Post by The Nameless Tonberry on Oct 12, 2021 5:17:00 GMT -6
The Nameless Tonberry
"Times of war beget heroes of war. Times of peace beget heroes of peace. Now we're in times of dread... And there's only me."
I. BASICS
FULL NAME:: -
NICKNAMES:: Grudge, Digger
GENDER:: -
AGE:: -
ORIENTATION:: Asexual
GAME OF ORIGIN:: Final Fantasy V
ALIGNMENT:: Neutral
CLASSES:: Mystic Knight (Mastered), Knight, Black Mage
EQUIPMENT:: Chef's Knife, Lantern
NICKNAMES:: Grudge, Digger
GENDER:: -
AGE:: -
ORIENTATION:: Asexual
GAME OF ORIGIN:: Final Fantasy V
ALIGNMENT:: Neutral
CLASSES:: Mystic Knight (Mastered), Knight, Black Mage
EQUIPMENT:: Chef's Knife, Lantern
HEIGHT:: 110 cm (3'7'')
EYES:: Golden
SKIN:: Green
DISTINGUISHING MARKS:: Although they're physically genderless, their voice is quite deep and masculine.
II. PERSONA
A creature of few words, most of them spoken quietly. Some of those who crossed paths with this Tonberry have described them as polite but unemotional – though in what they all conceded to be an odd, non-malicious way, one that was bereft of warmth, yet not cold either. Similarly, their lack of what most find to constitute a decent, traditional facial expression tends to make it hard for those surrounding them to understand what goes on in their mind at any given moment, though a few people claim to have been able to detect the tiniest spark of curiosity in their eyes from time to time.
As a living amalgamation of the World's collective Grudge, this Tonberry has a natural inclination to extreme single-mindedness, to the point that there seems to be no direction for them but forward. It is very rare to see them stop focusing on their current task at hand (though one might want to say at appendage instead, for lack of a more accurate word) to do something else, anything else, as if fundamentally unable to grasp the concept of "detour".
They are very task-oriented, and have a much easier time thinking about concrete solutions to a problem (usually by stabbing it until it doesn't move anymore) than interacting with people. Curiously, while they are the result of their World's Grudge, they are unlikely to hold personal grudges themselves. After all, they are but a sentient tool with a purpose, and whatever falls outside of that purpose is thus immaterial.
III. BACKGROUND
This Tonberry's fighting style resembles, for the most part, that of a Mystic Knight. They embue their knife in magic for most of their attacks, without a strong preference over the spell's element or lack thereof, adapting instead to the situation. On occasion, if the opponent they're facing proves to be particularly durable, they will place their lantern somewhere safe and resort to holding their weapon with both hands to augment their attack power, much like a traditional Knight. If even that proves fruitless, or the opponent in question is out of reach, they will keep the pressure with some powerful Black Magic as they work to close the distance.
On the whole, this Tonberry fights slowly and deliberately, with no wasted movements. Although deceptively strong as well as able to withstand immense amounts of punishment without flinching, they do not charge against their enemies so much as inch towards them. Either way, they figure, they will end up crossing blades eventually, just like a river will find the sea someday.
IV. HISTORY
One day they opened their eyes, which is both their very first memory and the first thing they did upon coming into existence – a matter of course for all those creatures who are created as fully formed, rather than born as infants. They remember their first breath, and the stale, humid air of their cave. They remember their first step onto wet rock, and the second one into a puddle formed over decades of water dripping from a stalactite. And then they remember reaching for their knife and their lantern, lying on the cavern floor just a few feet away, for the first time, and pulling up the hood of the cloak they've always had before stepping out into the light without a word.
What they do not remember is how they knew what to do and where to go. They do not remember the moment the World gave them a purpose; their hypothesis is that the purpose has always been there to begin with, and the World built them around it, making it their very core, so there had never been a need for anything to be given to them, except for their few material belongings.
It was before the Crystals were split into two, and there was but one World for people to walk on. It was long before the twelve legendary weapons were forged, and the wizard Enuo had yet to be born. Still, the Void was there; it had always been, timeless and almighty, hungry and tempting, and masterless. Cyclically, some would take objection to the last adjective, and attempt to change the status quo. Cyclically, somebody, chosen by either sheer circumstances or factors of a more mystical nature, would end up setting out in a quest to stop them. In their cycle, this Tonberry was the first of those chosen ones.
Their purpose was the quest. It was, to the knowledge of the historians they met, the first time the World created a prospective saviour for itself. However, they did not stay alone for long: more heroes ended up joining this Tonberry, though the quest was never an end for them so much as a means to it. Eventually, the Crystals recognised them, enabling them to reach new heights. In particular, this Tonberry received their blessing from the Water Crystal.
