[D&D-5e] Uncaged: Journey to the Wilds

[Onward]

[Fillyjonk]

The Basics Name: Xiǎo Zhū (Piglet) Race: Lightfoot Hin Gender Identity: Female Class: Bard/College of Creation Seeker: Possible but perhaps unlikely, though she has a reason to go West. She loves the moon, but the moon has yet to love her back. Emphasis on the yet. The moon sets in the west, and Xiǎo Zhū hopes to find her. As they travel, she hopes to write or discover the perfect song to give the moon. Description: Like many Hin, Xiǎo Zhū is a sybarite, devoted to candied nuts, her little silver snuff bottle, and naps. She travels with heroes, immortalizing (and inflating!) their exploits with her songs. She loves Illusion magic, is highly charismatic, and is a small, round-faced, soft person. She is calm---even merry---in the face of danger (possibly because she is never on the front lines if she can help it), but can be pulled off task by the promise of pleasure or any sob story. She is so soft-hearted that playing on her sympathies works, and even though she has been tricked many times, she still listens and longs to help anyone who seems sad or weak or elderly or young or vulnerable or orphaned or brokenhearted or or or or or or... She cries easily, laughs even more easily, loves at the drop of a hat, and brakes for snacks. She is bright-eyed, curious, vain, self-deceiving, loving, gullible, and deeply interested in other people and their stories.

The Limes Song Xiǎo Zhū has found the only tavern in this tiny little village---she has a nose for such things--- and the innkeep has a full tray of soft steamed buns full of duck egg custard cooling behind him. They are for a special order, not for sale. She is angling after one (or six), though, chatting his ear off. If she thinks it, it is worth saying; if she says it, it is worth singing; if she gets out her moon lute, she often ends up with someone else's buns. She gets it out now and gives him one of the old songs that is known to incite a cook to send the fattest dumplings to her table or a bartender to comp her drinks. Or at least, her drinks were free when she tells the story later; perhaps it is only that she didn’t pay the bill? Xiǎo Zhū is singing about when she met the druid. She loves their early stories best. Oh, but they were young then! Fresh and naughty and bold. The druid accuses her of having a high opinion of herself, but there is never a trial. She confesses, instantly, with perhaps more pride than shame. It is true. She does. She is happy to admit it is a most terrible failing. The druid also accuses her of remembering her own song versions more clearly than history, but why wouldn’t she? Her versions rhyme and have thematically correct endings. She strums and sings: Oh, the limes were sugared and fine and fat And the bard was thinking, I’d like some of that! She ran to the kitchen, and here’s what she saw--- All had been snatched by the monkey’s paw! Monkey attempted to gobble them whole, The limes, the sugar, and even the bowl. They fought for the sweet, the bard and the druid— The battle was epic, the winner was...fluid. Can you call it a battle? Hurling stones and bricks Beating each other like children with sticks All the while exchanging civilities about the other’s mother’s sexual proclivities... And while they thus raged, Moon’s daughter, Fate’s Sun, The Seeker arrived, and she ate every one. The innkeep is obdurate, and not a music lover. Uncharmed! Never mind. She sees a fat little bird flutter in the window, pip!pop! off she flits with a bun clutched in each of her feet. Xiǎo Zhū pays her tab and goes out to sit under a tree with her friend, who passes her one. She can see a birdly footprint in the soft skin, but never mind, never mind. It wasn’t the Seeker, Piglet, the druid tells her fondly, mouth full. Your husband ate the limes while we fought. Husband!? Oh! Yes, yes, before she began to travel with this lot, Xiǎo Zhū was married. It is possible she still is; she hasn’t checked. He was a very nice man, she recalls, but quiet and meek; she often forgot he existed even when she lived with him. Before she left on this pilgrimage, she thinks she folded him up into a tidy packet and left him a drawer. That’s how it is when she sings it, anyway.

The Low Margin Victory The seeker is unconscious, most of the ranger’s inside parts seem to have migrated to the outside, and the druid is savagely kicking at the body of the last demon to fall, the one who almost ended the party altogether. She tuts at the bleeding and groaning, trit-trotting out of the bushes to heal and soothe. Ah, thank you, coward! The Seeker says as they stir. I’m not a coward, she says serenely. I just look like one, because of how I hide when the violence starts. I would love it if you explained the difference, the ranger says as she nestles his kidneys back into their cozy bed in his abdomen, applying another heal. I hide because I’m the one who has to live. I’m the only one who’s taking notes! Perhaps the pilgrimage will be successful, and with your help, our Seeker shall do what they always said they would, but it seems more likely (based on today, at least) that you are destined to die gloriously, of course saving all the world via your sacrifice. I’m the bard, though, so I mustn't die. I have to bury you after, and cry a thousand tears for each of you, and then make and tell and spread the songs of you, because you deserve to be immortal. And you will be. You will live forever in the songs. Pff! says the druid. I’d rather you got your daggers out, and we all lived right now.   Images are my own art or free to use off Pexels. In a real game I would never put dialog in the mouths of other characters, but it is central to my RP style to interact with other players; writing posts divorced from a party didn't sound like me or reveal her, so making up their dialog was a compromise.

[lostcheerio]

