X'shuyet Etki
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Ꭰαυɢнтer oғ Ꮢн'eтĸι “A vine-hung garden sculpture, a crooked dagger, and a silk heart.” A puzzling thing with a wild heart is how she'd prefer to preset herself. The luster of her hair upon an ocean of ink black waves and curls, toppling and freely unraveled over her disiplined, feminine features. And smeared across her unmissable, feral-bitten gaze, lavendar and tribal paintings state her title. A Dune Huntress. Ghoul-Eyed. Forest hearted Specter. Warrior and Consort to The Holy Warden; The Burning Lady of the East & West. A strange pure-bred Keeper, she. Such was a life that she was adopted into at an early age, and has only recently brushed her true heritage with her fingertips. This is her perticular story...
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Turning your attention to the woman, her eyes is often the first feature that's noticed. A kind, warm pink claims the left eye. While a peaceful, brilliant green has the other. Her messy bangs lazily drape over her eyes---or typically her left, if she decides to brush it out the way.
The woman typically wears an annoyed, outwardly jaded expression. As soft and as feminine as her profile is shaped, it can easily cause misconceptions of her mannerisms being graceful and polite. She counters this by adopting masculine fashion and carrying weapons openly at all times. This, in turn, gives her a specific charm.
Presenting at 5 fulms high and moderately built, she's not shy about flaunting her body. She supports light muscles from biceps, abs, all the way to her calves. Her form is one of a young, fit woman; though missing the allure of defined curves or bust.
She was gifted the hunting attire and ceremonial gowns that she prides on her person by her tribe. On uncommon occasions, casual picked city clothing will squeeze against her form. Her style embraces masculinity and boyish flare, and is either tightly fit, with just enough freedom in the joints of the clothes to leave her agility unaffected; or she's draped in black robes, organized and sharp from the neck down.
FACE CLAIM : Undecided; Reference Place Holder.
VOICE : Singing Voice. Speaking voice: Raspy, Boyish, Tough, Mature.
SCARRING : The young woman has only a few scars painted onto her skin. Most importantly, she has sacred soulgem fragments burned into both wrists. Yet another to note is a thin scar running from her ankle to her kneecap. Then to her least noticeable being the faded bruises and cuts on her knuckles. Additional cuts pepper her fingers and palms.
MARKINGS : X'shuyet has three key markings on her person. Two on her face, while the other stays hidden on her ankle.
- ☋ Warrior Stripe . . . After she was accepted into the Dune Specter tribe, she was branded as one of Azeyma's warriors and huntresses. To display her status, she smears a mixture of black ochres, lemon balm, and lavender beginning at either temple, to her eyes, then the bridge of her nose.
- ☋ Mark of Rhino . . . To honor her previous tribe, Shuyet dips her pinky finger into dark smear, and dashes the painted pad of her digit above her warrior stripe. It appears as a small Rhino horn. As the last of her people, she wears this out of respect and mourning.
- ☋ Sisters of Gold . . . On her ankle, this mark is hidden under thick gauze. It's a common symbol worn by a young servant girls. This typically meant they were not allowed to be touched and could only be dancers, caretakers, and house cleaners. It was a time Shu would rather forget, and often doesn't speak about. She stayed in this entertainment house for a cycle.
Stubborn. Hot-headed. Devoted. Shuyet is a woman of common sense and pride; most of her decisions are hardly ever made from whims. This applies to trusting when faced with new people as well. She experiences a moment of insecurity and reluctance until a bond is made overtime. As a friend, she's determined to bend over backwards to meet their needs, often forgetting her own.
She is noticeably quiet and collected. Very rarely will the woman open her mouth unless it's something of importance or an insult. She prefers to observe and analyze people before engaging...when she's calm. Her anger makes her reckless, arrogant, and brutal. Without hesitation, her childishness will push her to use her strength irresponsibly, whether it be for saving a comrade or petty revenge. Her close combat expertise—though something she's not proud of, comes from having frequent fights in her adoptive tribe. Granted, she fought without form or purpose. Her behavior was nothing more than a child finding an outlet. Nevertheless, she took these basic skills and converted them into a channeled talent as a pugilist in her late teens.