After the defeat of the malevolent dragon Ardwas, the adventurers agreed to bid farewell to each other. However, not three weeks later they all found themselves falling into a deep slumber, frozen in time and encased in crystal and, although physically distant, their spiritual connection stronger than ever.
V. AUTHOR
PLAYER ALIAS:: Kuma
OTHER CHARACTERS:: -
ROLE-PLAYING EXPERIENCE:: 9 years
HOW YOU FOUND US:: Site-hopping a long, long time ago.
NOTES FOR CONSIDERATION:: -
ROLE-PLAY SAMPLE::
In front of them stood a Crystal. Tall, blue, majestic, and, truth to be told, actually not standing so much as floating in place a few feet above the ground. It spun like a halting top, slow and precarious, but never appearing to be in any danger of losing balance. Grudge thought they could hear the sound of its resplendence, which resembled the one of a thousand distant wind chimes. And they gazed in silence...
...only for the scenery to change, at first slowly becoming dimmer and with a granular quality to it, and then fading into blackness more and more rapidly with each passing tenth of a second, as if to the beat of a quadratic equation.
They opened their eyes again, even though they couldn't remember closing them, and in place of the cavern's floor, they saw the wooden walls of a cabin, the floor swaying gently under their feet. A group of women prattled around a large fish tank. Grudge found themselves shuffling closer, their feet moving on their own accord. From the other side of the glass, a young human baby stared at them with eyes of blue. Grudge watched him breathe in the brine as the women ignored them. Why were they on a ship...?
...As they reached out with the hand in which they held the lantern, the fabric of reality buzzed and fizzled into nothingness once more. Grudge flinched, and then opened their eyes once more. This time they were in a room in which the number of walls seemed to change every time they turned their head or tried to count them, and each wall was both a window and a mirror in which the images that unfolded told some of the most ancient and everlasting of stories – stories of men, stories of women, and stories of those who were neither.
One wielded a sword, but the sword lay sheathed; the other wielded wits, but the wits lay sheathed. Lost in an embrace, the two young humans exchanged sweet nothings under the shade of a plum tree.
One wielded storms, and the storms lay dormant; the other wielded ambition, and the ambition lay dormant... Or maybe it didn't, but Grudge couldn't tell. It was again two young humans, albeit different ones, who were busy making pastries in a large, bright kitchen.
One wielded himself, and the other wielded herself, and...
...Grudge woke up to a sizzling campfire, to crickets chirping in the surrounding clearing, and to two of their companions snoring next to them while the third stood guard.
“What, do you want to take over?”
OTHER CHARACTERS:: -
ROLE-PLAYING EXPERIENCE:: 9 years
HOW YOU FOUND US:: Site-hopping a long, long time ago.
NOTES FOR CONSIDERATION:: -
ROLE-PLAY SAMPLE::
In front of them stood a Crystal. Tall, blue, majestic, and, truth to be told, actually not standing so much as floating in place a few feet above the ground. It spun like a halting top, slow and precarious, but never appearing to be in any danger of losing balance. Grudge thought they could hear the sound of its resplendence, which resembled the one of a thousand distant wind chimes. And they gazed in silence...
...only for the scenery to change, at first slowly becoming dimmer and with a granular quality to it, and then fading into blackness more and more rapidly with each passing tenth of a second, as if to the beat of a quadratic equation.
They opened their eyes again, even though they couldn't remember closing them, and in place of the cavern's floor, they saw the wooden walls of a cabin, the floor swaying gently under their feet. A group of women prattled around a large fish tank. Grudge found themselves shuffling closer, their feet moving on their own accord. From the other side of the glass, a young human baby stared at them with eyes of blue. Grudge watched him breathe in the brine as the women ignored them. Why were they on a ship...?
...As they reached out with the hand in which they held the lantern, the fabric of reality buzzed and fizzled into nothingness once more. Grudge flinched, and then opened their eyes once more. This time they were in a room in which the number of walls seemed to change every time they turned their head or tried to count them, and each wall was both a window and a mirror in which the images that unfolded told some of the most ancient and everlasting of stories – stories of men, stories of women, and stories of those who were neither.
One wielded a sword, but the sword lay sheathed; the other wielded wits, but the wits lay sheathed. Lost in an embrace, the two young humans exchanged sweet nothings under the shade of a plum tree.
One wielded storms, and the storms lay dormant; the other wielded ambition, and the ambition lay dormant... Or maybe it didn't, but Grudge couldn't tell. It was again two young humans, albeit different ones, who were busy making pastries in a large, bright kitchen.
One wielded himself, and the other wielded herself, and...
...Grudge woke up to a sizzling campfire, to crickets chirping in the surrounding clearing, and to two of their companions snoring next to them while the third stood guard.
“What, do you want to take over?”