The Kinetic Trickster Name: Gita Pallava Race: Human Gender Identity: Female Class: Rogue / Druid Description: Gita is not a god. She's a human person, born in mud and raised on rice, belonging to a human mother and father. Gita runs fast, jumps high, and laughs bright and rude. She's learned to shoot and shapeshift, harnessing magic that feels irrepressible and springing tricks that want to be cunning but sometimes land her in trouble. Trouble is fine, as long as she's the center of attention. Naughty and dashing, she’s got big hero energy, and big principles too. With friends she is steadfast, with enemies ferocious. She loves hard and holds grudges forever. Seeker: Yes, possibly! Gita's mother is from Putra, so on this journey she’s an immigrant's child returning to the home she never knew. In spite of her carefree attitude, she is a true believer. She believes in movement the most: her body in dance, culture between friends, populations between nations. But she believes in people too: their goodness, their badness, and most of all their significance, even in this world of mighty gods and magic monsters. I can imagine this saucy rebel being sent on a quest by the gods or wise ones almost as a joke, but it might be the first thing she's taken seriously in her whole short life. That would be interesting to develop. She's so physical and grounded that I can't see her going to retrieve books or ideas, but maybe she, a mover and shaker, is sent to Putra to communicate a message that can only be delivered in dance. RP Sample 1: Overcoming Odds on the Battlefield The Doom-Dooms A while ago when the world was slow and Gita was impatient, she was riding with the Doom-Dooms, a bandit gang. Their mounts were half wild and their riding was half performance, and they could be hired by either mayor or murderer, to rescue people or make them disappear. The Doom-Dooms would ride into town in a flash of ribbons and gold, circling the village well or cantering up and down the steps of the local palace. Gita herself was the most daring vaulter, standing on one foot on her pony's rump, or touching her feet on the ground from side to side, fingers hooked on the pommel, at a fast gallop. She joined up with the Doom-Dooms to learn the flashy tricks and to make her mother insane and because she got a dare from one of the riders, who didn't think she could. But she could, and she did. As she was the best vaulter and the prettiest rider and had the nicest pony and the finest boots, she decided take over as the leader of the gang. Being the leader came with responsibilities: deciding where to ride, who to serve, where to sleep. But Gita didn't care about all that stuff; she just wanted to ride in the front. She imagined herself cutting through the countryside, with her gang flanking behind her: one to fancy, one to fight, one to favor, one to take to bed. It was a great idea. So she challenged the leader, a thick-headed piece of muscle named Sugar Panther, to a race for supremacy. "I bet I can beat you to the top of the mountain," cried Gita, sharpening her spurs and making a show of checking her saddle's girth. "Whoever wins will lead the Doom-Dooms!" Sugar Panther shaded his eyes and looked at the peak. He knew Gita's pony was cuter than it was strong. "I can beat you," he growled out in his slow deep voice, and digging his heels into his pony, he took off at a gallop, attacking the difficult path up the steep mountain. But Gita turned into a golden eagle and flew straight to the mountaintop. When he got there, she was laughing. Sugar Panther was angry, and accused her of cheating. "Your pony is only just now struggling up the rocks. Here he comes, covered in foam and tired. You would never have won if you were riding a fair race." "Oh, fine," said Gita. "I'll race you back down, and this time the pony and I will stay together." "You can't shift your shape into anything!" warned Sugar Panther. "That's not fair!" "Fine," insisted Gita, impatient to be off. "I won't shift my shape. I'll stay with my pony. Any more rules?!" But Sugar Panther had taken off down the mountain, kicking up scree behind his pony's heels, thinking he had got the jump on Gita, with her tired pony, going over her rules. Gita just laughed again, and turned her pony into a large boulder. She shoved it over a cliff and then jumped onto it, landing on one foot and dancing lightly in place as the boulder bounced and jounced straight down the mountain, bypassing all the switchbacks once again. "No fair!" complained the frustrated Sugar Panther. His exhausted pony pinned its ears in protest. But the other Doom-Dooms had accepted Gita as their leader. "Now now," said Gita. "Don't be sore. Go soak your head in the crystal springs of Putra. Maybe I'll race you there next." "Doom-Dooms? More like dum-dums!" raged Sugar Panther. And he went off into the West. RP Sample 2: Torn Between Two Loyalties Poor Mama and the First Magic Her mother doesn't know how to dress or act in Huanghe which means that for the first ten years of her life Gita also doesn't know how to dress or act in Huanghe. It's hard having a mother like this. Of course, it's perfectly easy to be one. Her mother insists on wearing her scarf wrapped left to right and stepping wide and tying her belt in the back instead of wrapping her scarf right to left, tying her belt in front, and stepping toe to heel in a line like sophisticated people do in Huanghe. People notice. Gita doesn't notice, until she does. Until people start to call her out for pronouncing words stupidly or leaving wrong footprints. "What does it matter if you leave wrong footprints!?" her mother wants to know. "Walk wide, Gita. Be strong and certain. You have two legs, not one." Gita makes cartwheels, heel to toe to hand to hand to toe to heel. Let that be the record Gita leaves in the snowy street! "Come and let me tell you a story about the crystal springs of Putra," her mother insists. "Sit by me and listen. Fold your hands, child, and quiet." Gita doesn't like the mother's stories about her home. There are crystal springs everywhere, but in Putra there are tigers. There are green jungles everywhere, but in Putra there are elephants. Yeah, yeah, yeah. The peacocks. The palms. Gita hates sitting, and listening, and folding hands. But this time-- this!! She listens to the mother's voice invoke the land, hears the land emerge in images and words, the smells she says into being, the sounds she croaks and swishes, and this time-- this!! She