The older she becomes, the less rampant her emotions are. She has better control over them with practice and patience, however, her temper is still something she continuously works on. She's a shy, unsure woman underneath the beaten and bruised surface. Time has taught her to thicken her skin and sharpen her tongue. Occasionally, her sweeter side will reveal itself to those she cares about.
| ✧singing | ▹ | A once scorned hobby that turned into a beloved skill of hers. She uses her voice during any mood, be it to uplift her sorrows or to match her bubbly mood. |
| ✧plum wine | ▹ | Every. Damns. Time. Shu will always order this drink if it isn't water. Her deep, borderline obsessive fondness for this drink is hardwired, and she isn't open to share why. |
| ✧people watching | ▹ | Her eyes are always sizing the room. After cycles of observing city folks in her youth, the habit of watching others' outings or perk an ear into conversations develpoed its hidden pleasures. |
| weakness | ▹ | In both her tribes, weakness is looked down upon and, in some cases, punished. She grew up learning that endurance and fearlessness will keep her alive. Anyone who accepts their shortcomings is seen as a waste of time to her. |
| heavy armor | ▹ | Never will she fit herself into heavy chainmail. Like most Miqo'te, her fancy lay with ceremonial robes, agility enabling clothing, or airy gowns. |
| guns | ▹ | Loud. And almost useless for hunting. She does not yet understand how to operate one...and she's content with this ignorance. |
| alignment | ▹ | chaotic neutral |
| faults | ▹ | aether manipulation, morbid, tempermental, smoking/drinking habit, arrogant, thrill-junky, loyal to a fault. |
| favorite foods | ▹ | spicy, vesty, soups, meats, shroud fruits. |
| favorite color | ▹ | pink. |
childhood
Misik'a was born to a rather eccentric couple: his mother, stricken with insatiable wanderlust, had left her clan behind at a young age to pursue a life of adventuring; and his father, treasuring her above all else, fell in naturally beside her.
The decision to finally settle down and have a child was consciously made, but poorly thought out. Misik, having grown up in a large clan herself, greatly underestimated the responsibility and commitment of raising a child without the help of fellow clanswomen. She quickly found herself overwhelmed and out-of-sorts at the distressingly needy son Menphina had deigned to give her, and restless with the quiet, secluded pocket of the Shroud the couple had chosen to make their own. Although well-meaning, Misik proved to be rather untalented in parenting, often letting her frustration slip into her interactions with her young son. Misik'a was discouraged from asking for too much, clinging too much, or otherwise behaving in unseemly ways, however normal for a child they may have been. His father proved to be slightly better at handling him. Patient, indulgent, and a well of soothing calm, he allowed Misik'a to be a kid -- but being rather stoic himself, he did not go out of his way to engage or encourage it.
Eventually, the pull to be back on the road became irresistible. Each call to arms, every cry for help was a siren song to an adventurer whose greatest years had been spent being a hero to others. Sporadically throughout his childhood and at increasingly longer intervals, Misik'a was left in the care of an elderly miqo'te woman by the name of Fen, who his mother had befriended during her earlier years as an adventurer and developed a respect and fondness for. A highly skilled songstress, Fen spent much of their time together instructing Misik'a in the art of music. She became incredibly fond of him and gradually began thinking of him as her own, perhaps out of grievance of her third son, Fen'li, lost to her at an age close to Misik'a's own.
teenage
Once it became clear that Misik'a could begin taking care of himself (having learned hunting and foraging from his mother, who was oft restless for activity, and the more domestic tasks from his father, who had much more patience for the mundane), visits from his parents became fewer and further between, until it became uncertain that he would ever see them again.
Leaving home in search of them seemed out of the question. As an ex-Coeurlclaw, Fen was highly paranoid and mistrustful of anyone outside of their small circle -- Gridanians, adventurers, fellow miqo'te Keepers alike. Of all her lessons, this she emphasized the most: do not leave home, do not interact with anyone else. They will hate you for what you are. Despite his parents' prolonged ventures outside of home, or perhaps precisely because they never came home to remind him otherwise, Misik'a had no reason to question it.
