08-02-2020, 12:24 PM
HIGHER BEINGS, THESE WORDS ARE FOR YOU ALONE
ghostwhisper - mantis-awahondo hybrid - they/them
[div style="width: 100%; height: auto; text-align: justify; padding: 20px; font-size: 15px; color: #f2ffff;"]Smell was something that they didn't understand. What hid behind their sturdy shell was anyone's guest, but a nose was not one of those things. Scent was lost to them, an unknown, something they couldn't understand. They remembered plucking a charm entwined with the scent of dung once, and with the unphased behavior of a truly hollow being, they pinned it to their cloak and used the stench against their foes. They hadn't really understood what had caused for their foes to drop dead from scent alone, but such mattered not in the long scheme of things. Currently it did, even if such was unknown to them. Where they 'lived' (that was a loose term, for they never truly lived anywhere, bound to a nomadic life of mapmaking and exploration) was a vile and hostile land, waging war on every other group on the continent. Those wars were as unknown to them as the true power of smell.
The stench of that group had yet to settle onto their cloak. Due to staying within neutral grounds for the most part (not that they knew that those lands were dubbed such), their body had no one distinct smell. The dusty smell of fungus, the crisp smell of a rocky cavern, the clotting smell of cut grass, the musty scent of stagnant water all clung to them, defining them. Getting from one entire side of the continent to another was a struggle, one that they embraced. Hardships were a favorite. If it wasn't hard to do, then it was not really worth doing. Somewhat. Perhaps they should iron out what they did and did not do sometime. Currently, they were looking for a place that they could set up shop for a little while. To set up shop, they needed things. To get things, they knew that performing acts for others was unavoidable.
A glistening white flower, held in claw. They walked through crossroads long forgotten, bringing the flower towards a the grave of a mourner's love. Their leg scraped on a vine and they winced, and with the tightening of their grip the flower's petals spun wildly with a breeze tinged with the disease of dismissed dreams. Destroyed, the tenth of that flower's kind, their tenth attempt. Their shell dipped, and they whisked back to the mourner for another chance to give her closure.
Such was what brought Ghostwhisper to the other side of the continent. It had taken a couple days, and they'd gathered a lot of new land to chart on their maps. They'd wait to chart them later. Heading straight south had been what prompted them to come this way, wanting to see and get a measurement of just how long the continent was. Scale was, after all, quite important. Almost as important as what their claws were occupied with at the moment. Currently, they were having to scribble down their name and business. Skittering through this continent had made them quite aware that such was the standard for whenever interacting with others was needed, and a lack of speech left Ghost unable to answer in a smooth and quick manner - or at all in some instances where literacy was brought into question. Speech was so common here, and so many people spoke. They supposed there was no use to be jealous of other's abilities of speech. It would not help anyone, least of all themself.
When approached, Ghostwhisper would lower their neck and shell. Their gaze would remain focused forward, a claw against their chest and another claw behind them in a fluid and courteous bow. After a few seconds, their form would raise. One claw to their mouth, a shake of their head to entail their lack of speaking abilities, another claw bringing paper forth from their cloak. Having what they wanted to say pre-written seemed to help, and they saw no reason for it to not do so in their current scenario.
'My name is Ghostwhisper. Ghost also works. I am a wanderer with mapmaking being my main supply. I look to set up shop soon. I will do a multitude of services for whatever sort of payment is available. Shiny things and housing materials in particular.
- no, i cannot speak
- yes, i have a few maps on me
- no, multitude of services does not mean 'anything'
- yes, the vine on my horn is entirely intentional
- no, i do not want it removed'
Satisfied with their wording, Ghost shifted their many legs to find a comfortable position to wait within the swampy, dense air.
[div style="width: 100%; height: auto; text-align: justify; padding: 20px; font-size: 15px; color: #f2ffff;"]Smell was something that they didn't understand. What hid behind their sturdy shell was anyone's guest, but a nose was not one of those things. Scent was lost to them, an unknown, something they couldn't understand. They remembered plucking a charm entwined with the scent of dung once, and with the unphased behavior of a truly hollow being, they pinned it to their cloak and used the stench against their foes. They hadn't really understood what had caused for their foes to drop dead from scent alone, but such mattered not in the long scheme of things. Currently it did, even if such was unknown to them. Where they 'lived' (that was a loose term, for they never truly lived anywhere, bound to a nomadic life of mapmaking and exploration) was a vile and hostile land, waging war on every other group on the continent. Those wars were as unknown to them as the true power of smell.
The stench of that group had yet to settle onto their cloak. Due to staying within neutral grounds for the most part (not that they knew that those lands were dubbed such), their body had no one distinct smell. The dusty smell of fungus, the crisp smell of a rocky cavern, the clotting smell of cut grass, the musty scent of stagnant water all clung to them, defining them. Getting from one entire side of the continent to another was a struggle, one that they embraced. Hardships were a favorite. If it wasn't hard to do, then it was not really worth doing. Somewhat. Perhaps they should iron out what they did and did not do sometime. Currently, they were looking for a place that they could set up shop for a little while. To set up shop, they needed things. To get things, they knew that performing acts for others was unavoidable.
A glistening white flower, held in claw. They walked through crossroads long forgotten, bringing the flower towards a the grave of a mourner's love. Their leg scraped on a vine and they winced, and with the tightening of their grip the flower's petals spun wildly with a breeze tinged with the disease of dismissed dreams. Destroyed, the tenth of that flower's kind, their tenth attempt. Their shell dipped, and they whisked back to the mourner for another chance to give her closure.
Such was what brought Ghostwhisper to the other side of the continent. It had taken a couple days, and they'd gathered a lot of new land to chart on their maps. They'd wait to chart them later. Heading straight south had been what prompted them to come this way, wanting to see and get a measurement of just how long the continent was. Scale was, after all, quite important. Almost as important as what their claws were occupied with at the moment. Currently, they were having to scribble down their name and business. Skittering through this continent had made them quite aware that such was the standard for whenever interacting with others was needed, and a lack of speech left Ghost unable to answer in a smooth and quick manner - or at all in some instances where literacy was brought into question. Speech was so common here, and so many people spoke. They supposed there was no use to be jealous of other's abilities of speech. It would not help anyone, least of all themself.
When approached, Ghostwhisper would lower their neck and shell. Their gaze would remain focused forward, a claw against their chest and another claw behind them in a fluid and courteous bow. After a few seconds, their form would raise. One claw to their mouth, a shake of their head to entail their lack of speaking abilities, another claw bringing paper forth from their cloak. Having what they wanted to say pre-written seemed to help, and they saw no reason for it to not do so in their current scenario.
'My name is Ghostwhisper. Ghost also works. I am a wanderer with mapmaking being my main supply. I look to set up shop soon. I will do a multitude of services for whatever sort of payment is available. Shiny things and housing materials in particular.
- no, i cannot speak
- yes, i have a few maps on me
- no, multitude of services does not mean 'anything'
- yes, the vine on my horn is entirely intentional
- no, i do not want it removed'
Satisfied with their wording, Ghost shifted their many legs to find a comfortable position to wait within the swampy, dense air.
TAGS 7/22/20:
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FULZANIN is a 19 year old content creator. Currently roleplaying as Beezlebub in the Pitt and Jotunhel in the Typhoon. Time spent outside of work and writing is typically done in Creatures of Sonaria. FULZANIN is also in a happy relationship, and is aegosexual/asexual herself.
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