can feel this land inside her, and it stretches and bunches, flexing and forming. Living! Inside Gita there's a living magic land. A... hand. It tickles her, this hand. Out of her mother's heart to hers, in the rivers and green hills and tufty meadows and the mud and the tigers and cliffs and beaches and up and up inside her body, out through her ribs, as she sits so perfectly still and can't believe it, the magic hand bursts out. This hand is not folded politely in the other. She can flex and bend it and use it! Gita makes a fist, the magic hand makes a fist. Gita stretches out her fingers, the magic hand stretches out, with tiny vines and rocky pieces on the tips of its fingers and rivers running across the palm and hills for knuckles and jungle grass for little hairs. Gita, curled against her mother, who drones on and on, lifts the hand, so magic and beautiful. She rotates it, flexes it, and then she presses it firm against her mother's mouth. Let there be no more stories! Shush!

[Jrod]

Application Name: Kai Pow Race: Aasimar - Protector Class: Beast Barbarian / Open Palm Monk Gender: Male Seeker? No Concept: Pacifist Master searching for his loved ones Appearance: Kai does not look like others of his village. He is colossal and fortitous, standing a few head higher than even the biggest men. His persona being much more Celestial in nature, with coalescent blue eyes and olive green, almost gold skin with a clay like sheen. Thick earthen trunk like arms lay at his side, finished by Large bearish hands. Fine blue and orange vestments match a kilt type man skirt. A satchel and book ride upon his waste, fastened via a strap over his shoulder. He Is of solid stature, standing nearly Seven feet tall, brawny and broad. Despite his unique characteristics Kai is handsome, proportionate and Muscly, with a flat belly and thick thighs. White frizzy hair tops his head with one thick braded band down each side of his face, chest length.   RP1 “Oh no sir. I would not like to fight any of you today. Today I would like to not fight at all. Today I would like to eat mangos and write in my journal about how delicious my mango is sure to taste. I will give you a mango. Would you like a mango?” Such a soft and genuine tone escapes his lips. Truly meaning no harm, insisting on enacting no violence. “Some type of special one you think you are ya big one. You must like to fight. C’mon, fight me then!” Says the other large man, oppressive and dominating. “Oh no. I would not like to fight today. Maybe tomorrow. It looks like it might rain tomorrow” “That’s it…” the vigilante draws back, clenching his fist. His teeth grit as he throws his whole weight behind a right hook. The punch lands square on kais nose. The mango gets knocked from Kais hand in the exchange, rolling on the ground and getting covered in dirt. “But…” slowly says the gargantuan Book bearer. His disposition going from jovial, then to sad, then annoyed. He lunges forward grabbing his assailants arm instead of punching him back. ‘Why’ the striker thinks - instead of just sending a punch In return. Now in close Kai goes to work. He twists the arm causing pain and giving no option but for the opponent to adhere to his will. He then uses the gangsters off balance to smash him into the ground. ‘Thud!’ Now on top, Kai falls on top and shifts his weight, pinning the unfortunate arm under weight and leverage. The pain is unbearable for the assailant, but it’s not what is most scary. What is most scary is the speed in which such a large man could move to gain the upper hand. Truly intimidating. Kai looks up at the gang, does not say a word and ‘Crack’ pops the mans shoulder out of its socket or broke his arm, no sure way to tell. “Anyone else?” He says angrily, reaching over to grabs his mango and slowly gets up to eat it, brushing it off on his vest first. “I just wanted to eat my mango…” RP2 A man can only be stretched to thin. To choose your blood, brother. Or to choose the apple of your eye. Kai had always been fond of Zi. They came from the same village. We’re born on the same calendar and were innately fascinated with each other. Both were athletic, so playful they became. Chasing each other through the forest, splashing in the streams and competing everywhere else. As time went on Kai grew to love Zi, and Zi fell in love with the big friendly giant. But all was not well. Kai’s elder brother Zen was his role model and in his eyes, a god. He looked up to his brother with such profound appreciation and admiration it was almost blinding. Zen was not all good, and often played off his little brothers affection for him. Using it to his advantage over their years, but never breaking the bond of brothers. Kai and Zi married. They would eventually have child and retire on a farm somewhere near their home village. Zen was jealous of his brothers fleeting loyalty. He watched as his brother fell out of love with him, and into love with another. This angered Zen. He schemed and wanted to give his brother an ultimatum. Kai would either follow his brother west or stay on the farm and loose him forever. “I would not want to loose my brother Zi. He has been watching over me since we could crawl through the rice fields together” “I know my love. Despite his flaws, he is a good brother, and I thank him every day for keeping you safe all these years” “If he goes west there is no telling if we will ever see him again. Our children will never know their uncle. I just know if we had more time, I could calm him. I could talk to him. I could keep him here, with us. He could find a wife of his own, have kids. He could still find happiness” Zi smiles, looks at the floor and hesitates. She raises her head and stands, approaching her husband slowly. She embraces him, holds him tightly and stands on her tippy toes to kiss him gently near his chin. “I love you Kai, but your brother will never stay here, no matter how much you beg or barter. And you would never feel at peace knowing he was lost to you” she looks deeply into her gargantuan husbands compassionate eyes. The loving eyes of a man truly torn in half. She exhales in preparation for what she was about to say “We will go west together. All three of us. When Zi finds his way, and when we are ready, we will return together, here to our home” Disbelief… freight… surprise… complete and utter joy. Kai was over the moon for what his wife was willing to sacrifice for him. He holds her tightly, kisses her daintily upon her head and doesn’t let go.

