess that all things come to an end, even this brief respite from my daily struggles. One day, the sky stared at me instead. I did something to stare deeper. To actually read the Heavens.I wish I had not. I do not remember what me and It spoke of, but I know that I chose to forget.I suggest you instead relish in bestial blindness. You exist! This should be enough. The fates are not for our ken to dwell upon.Is it not so?You may be secure now, child of Ethyreis, in mind and heart, but are you secure in the breadth of your destiny? What would you do if you knew every single crumb of your life, every road taken and the opposite, and knew you were merely a puppet to someone else's fingers?
She's opened that book many a time. She draws power out of it far more than she reads it. It's a horrible, sopping thing. It should've been burnt in Mhach.Every time it feels as if there was a splitting, a beginning. A new medium to her doom? Dark birds pour in cold rivulets into her very being, shuddering, shuddering.The fool; she grasped at power once with it and some other trinkets that belonged to her and hers.When she used them all together, she saw something she truly shouldn't have. She saw it again, and again, and again.It was a vast and sudden silence among the noisy Heavens given form. The girl spoke to it. Learned from it. It lasted an eternity for all of a second, and the knowledge she bore of it all drove her mad.Something horrible happened to her comrades because of this, but she yet stood.She's cursed herself a thousand and one times, and forgot about it all to take back to the road.She doesn't look at the sky anymore.
i'm gonna die, aren't i?my friends are all deadi don't even know if they really died in the way i remember them dyingall i really know is that i was there! it's horriblethis everloomingcrushingWEIGHTon my head, every dayis this guilt? did i do it? can i fix it?i can't stare at the sky anymore,