The majority of these days were spent aimlessly and whimsically, with the distant hope that perhaps a well-maintained home, a carefully prepared meal, and a new, vigorously rehearsed song would make his parents proud to return and regale him with tales of their victories. Maybe they would even stay longer than a few suns (they never do, but it's nice to have a goal to work towards).
Visits to Fen's were periodic, in part to curb his own boredom, but to take care of the aging woman as well. In her old age, Fen had begun losing her eyesight -- and what she lost in vision, she seemed to gain in protectiveness bordering on possessiveness. Referring to Misik'a solely as Fen'li at this point, she became irritable (and, on poorer days, downright terrifying) if he so much as mentioned his missing parents, or behaved in any way that betrayed her memory of her dead son's personality.
Her company was not always pleasant, and it became increasingly difficult to interact with her in any way that wasn't through music. But she was all Misik'a knew, and all he had, so he learned to bury himself and what words he had left.
present
(this section is still kinda being worked out and is a bit messy/rushed. may change.)
Fen's eventual death was rather unremarkable, having passed in her sleep of old age. Upon realization, Misik'a was left feeling rather cold and numb in a quiet, creeping sort of shock -- for such an influential, looming presence in his life to pass with no event, of such calm, mundane causes, seemed entirely wrong, like it had never really happened. For a while, it almost seems like it didn't.
He doesn't know what to do, so he does what he knows. He looks after their secluded little home. He hunts, and prepares meals for two (sometimes still three). He takes naps in all his favorite places, plays old songs and sometimes new ones, and amuses himself watching the odd little voidsent occasionally seen weaving their way through the foliage this deep into the Twelveswood.
It's utterly unfulfilling and lonely in a way Misik'a can't bear, until an adventurer -- horrendously lost -- stumbles their way into the territory. None have ever come so close before.* He really shouldn't engage, and everything he knows screams at him to lay low and leave the stranger be, but really, what does he have left to lose?
He almost doesn't know what to give as his name, but is quietly elated to find the stranger is, in fact, perfectly pleased with Misik'a, just as he is.
He really shouldn't leave home, either, but it turns out breaking the rules is easy -- so long as there is the invitation to do so, and a companion to encourage the way forward.
* unbeknownst to Misik'a, Fen had actually been "protecting" the territory from outsiders up until her death, via manipulative and often malicious song magicks. There are murmurs throughout the Twelveswood of a powerful siren, or perhaps banshee, making her home in the darkest reaches of the wood.
- "When will this moron stop coding useless things?" — Me, at Myself
- "Quis ipsum suspendisse ultrices gravida dictum fusce ut. Magna sit amet purus gravida quis blandit turpis cursus." — someone
- "Ut aliquam purus sit amet luctus venenatis. Non tellus orci ac auctor." — someone else
- "Viverra orci sagittis eu volutpat. Nulla facilisi morbi tempus iaculis urna id. Quis risus sed vulputate odio ut enim blandit." — ugh
- "Enim sit amet venenatis urna cursus eget. At auctor urna nunc id cursus metus." — ughh
- "Nibh cras pulvinar mattis nunc sed." — ughhhh
- "he dies in the end" — lmao
- "I don’t know if I’d call it sneaking around... he gives me the same feeling as--..oh! Looking overhead and the stars seem to be following you. Wouldn’t you agree that if the stars were watching us, you’d feel safe somehow?... You look like you’re going to sneeze--" — Azuki Nhaara
callout post about killing plants
permanently in mage school
starmot
GOODEST BOY
idek
notes
- ▹ i'm too shy to actually rp, i just like making stuff pretty
- ▹ feel free to use and tweak the layout, just be sure to leave credit (you can find some nice decorative symbols here)
- ▹ character info last updated 04 december 2018
- ▹ layout last updated 15 october 2018
ingame
- ▹ balmung server, pst (utc -8)
links
- ▹ xiv tumblr
- ▹ public/art twitter
- ▹ blank layout code (old). i will be working on a flexible, hopefully easy to set up version for the current layout as well if there is interest.
| Template | Bancroft Gairn |
| Layout reference | D'lyhhia Lhuil |
| Other fiddling | Misik'a Rahsi |