[UngainlyFool]

Originally Posted by lostcheerio

Number of mountains she can lift: two.

One day, Gita. One day.

[Strangemund]

Temptation wins today. I am officially posting interest! No idea if I'll get an app in time while I am sick as a dog, but ooh, Wyn, you have wooed me and a lot of my favorite people on the site! I gotta toss my hat in, I just gotta!

Character Application An artist's depiction of a young The Great Feng Wu. Name: The Great Feng Wu Race: The Mischievous Spirit of Drunken Mirth (Reskinned Dragonborn) Class: Monk (Drunken Master) Gender Identity: Cis-Female (She/Her) Sexual Orientation: Bisexual Disaster Appearance: The Great Feng Wu is the living incarnation of drunken mirth, born from the heavenly foam that spilled forth from the 100th fermented rice wine pot on the night of the 100th Mooncake Festival. She is a young, mischievous spirit, who is simian in appearance, from her flat, wide nose to the tip of her curly tail. Her fur is a rich red, flushed warmly like cherry-kissed cheeks heated by a hot wine on a cold winter day. Her face is masked with a golden color, dark, much like the sweetest haungjiu, with her eyes highlighted by a bursting blue, streaked across her brow like the stroke of a painter’s brush. A wild crown of hair flows down her back, big and bountiful, often seen with twigs and leaves entangled in her fiery mane. Two thick locks of hair hang in front of her ears, dangling freely in the wind, with round bells tied to the ends, announcing her presence to all who are in need of a good, drunken time. Her attire is simple, and more often than naught, stolen from unsuspecting mortals. The Great Feng Wu is garbed in golden sashes, vestments of green and red, and colorful strings that sway from her waist. She doesn’t wear shoes or sandals, preferring the freedom that her flexible monkey feet grant her. On her neck, where the fur is bare, intricate Chinese characters are scrawled down the nape of her throat to her chest. The Seeker: Possibly! The Great Feng Wu is planned as more of a lackadaisical companion than the titular Seeker, but I think her story could play the part well enough if needed! Her journey towards enlightenment, regardless of her role, would involve her growth towards taking her heavenly responsibilities seriously, and ideally, finding balance within herself, where she discovers that there is a limit to the hijinks she unleashes upon the mortal plane. Concept: A Hot Mess of a Spirit RP Samples You overcame tremendous odds on the battlefield. What were you up against, who were you fighting for/alongside, and how did you prevail? "FENG WU!" The tavern doors slammed open, and Gao the Unrelenting, the mighty and fearsome guardian of the mountains, ducked his heavy crowned head of horns through the shattered door frame. Steam billowed hotly from his nostrils. His heavy hoovesteps that shook the fire-lit lanterns, and stilled the hearts of brave men, brought with it a quiet dread to the once boisterous inn. Wine no longer passed among friends, and smiles were now buried under masks of fear, of worry, of the terrible, agonizing question: who was foolish enough to bring about the Dread Bull of Pi Bridge’s wrath? "Feng Wu!" bellowed Gao the Unrelenting again, his blazing red eyes aglow with hellish light, passing over the lucky few who managed to sneak past him as he stomped his way inside. His curled, black horns clicked against the hanging lanterns as he stormed in, his rage trailing behind him as a literal storm cloud. The floorboards creaked. Barely able to withstand his godly weight. while the heat of his steps burned perfect black scorch marks into the wooden boards. Again, he growled, as he sniffed the air, his bovine nose scrunched up into a snarl that would make a warrior’s knees tremble, if it weren’t for the delicate, pink, long-ribboned rope that was tied neatly through his bovine nose, double-knotted, with a cute bow-string, while on the other end of the rope, hanging limply from a methodically tied fisherman’s knot, was a bridge post, freshly yanked from the earth. "I smell you, ape!" Gao stomped his hoof. His thick, gnarled hands twisted into angry lumps that vaguely resemble fists, tipped with curled, broken claws. "I know you are here! Come out! FACE ME!" A hush fell over the tavern. One that was immediately interrupted by a muffled laugh, ringing hollowly from a ceramic pot behind the bar. It was all Gao needed to hear before he bullied his way through the crowd, shoving aside tables and patrons alike as he stood over the ceramic pot, steam pouring out from his nostrils like a teapot left to screech on a flame. With one hand, he lifted its heavy lid, and sneered down at the cheeky spirit that smiled so innocently back at him, her face flushed with the very spirits that filled the pot to the brim. "Why, Gao the Unrelentin’," greeted a not-so-surprised The Great Feng Wu, dipping a ladle into the pool of rice wine she stretched herself out in, enjoying herself, as she often did, in the worst, and best, possible ways, "Gao! Gao! The Unreeelentin’~!" She sang drunkenly, her voice cracking at each note. "What brings ya here? Stoppin’ by for a quick drink? Ke ke ke! I’d say it’d be good to add some color to yer cheeks, but ke ke ke, I see yer already did~!" She laughed, kicking her feet up, and splashing rice wine everywhere. Gao was not amused. His hands gripped the edge of the jar, where it soon started to crackle and crumble under his strength. "You," he seethed, "What have you done!?" The Great Feng Wu coyly smiled, and dipped a ladle she stole from the bar earlier into the deep, dark liquor she swam in. Gently, she swirled it around, and then took a light sip, shuddering in quiet delight at the fire it lit inside her. "Me?" she repeated, and squinted hard in thought, tilting her head left, then right, then left again, as she slowly tapped her nose with the ladle’s head. "MMmmnn. Iunno. Been here, alllllll day, drinkin’ an’ bein’ merry. Ya can ask anyone." Gao growled, and put his snarling face into the pot, pushing the Great Feng Wu deeper into the rice wine until only her head could be seen. "LIAR! I KNOW you! I KNOW you did THIS!" And as if the pink rope wasn’t an obvious eye sore on the raging bull, he pulled at it with his thick fingers. It shimmered with a radiant light. Glowing with the kind of spirit magic that only creatures like them knew to play with. And it rang, ever-so-faintly, like bells, jingling against a cool, summer wind, singing a merry, drunken tune. And that made The Great Feng Wu laugh, her giggle slipping out before she could catch it, as the two knew, oh, they knew, that was her song. That she had cast a spell on him. "REMOVE IT!" Gao spat, shaking the pot until rice wine was splashing out over its edges. "REMOVE IT! OR I WILL TIE YOUR TAIL INTO KNOT, APE!" The Great Feng Wu spun and shook and nearly lost her lunch from all the rocking. She’d hold her stomach if she knew where it was– or rather, which was up, and which was down, and which was, well, anywhere. Eyes spinning in her skull, she waved her hands in mock surrender, her monkey feet clasping against the ceramic pot walls to keep herself above ‘water’. "Alright! Alright! Just– blegh– stop the ride!" Gao stopped. His nostrils flared, eyeing The Great Feng Wu suspiciously, and finally leaned back just enough for her to catch her breath. "Hmph. Good." The Great Feng Wu breathed a sigh of relief, her cheeks puffed up for a second as she felt the contents of her lunch lurch back up. "Ugghhhh. Anyone… ever tell ya really know how to… treat a lady… " Gao just snorted. Pulling herself together, The Great Feng Wu lifted herself halfway out of the pot, hand clutching its cracked edge, still toying with the ladle between her fingers, as she ran her other hand through her messy red mane of hair. It drooped over her face like a wet mop, the sweet scent of rice wine wafting off her like a pungent perfume. "I am waiting." The Great Feng Wu twitched. "Yeah…" Blowing a lock of hair out of her mouth, she felt a prickle of heat rise up from her belly. A strike of a match. And a stirring of a mischievous thought. "Poor Master Gao. Poor, sweet Master Gao. Ya know I was not thinkin’ at the time. Really wasn’t. I am a stupid, whatcha say? Ape?" She squinted up at him, and Gao blindly nodded, as yes, yes, she was just a stupid ape. The Great Feng Wu smiled sharply, and flipped her wet, heavy bangs back. "Yeah. I was just jealous o’ ya. O’ yer big, important heavenly duty." "As you should. But no more talking, Feng Wu. Fix this." Oooh. Oooh! Ooooh hoo hoo! She’ll fix him, alright, she’ll fix him real good. The Great Feng Wu bowed her head out of respect, and muttered between clenched teeth, "O’ course, Master Gao," before she delicately twisted her fingers around the ribbon tied so neatly through his bovine nose. The sound of jingling bells rang throughout the tavern, and the patrons, who knew the mischievous spirit of drunken mirth well, began to quietly leave. The Great Feng Wu smiled up at the spirit three times her size, three times her might, and then yanked with all the strength she could muster as she slammed her head into his dumb bovine face. THWACK! Crash! The ceramic pot split open at Gao the Unrelenting’s flailing hand. Shattering, The Great Feng Wu rode the bubbly wave of liquor that spilled across the floorboards, her hand still wrenched tightly around the rope that dangled from Gao’s nose. He roared in pain, then anger, as the white dots that speckled his vision turned a violent red. "YOU INSOLENT LITTLE–" The Great Feng Wu shoved her ladle straight into his open mouth. "HAVE A DRINK!" She growled back, and immediately regretted it, as Gao the Unrelenting bit the ladle in half, bashing the full weight of his forearm into her as she still dangled from the rope, flinging her across the tavern, and over tables. Hitting the floor hard, The Great Feng Wu grimaced at the numbing ache to her ribs, but then she just laughed, a wild, giggly laugh, "Ke ke ke! This– this has been a long time comin’, Gao! I hope yer ready to get a good, healthy dose o’ humility after the crap ya been talkin’ at the Celestial Court!" Gao spat out the remains of the ladle. His teeth yellow, and flat, blunt like a hammer head. "Feh. That’s what this is about? That’s why you mock ME on MY MOUNTAIN?" "It’ll be MY MOUNTAIN after I am done with you!" She laughed. The Great Feng Wu grabbed the edge of a nearby table, and pulled herself upright, cracking her shoulders and neck as Gao the Unrelenting picked up the bridge post that was tied to the other end of the rope, wielding it like a club. He snorted a black cloud of smog. The Great Feng Wu froze. And then glanced down at her unarmed hands. Her naked belt. And then back up at him, as he took a threatening step forward, realizing just then that she didn't...exactly remember... where she put her...where she put her radiant staff... And it was then that the bridge post suddenly burst into a hellish blue flame. The Great Feng Wu’s laugh died, just a little. "Ke he he…well, maybe, our mountain? Instead? No? Master Gao?" Uh-oh. This. This was going to get ugly. And it was going to hurt. A lot. Grimacing, and full of regret, The Great Feng Wu picked up a tankard, and downed its foamy goodness before she twirled the cup in her hand, gripping it like a knuckle brace. "Alright then! Let’s both get our medicine for the day~!" Even the mighty can fall to simple words. Describe a scene where your powers failed to solve an important problem, where other methods might have succeeded. "Do not open the box." That was what The Great Feng Wu was told to do. A simple task. One that offered no other trial to the spirit. No beast to slay. No noble to trick. Not even a gauntlet to cross and rise as champion of. Just keep this simple, unassuming box safe, and do not, by any means, open it. "But why not," had The Great Feng Wu asked the monk, Yang Shui, earlier in the day, sidling next to him, legs crossed clumsily as she tried and failed to match his poise and grace. "What prize is so precious to keep it shut from the heavens themselves?" Cradling the finely crafted box in his lap, Yang Shui just smiled. His gentle, wrinkled hands smoothing across the box’s white finish. It was pretty meh, if The Great Feng Wu was honest. Hardly out of place among the idyllic mountaintop, where water fell from the heavens into gentle pools of white, where the shrines were lovingly catered to by monks of old, whose fall years are spent brewing the sweetest of rice wine. You know. Old. Boring. Same old same old tune. That kinda thing. And really, the box striked her the same. It was small enough to carry in just one hand. Too light to weigh a man down on a journey up the mountain, but heavy enough to warrant curiosity. A wonder as to what laid tucked away behind the dragon sculpted lock at the box’s lip, as something inside shook ever so lightly at the lightest rock. But Yang Shui never answered The Great Feng Wu. Which was, well, expected. His vow of silence kept him a quiet companion for the loud and boisterous spirit. But she thought, at least once, given what his brethren asked of her, that he would tell her what he kept safe within that little box. But none of them said a word to her about its contents. Just urged her, by the command of the Jade Emperor, to watch over it as they begin their yearly pilgrimage down the mountain. "Pfft. An easy feat for The Great Feng Wu!" boasted the spirit of drunken mirth, tossing the box back and forth between her hands, letting it fly higher and higher in the air. "I have toppled mountains bigger than you, my mysterious friend! An’ wooed hearts o’ all natures, big an’ small, mean an’ ugly, mortal an; godly! Watch over ya? Why! I could do that with my arms tied behind my back! Standing on one toe!" Which The Great Feng Wu did exactly that. Twirling around on one foot, she threw her arms back behind her, and as the box flung through the air, gravity pulling it back down with a ferocity that would make the monks regret their choice of protector, she caught it seconds before it hit the stone pathway with her tail. And it delighted her! It did! ‘cuz she almost thought she wasn’t going to make it! The close call tickled her like a good, bawdy joke, as she plopped the box back between her hands, like she was delivering a secret package to herself. "Ke ke ke! For me~? Ya shouldn’t have," The Great Feng Wu batted her eyes at no one as she turned to face her phantom admirer, coyly bowing before her attention drifted once more to the box. And she frowned. She’d known about the box for a while. Knew it was important to the monks. To Yang Shui, but…well, she didn’t care at the time. There were jokes to be told and fresh brews to get into. But now that she had it in her palm, well, it made her wonder. What was so special about it? It didn’t do anything magical, as far as she could tell. Didn’t sing. Didn’t dance. Didn’t do any of the wonderful things that she did! It was just a box with a– with a thing in it. A mysterious, unknowing…thing… The Great Feng Wu bit her lip. "I don’t care." She snorted, and held the box far away from her face, "I am not interested. Ya can’t trick me. I won’t be wooed. Nu-uh. Nope." She glanced up at the pair of lovebirds nested in the tree above, and she pointed an accusing finger at both, causing them to flutter in their nest in surprise. "That’s right! I said it! I don’t care! I am The Great Feng Wu! I have way more fun, adventurous things to think about! An’ do! An’ drink!" "Like ‘at special spiced wine Tai hid away!" The Great Feng Wu jumped at the thought. Oh yes! Yes yes yes! She had far more important things to do! And let’s face it, Tai won’t appreciate that spiced wine like she would. She’d savor every drop. Take her time. Appreciate it for what it was. Yeah! That’s right! That’s what she’ll do! Nodding at her brilliant new plan, The Great Feng Wu the box back on the pedestal it usually rested on. And left. Just left. Left it all alone. By itself. Doing nothing but just. Sitting there. Unassuming. With its secrets. Many, many secrets. Nothing out of the ordinary at all– "GAAAAHHHHH!" The Great Feng Wu stormed back out of the shrine and towards the box. Hands on her hips, she got to eye level with its stupid, bronze lock, squinting one eye closed. "What is yer deal!? WHAT’S IN YOU!? It is borin’ stuff, isn’t it!? Prayers? List o’ chores?! The names o’ every rock on this mountain!? That’s what it is, right!? RIGHT?!" One of the birds chirped angrily at The Great Feng Wu, and she groaned, dragging her fingers down her face, before shooting a dirty look over her shoulder. "I know what I said! I KNOW!" But it was so mysterious. Her fingers tippy-tapped over her temples in thought. The Great Feng Wu swaying back and forth, trying to work her curiosity out of her system somehow, someway! Crouching down on her hands and feet, she circled the pedestal, stalking the box on all fours as her tail flicked back and forth like a cat that cornered a fat rat. "It can’t be ‘at all important if they–they didn’t ask for a guardian spirit until now. They just let Yang Shui watch it. An’ he naps. All the time. Even durin’ prayer. He says he doesn’t, but he snores…" Inching closer, she pushed the pad of her finger against the box. It moved. Just a little bit. The light rattle of something moving inside sparked a foul, curious shudder through The Great Feng Wu. "Maybe it is their filth stash…" She cut her eyes to the birds. "Just a—just a bunch o’ scrolls o’ naked goddesses an’ shrine maidens an’ mmmnnn…" The Great Feng Wu smiled goofily as she imagined just that and more. She sighed. "I hope it is ‘at. It’d give me somethin’ to do while I wait for ‘em to come back– wait! No no no!" She jumped back from the box, hands held up in front of her in mock horror. "What am I sayin’! What are you sayin’, The Great Feng Wu! Well! It sounded like I was gonna open it! BUT I AM NOT! Right?" She paused. "Right. I am not. Not gonna open it. ‘at was the big rule. Do not open. Not even a lil’. Not a peek. Just. Watch it." Easier said than done. Ohhhh. She wanted to know so badly now. But! No! No! She promised! She swore! To Yang Shui, and less importantly, the Jade Emperor! She couldn’t mess this up. She needed to be serious. A proper guardian. Focused on her celestial duties and nothing else. Gods, that’s boring– err, what a wonderful opportunity to have in serving both the mortals and the heavens. The Great Feng Wu settled down in front of the pedestal. She quieted her busy mind by drinking from her gourd full of spiced wine that she may or may not have stolen very recently. And she just listened to the world around her. The whooshing waterfalls. The rustling trees. The songbirds’ morning prayers as a serene quiet blanketed the empty shrine. The Great Feng Wu gave a sigh of relief. Her mind stilled. Her curiosity quieted. Peace flowed through her like the heat of the spiced wine. She could do this. She got this. She’ll show them. The Great Feng Wu smiled, and leaned back against the precariously placed pedestal, oblivious that it was just about to-- CRASH! Plink plink plink. Crack. "Uh-oh."

[Seekr34]

I think my app is done, at least I think it's all you were looking for.

[Wynamoinen]

Welcome to the thread Strangemund! And it looks like I've been a bad host and I didn't do my greeting duties yesterday. So welcome, too Fillyjonk and and LostCheerio! Sorry to leave you hanging in my metaphorical vestibule. All three of you are on my application table, and I look forward to seeing how all your applications develop!

I've marked you completed, Seekr34, thanks for the note!

[DialPforPickles]

Gilead Name: Gilead Wickley, DFA Race: human Gender: M (he/him) Class: Artificer (alchemist) Appearance: tall, with an unruly mop of wavy black hair swirling atop his head. A good-natured (but often confused) smile continuously playing across his face. In surprisingly good shape for an academic. Favors traveling clothes with drab colors, but never seen without several wide leather bandolier of potions and phials criss-crossing his chest and hips. The Seeker: Yes—he seeks the Philosopher’s Stone.   The first day of a new semester at the Academy. He stands at the blackboard; his practiced hand tapping and scratching out formulae and alchemical shorthand in chalk, a lecture room half-full of fresh-faced students sitting behind him. He feels the lecture is going well so far—it is his introduction to Metaphysics and Alchemy. He always begins with a treatise on the Philosopher’s Stone to feel out the room and, at the very least, get a rousing discussion going. “The quest for the Philosopher’s Stone is not simply a quest for immortality or immense wealth, but an allegory of how, by joining our talents together and working toward a single purpose, we find life and unimaginable wealth in those around us. Each of us is born, lives for a brief period, and dies, leaving behind whatever legacy we managed to scrape together. The stone simultaneously represents the legacy and end-goal of all scholars and scholarship.” The chalk lies quiet in his hand for a moment. He had anticipated to hear questions or even scoffing in the students’ chairs behind him at this point, but there is nothing. Only the quiet of young minds sitting in rapt attention. He smiles to himself, and continues writing, and lecturing. “To be a scholar is to search for our life's purpose and passion in community and discourse. We sift through the works of those who came before us and choose our heroes and villains. We ruin our eyes and health sorting through minutiae by guttering candlelight so that we can bicker with those who disagree with us and make them feel small. Such is the nature of all humans.” Still not a sound from the class. Will this be the year he brings about a cohort of students capable of (his mind shied away from the word “willing”, it was too much to hope for) discussing this matter in depth? Or was this something else? “But it is the nature of a chosen few to persist in our passions, suffering for them while waiting for that single moment of inspiration, that divine connection between consciousness and possibility in which we stand transfixed in reverent awe of the universe viewed through the lens of our chosen pursuit. And whatever we can convey from that moment and all the moments preceding and proceeding from it, we leave behind for others to discover, sort through, and bicker over just as we did before them. That moment is the Philosopher’s Stone, for it is worth more than any weight of gold, and it inspires work that lives on well after our hearts. . .” Still not a sound. His mind, a moment ago rejoicing in the realm of metaphysical alchemy, now stops for a moment and considers a secondary explanation for the quiet. He turns around and sees a now empty lecture hall. With a resigned sigh, he gives the chalk a perfunctory toss toward the desk. “. . .and brains cease to function.” He erases the blackboard as a courtesy to Dr. Ephrastus, who uses this room after him. As he packs up to leave, he makes a mental note that the students are getting MUCH better at sneaking out of the room. Perhaps he could concoct an unguent to make the door hinges make a funny or embarrassing noise when opened to dissuade this behavior in the future--a fart noise, perhaps? A formula arranges itself in his mind as he exits the lecture hall and makes his way to the lab to investigate the matter further. This morning might not be a total waste, after all.   It was the first day of his first teaching appointment. He was so excited about it that he came a full week before his first class, just so he could familiarize himself with the layout of the campus and grounds, introduce himself to his fellow faculty members (such a thrill even to THINK of that blessed phrase), and get a feel for his class room and laboratory. Except that the school was still on break, so the campus and grounds were mainly empty, the other teachers were still away on holiday, and he wound up spending most of the morning looking for the keys to unlock various doors. And then the howling began. The first came during lunch—a small handful of grounds and housekeeping staff, along with a half dozen students who didn’t go home for the winter break were gathered around a large dining table all looked up from their stew, then looked confusedly at each other, and then walked over to the large picture window overlooking the grounds with a view of the mountains to the east to investigate the noise. Something was approaching the outer walls of the campus. “Huh. Looks like a wolf.” “Are you blind, Marrosh? That’s never a wolf. It’s as a big as a Holstein.” “I didn’t say it was a wolf, Gintzley, you puckering ass. I said it looked like a wolf.” “Well how many wolves have you seen that are big enough to pull carriage? Look at it, it’s got to be 15 hands and a hundred stone, or I’m no judge of horseflesh.” “Nobody’s questioning your aptitude for judging horseflesh, Gintzley. We’ve all seen the girls you bring back to your room.” “Shut up, you turd flautist. . .” “Shut up the both of you. Look.” One by one the wolf’s pack joined it, bounding down the mountainside or loping through the valleys, there must have been a dozen of them. All of them were howling now, creating an awful discordant cacophony that set your teeth on edge. Doing his best to be helpful, Gilead tried remembering everything he’d learned in Cryptozoology and cleared his throat. “Those are winter wolves—ice giants keep them as pets and such. They’re not typically seen without them, but they are displaying feeding behaviors. How have you dealt with this problem in the past?” The groundskeeper spoke up: “We 'aven’t, because they 'aven’t. Near's I can figger, they must belong to them ice giants that them adventurers kilt off when they came through in the summer. Dumb bastards prob’ly dint think about what would ‘appen when their pets started starvin’.” Everyone nodded their heads at this. Adventurers were notoriously short-sighted. The chambermaid noted with very little emotion that they would tear the school apart looking for meat once they got inside, and the contents of the pantry probably wouldn’t hold them. Not when they were used to hunting for live prey. Then one of the students replied that they had no weapons to defend themselves with. Another stated, very matter of factly, that none of them had any military experience either, and by the time the faculty and students came back, whatever of their bodies that remained in the snow wouldn’t be enough to identify the dead. Everyone nodded their heads at this too. “Where’s the alchemy lab and storeroom?” Gilead felt the weight of their attention as they swung their heads in his direction—their faces full of silent judgment. No one was nodding now. Just glaring. “It’s just I um. I have an idea.” As the groundskeeper led the way to the alchemical wing, Gilead laid out a very basic formula that everyone would have to learn how to make in as much quantity as they could manage. A training montage later, and they were all standing on the outer walls of the campus with gallon-sized ampules full of silvery liquid, looking down on a dozen huge wolves who told them, both in Common and in frightening detail, who they planned to eat first, and how. Gilead cleared his throat. “Right, now when I give the order, just open your bottles and dump the solution down on the snow where I show you--the formula should take care of everything else. Ready?” Each person looked to the other, unsure if they just wasted the last few precious moments of their life on hermetic philosophy. One person asked: "Wait a second. What do you mean: 'should'?" “Aim.” From somewhere on his person, Gilead produced a rather large rib roast and threw it in the snow. “FIRE!” One by one, they each emptied the contents of their ampules down to the snow drifts below by the roast, which the wolves all tried to claim for their own immediately. They had barely reached the apex of their pounce upon the roast when the snowbanks exploded into sulfuric yellow flames that singed their snouts and latched insatiably onto their flanks. The staff and students watched wild-eyed as the less intelligent wolves turned on each other, tearing and clawing at their compatriots in their rage. The smarter ones, of course, simply started rolling in the snow, which only made the flames angrier. In a few moments, the winter wolves either lay dead, or were beating a hasty retreat back to the mountains. A few quiet moments passed by as the people on the wall began to understand that they would not, as the wolves had so rudely suggested, be turned into wolf droppings. One of the younger students broke the silence: “But how? How do you make water flammable?” Gilead smiled and wondered if he should use this story to get himself a raise now, or wait until it’s time to discuss tenure. But all that could wait. Right now, there’s a question he could answer—he took a deep breath and dove in to the properties of sodium. He was a professor now, after all. 15 minutes later, he turned around from his makeshift blackboard and realized that everyone had gone inside. Probably to celebrate not being eaten. He smiled again, and wondered what they’ll have for dinner and hoped that nobody would miss the rib roast he snagged while the students were arguing.

[rhaiber]

李 瑞赢 - Li Ruiying Name: 李 瑞赢 - Li Ruiying Race: 狐狸精 - Húlijīng (fox spirit) Will probably be built using Custom Lineage unless we do a cosmetic reskinning of an existing race Gender identity: non-binary (gender-fluid) shape-shifting fox spirit, typically takes the form of a human female, though they do mix it up from time to time   By nature, Húlijīng are spirits that consume masculine yang energy and transform it into feminine yin energy. As such, they are never wholly of one gender or the other, but always composed of both in an ever-shifting ratio. Therefor, Li Ruiying's preferred pronouns shift depending on what they feel most connected to at a specific point in time. Currently, they enjoy taking the form of a human female and when in that form will lean towards (she/her/hers), but will occasionally switch to (he/him/his) or (they/them/their). Class: Social Warlock (Archfey) Appearance: When in their "true" form, Li Ruiying appears as a slender fox with a sleek copper coat, snow-white underbelly, and sable-tipped ears and paws. Ruiying is a shape-shifter however, often taking on other forms, and whose current favorite is that of a young human woman. When in this form, she appears as a strikingly beautiful woman with porcelain skin and pin-straight raven hair that tumbles down to her waist. Her eyes are a piercing golden color with a mischievous glint in them, and her lush lips seem to be perpetually turned up at one corner in a lopsided, wry smile that is the only break in the otherwise pcretenatual symmetry of her face. She typically wears a long, loose-fitting hanfu robe with a swallow-tailed hem and flying ribbons design. She favors deep vermillion hues both for the auspicious color and the attention it helps her to draw. The Seeker: Definitely not. What I love most about the Journey to the West is how all the main characters (other than Xuanzang) are deeply flawed characters on redemption arcs. Ruiying is a character in the same mold - a trickster who messed around with humans (especially Buddhist monks) because it was just too much fun. That is until the bodhisattva told them to straighten up and aid in the quest if they wanted any sort of redemption. RP Samples:   Sample 1: Even the mighty can fall to simple words. Describe a scene where your powers failed to solve an important problem, where other methods might have succeeded. Húli the fox darted across the open field. Ears flattened. Eyes grown wide. Heart raced. It was a run of panic because Húli knew they were pursued. Húli had long ago worn out their welcome with the Jade Emperor’s court. The rest of the celestial host looked down upon the fox because they contributed nothing productive. They were not scholars, having no patience for academic study. They did not fish or tend fields. They did not craft goods or weave. Instead, Húli crafted words. After all, what was the point of arduous physical labor when one could get whatever one needed from others. The fox offered others promises, flattery, and barter. They invented the art of trade, and this only served to frustrate the celestials even more. Somehow, the fox’s trades were never quite equitable. Though they always appeared fair (at least after the way Húli explained them), inevitably the bargains favored the fox, and they soon began to accumulate greater wealth than the other celestials, despite producing nothing themself. The others demanded justice, and the Jade Emperor answered their call by summoning Hou Yi, the Immortal Archer. Húli the fox leapt over a narrow stream. Wove a path through stands of bamboo. Ducked behind stone after stone. Hugged close to the cover of a hedgerow. Raced through the ruts in a cart-path. Húli glanced back over their shoulder. Hou Yi was nowhere to be seen, but they knew he was somewhere close behind. The hunter’s pursuit had been relentless. Húli had tried every trick at their disposal. They had disappeared into shadows; but the hunter’s eyes pierced the darkness. They had stepped with feet of cloud, leaving no trace; but the hunter found their trail. They had disguised themself as all manner of creature, even taking the form of Hou Yi’s own wife Chang’e; but the hunter saw through every deception. They had tried to bargain with Hou Yi, offering him fame and fortune; but the hunter could not be swayed by words. They had penned a decree in the Jade Emperor’s own hand, calling for the fox’s pardon; but the hunter brushed it aside. There was nothing left for Húli to do but run, so run they did. But now the fox was nearing the point of exhaustion, while the archer showed no signs of fatigue. With the last of their strength, the fox leapt over a garden wall, knowing it would not be enough, but feeling there were no other options left. Húli collapsed on a meandering stone pathway and awaited the coming of the first arrow that would surely end their life. But the garden was not empty. Before the archer’s arrows came a young monk who had been raking the garden - Heng Bao ”Hello?” the monk raised a eyebrow, ”What do we have here?” Heng Bao knelt down close to inspect the exhausted creature just as Hou Yi came charging through the gate, searching furiously. Instinctively, without even thinking, Heng Bao drew the edge of his robes over the prone form of the fox, before turning to greet the archer. ”A most heartfelt welcome, pilgrim. How may this humble one be of assistance to you.” Hou Yi’s eyes narrowed. ”I am no pilgrim,” the archer replied, ”I am Hou Yi, Lord of Archers, he who shot nine of the ten suns. I have come to this place tracking a demon spirit that plagues the lives of men. Tell me where the beast has done and the Jade Emperor may smile upon your line.” ”I am deeply sorry,” Heng Bao shook his head, ”But I am afraid you shall find no quarry to hunt in this garden. You have my leave to search every plant and stream in this garden, but I assure you your prey is not hiding there.” And search Hou Yi did, poking through every inch of the garden, overturning stones, pushing aside branches, splashing through streams; but he did not search the monk himself. After an hour of fruitless effort, the archer stomped out of the garden fuming with indignation. Húli was astounded. The fox had walked among humans before, taking their shape and mingling as one of them, enough that the fox considered themself an expert on the subject. They had enjoyed the passions of humans, they had taken delight in manipulating and using humans to their own end. They had laughed at the folly of humans. They had even tasted the flesh of humans and knew why the oni considered it such a delicacy. However, the fox had never before experienced the compassion that humans were capable of. The fox was instantly smitten. Húli vowed that day before the heavens that they would dedicate their life to repaying this kindness, no matter how long it took.   Ok, this one took a bit o a meandering turn. It started as a tale of "Your powers once put something you love at risk. What did you do to create this risk? Did your love survive?" but may have morphed into "You were once caught between two loyalties. How did you resolve the conflict?", if you accept an internal conflict of loyalties and an examination of the nature of love, the conflicting loyalties being eros (a selfish love aiming at self-pleasure) and something more like philia or pragma (which places the needs of another before one's self). Li Ruiying knelt upon the banks of the river, cradling her lover’s head in her lap. He long slender fingers traced the line of her lover’s cheek while the long raven tresses the tumbled in front of her face provided a subtle curtain of privacy from onlookers. It would have been a scene of beauty and serenity were it not for the coldness of the cheek under Li Ruiying’s fingers or the stillness of her lover’s chest that no longer heaved with every breath. Ruiying sat nearly as motionless herself, despite the life still coursing through her veins. She was consumed by grief, though not so much that it prevented her from noticing the approaching footfalls. ”I know you are there, Guanyin,” she called out without ever turning to look, ”and there is nothing you could say that I would care to hear.” The Bodhisattva Guanyin nodded solemnly. ”Nevertheless, it is time we spoke, Húli” ”I have not been called by that name in over a generation,” Ruiying scoffed. ”I am well aware,” Guanyin replied, ”It was Li Ruiying that you asked your lover to call you this time, yes?” Ruiying winced visibly at the reminder of her departed soulmate. Guanyin noticed this and spoke in soft soothing tones. ”I am deeply sorry for your loss.” ”Leave the lying to those who were born to it, Bodhisattva,” the words came from between tightly clenched teeth. ”If you were truly sorry, then you might call off this foolish chase.” ”That I cannot do,” Guanyin shook her head slowly, ”You know as well as I that the Jade Emperor was tasked Hou Yi with hunting down all the demons that plague mankind” ”And yet an exception was made for Xiwangmu, when the demoness wed the Emperor.” ”That exception was made because the Queen Mother of the West repented her evil ways and took up her post as keeper of peaches of immortality.” ”As have I!” Ruiying insisted, ”I have given up tormenting mortals. It has been so long since I consumed their meat, I can hardly remember the taste.” ”It is not enough to cease your evil ways, little fox. You must balance your karma by counteracting the ills you have brought upon the world of man.” ”And how would you have me do that, oh great and merciful Bodhisattva?” the sarcasm dripping from Ruiying’s words was readily apparent, but Guanyin chose to ignore it. ”You must perform a great service to all mankind.” she responded impassively, ”There will soon be a pilgrim, a mortal who will journey deep into the wilds, facing grave danger to bring salvation and enlightenment back to their people. This pilgrim cannot complete the mission alone and will need guardians to keep the demons and the monsters at bay. You will become one of these guardians, little fox.” ”Feh! I’ve no need for your pity nor your employment, Guanyin” the fox in human form spat the name as if it were distasteful on her tongue. ”I shall find my love in their next lifetime, as I have across seven lifetimes before this. Such is the strength of our love that neither you, nor Hou Yi, nor the Jade Emperor himself may keep us apart!” ”Is this truly love?” the Bodhisattva raised one eyebrow quizzically, ”Across seven lifetimes you have found your lover, but each time you have brought misfortune in your wake. If you truly loved them, would you not seek what is best for them? Or do you merely pursue some gratification for yourself?” Ruiying was silent, and Guanyin allowed the question to linger in the air for a moment before proceeding. ”You may have followed your lover across lifetimes, but you shall not have them this time. In this next life, it is they who shall become the pilgrim. They shall be pure and will not bend to your temptation or any other. They will exist beyond your reach. However, if you take up this quest, if you ensure the pilgrim’s safety, then in the next life you may be reborn as that which you seek to be, and finally be with your lover as true equals.”

[Wynamoinen]

Welcome DialPforPickles and rhaiber! You're on the boards in my applicant list. And the first application to be a repeat customer to the Uncaged series.

@all: I'm already dreading selection among this quantity and quality of applicants and applications, so I'm going to turn my "soft" deadline into a "hard" deadline. I'm going to ask everyone who wants full consideration to have everything up and posted here by the end of the day, Monday the 31st. That's still a full work week and two weekends away, so there's still lots of time. But I want to be clear that the possibility of a loosey-goosey cutoff is now off the table.

[Sprite]

Application Name: Song of the Wandering Path (Song) Race: Tabaxi (Tibetan Snow Lion) Gender Identity: cis female Class: Monk/Ranger Appearance: Standing at her full height, Song is taller than most humans, lithe and feline, with thick, silky white fur and turquoise-green eyes. She keeps her fur meticulously clean, bathing daily if possible. Song wears a triple-string necklace of blue-green mottled turquoise prayer beads, worn smooth and shiny with use. Her practical clothing varies, depending on the terrain through which she travels. The Seeker: Maybe? If it makes sense for Song to fill the role. RP Samples:   RP sample: Mountain Pass Ice crystals thrown by the wind sting her face and cling to her whiskers as Song faces into the storm. The ice-dry air tastes of snow and blood. She pulls the hood of her greatcoat back over her head to protect her sensitive ears, and yet even above the storms' roar, she hears the wails and moans of the caravan's injured and dying. This is her fault. Song should have foreseen this twist of fate and waited for spring before crossing Rohtang (rough translation: "pile of corpses") Pass is a mountain pass through the Pir Panjal range (part of the Himalayas), notoriously dangerous in winter. I'm assuming something like it could exist between Huánghé and Putra.Rohtang Pass with Mitra. The caravan's remaining able-bodied survivors huddle in groups among the horse-sized rocks and shattered wagons, caring for those victims of the mountain slide who yet live. Song visits each, helps with shelters and recovering a few supplies. No condemning stare pains her more than her own inward-focused accusations. Song returns to the snow-shelter she'd hastily built for Mitra, and crawls inside next to her dear friend. Mitra's own greatcoat is dark with blood – the tabaxi's half-open mouth catches the metallic scent with her tongue - and though she'd set her dear friend's broken leg, Song found no suitable splint among the debris. Anxiously, Song presses the pads of her left hand, claws sheathed, to the human's throat, and exhales. Mitra's pulse is weak, but still there. She settles herself at Mitra's side and draws the prayer beads around her neck from beneath her greatcoat, the mottled green turquoise warm against her cold paws, and begins reciting the mantra softly. "Om mani padme hum… Om mani padme hum…" A lifetime or perhaps only a few seconds pass, and Mitra opens their eyes. "Song?" Song takes her water skin from beneath her greatcoat and offers it to Mitra. "Drink, dear friend." Mitra drinks deeply, but then chokes and coughs. They wipe their mouth against the back of their hand, staining their brown skin with blood. "You must not delay any longer," Mitra croaks. "You know what you must do. For me. For you. For the survivors." Song shakes her head, recalling how she first met Mitra. "I can carry you the rest of the way. Together we will perform a Cham dance at the spring festival, and once again my wild antics will make you laugh so hard, you forget the steps." Mitra barks a sharp laugh that bring forth another coughing fit. "No, Song. In spring I will dance in your heart and in your memories. Now you must make the hard decisions. Lead those who are able off the mountain and leave the rest to their fate and rebirth. Starting with me." "I was an arrogant fool," growls Song, bitterly. Rumors had spread that she and Mitra were making the risky, late-season crossing. First, a trader with a mule begged to join, and within a single day the venture snowballed into a full company, and Song thought she could lead the caravan. The journey had gone well until just after they crested the gap, when a blizzard raged through the pass and disaster struck. "Foolish, yes. Arrogant, maybe. Oh, how you did make me laugh." Mitra's voice trails off, barely louder than a whisper. "I know you, Song. Protector, that's who you are."   RP sample: Gompa Tail twitching irritably, Song stalks the garden trails around the gompa that has become her home in mourning since Mitra's death. The cyclic turning of the seasons has brought Spring to the monastery grounds, the sun warming the earth and awakening seeds, plants, and all living things from their long winter rest. In the nearby village goat herds swell with kids, and vegetable gardens sprout with promise. Song can't shake the feeling of restlessness that haunts her always, but especially in Spring. Violets and hypericum line the gompa's paths and lemon blossoms and pink jasmine scent the air, the little valley surrounded by a cover of cedar forest. A nun sits on a cushion beside the path in the peaceful repose of the lotus position, prayer beads in hand. Song decides to follow the nun's example and seeks out a quiet place near a row of mani wheels and settles among sun-warmed coriander and field mustard flowers. She attempts to clear her mind of all distraction, but the gentle buzz of honeybees, residents of the gompa's apiary, visit the blooms and impinge on her awareness. Instead of refocusing her thoughts, Song listens. In the honeybees' buzzing, Song hears a prayer of life and of joy. She opens her awareness further to the simple bliss of flowers drinking in the sun's rays, sipping moisture from the earth. Other tiny creatures, sowbugs and worms breaking down nutrients in the soil, ants, butterflies, mice, birds, goats, and people. The dance of life, the ongoing prayer of all living things. Song's reverie is interrupted by three children from the village, skipping and giggling, who pause at the row of mani wheels to spin them, moving from one to the next down the line, before continuing on their way. Song often spins the bright, shiny prayer wheels herself on her walks through the gardens – nearly irresistible to her feline sensibilities. Many such spinning cylinders, painted with the om mani padme hum characters, are mounted along the paths. Turning the mani wheels sends the prayer out into the world just as spoken words. By the time the last wheel stops spinning, the children's laughter has faded into the distance. Song goes to the first wheel, spins it and continues down the line until all seven are spinning. "Om mani padme hum," she says and thinks of the other mani-wheels scattered throughout the gompa's gardens. With a burst of playful energy, Song runs along the path to the next set of prayer wheels and sets them to spinning. She dashes past a startled monk to the next set of prayer wheels and spins them. She leaps over a monk crouched to adjust the strap on his sandal, rushing to the next. Song's swift footfalls chant the mantra's rhythm as she returns to the first set of wheels just as they begin to slow. She sets them spinning again. Red-robed nuns and monks emerge from the temple, distracted from their peaceful reflection to watch the snow lion, some with disapproving glares, but most smiling and laughing at her antics. Song embodies playfulness and joy, but most of all the prayer she sends out as she races around the paths until she has done the circuit three times. Coming at last to a halt, Song takes deep breaths, tired and elated, but no longer restless. She dedicates her practice in the traditional way to all sentient beings, content in the knowledge that it is time for her return to the wandering path.

[Strangemund]

Can't blame you for the hard deadline, Wyn! Not when it looks like everybody is bringing their A-game! ;D This will be a heck of a decision!

[nanovich]

Thanks for the constant and clear communication, Wynamoinen. I’ll be throwing my hat in the ring by the 31st.

[DialPforPickles]

Gilead's app should be all finished up by now. Let me know if it's missing something!