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Ophelia
Dusk Court Scribe
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Age:

Immortal [Year 500 Winter]

Gender:

Female

Pronouns:

She/Her/Hers

Orientation:

Pansexual

Breed:

Kirin

Height:

15.1 hh

Health:

10

Attack:

10

Experience:

22
Offline

Last Visit:

07-29-2021, 01:12 AM

Joined:

10-26-2019
Signos: 340 (Donate)
Total Posts: 3 (Find All Posts)
Total Threads: 1 (Find All Threads)



you're a silvertongued jackboot thug


You enter the recordkeeper’s shop, thumbing a small piece of paper in your grasp as you approach the counter. The Scribe does not notice you.

Patiently you wait and your eyes drift – upwards. The height of this building looked so diminutive from the outside but when you look up now: the ceiling seems impossibly tall, almost endless, and bursting at the seems with scrolls. You barely notice how your jaw gaped just a little bit as you did… until the recordkeeper clears his throat. “Query?” he murmurs as you fumble hastily for your notes.

“I was wondering if you could tell me about someone I’ve seen…” you trail off as your eyes skim the scribbles on the page within your grasp. His stare is impassive and goads you to continue. “Her skin is ivory white and peculiar; I cannot tell if she lacks fur or if it’s instead peppered with the smallest of scales,” you bemuse.

You do not tell him you are kept up at night, wondering how the ivory marble she might as well be carved from soaks up and reflects the moonlight, making it that much more brilliant. How you wonder if she smells like the honey her eyes are made of.

“But the most unbelievable thing is her skin is somehow semi-transparent too. Every time I’ve seen her, its opacity varies – almost like wax as it melts and hardens. Her cloven hooves too, although their color reminds me of raw umber.” He nods and turns towards the wall behind him while you continue. “Her skeleton is surreally half-visible and is this hauntingly beautiful, metallic gold. Only her teeth retain natural color, and no internal organs can be seen.”

You do not tell him how the brilliance of her skeleton wraps its hand like an anchor around your throat, nearly smothering the life out of you.
He listens to the words you cannot, would not, say. They are louder than you think.
He pauses as you do and looks over his shoulder, his still-impassive expression once again provoking a continuation. It’s almost as if he’s waiting for you to describe something else - like she cannot be recognized upon what you’ve said alone. You clear your throat and continue: “Starting at her withers and trailing the delicate curve of her spine to the start of her tail, are ten golden jutting spikes. They start off shorter – maybe two inches or so tall – and grow a bit in size, only to taper back down as they reach her leonine tail. The tuft of hair at its end is alabaster white and five much larger golden spikes jut from it.”

You do not tell him you wondered how easily it could pierce someone’s skin with an irritated flick; how much you wondered if the blood would dull or enhance their golden shine.
He wonders how long you spent counting the rose’s thorns.

There is a scroll held tenderly in the Scribe’s grasp as he turns to the desk between both of you to set it down. “And her face?” he prods, which catches you off guard.

“Um…” you almost stutter. “Emerging from behind her ears is a stunning, spiked circular halo. Decorating the circle are tines alternating in size: one large, one small, one medium, one small, and repeating. Her eyes are the color of fresh honey; rapture framed by wavy alabaster hair… but she has the most unnerving gaze. It’s almost enough to distract you from all else.”

You do not tell him it is enough to drive you mad, although it’s likely he already knows.

white skin but you're no white dove



you're a silvertongued jackboot thug


“Do tell me what she’s like,” the recordkeeper smiles: an old, crinkled grin which wrinkles the corners of his lips into a nest of crow’s feet. You wonder if one day the raven will come to life and pluck out your eyes, too.

Yet for a moment his question takes you off guard – did you not spend the past ten minutes doing just so – until you catch the inflection at the end of his sentence.
Ask yourself: do you know what she’s like, beneath the gilding?
“She is almost ethereal, both in physical presence and aura,” is what you say, but you really mean she feels unsettling and otherworldly. “And she does not seem to speak much; she is quiet –” painfully, eerily so – “Yet composed.”

“Her quietness doesn't lend itself to impassiveness –” not a mistake you would dream of making. “On the contrary, she gives off a rather astute, magisterial air. Her presence is eminent; she will command your attention with few, if no, words.”
She could – would – lead you to your doom. And if the Scribe had any place to say so, he would agree.
What he does not tell you is she is not just commanding, she is surreal and haunting. He has seen her and wonders the poison that lies beneath her smile, the blood which lays in the cracks of her hooves and on the corners of her lips.

She is a power-hungry coyote cloaked in the bloody yet beautiful skin of a lamb.

white skin but you're no white dove



you're a silvertongued jackboot thug


Who cares for the history of a monster, gilded and written in spit?
And so you stand there, expectance fueling a nauseous hunger. “So, what can you tell me?” a bold quip with a naïve smile. Yet he just shakes his head. “There is nothing for me to tell,” he shrugged, not put off by your near-indignant expression in the slightest.

He unfurls the scroll in front of you and passes it across the table. Greedily skimming the neatly-written notes, you are left to stare startled at the blank portion of the page that encompasses her biography, lineage, and past. “What a waste of time,” you mutter, turning to leave the shop bitterly without meeting the Scribe’s gaze again.

He watches your tense back as you leave and wonders if such wide-eyed inquisitiveness will lead you down a darker alley than you had imagined. The past of a monster can hardly be called a history, but more of a legend.

He saw her ages ago, bones buried in the burning Mors sand… Then before, watched as her bones sunk to the bottom of the Vitreus lake, muck and grime dulling their golden shine.

Years before then, he saw those same bones swept away by the Rapax, unforgiving and swift. And even before that, they were once lost to the ever-hungry bottom of the Tinea swamp which clung to them like tar, unwilling and unable to let go.
Centuries and eons, he remembers her.
She is immortal, her bones a beacon that cycles her back into this reality over and over and over. Each iteration of her is different… always physically the same — but sometimes more passive, sometimes crueler.

It is only when he wonders who, what she is now that someone finally emerges from an adjacent wing, passing like a ghost through the drapery that divided the rooms. An unnerving gaze, like cooled honey that has since hardened, drifts almost lazily towards the exit door that was still shifting on its hinges.

She approaches the counter, disconcerting gaze still looking towards the door you had disappeared through. “I was wondering if you could tell me about someone I’ve seen…” she says, a tepid smile pulling at the corners of her lips as she meets the Scribe's gaze once again... after so many long, long, long years.  

white skin but you're no white dove

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Miscellaneous





Her skin has almost wax-like properties – it can vary in translucency and can “melt away” to leave just her animated skeleton.

Transparent organs, and her horn and skeleton are made out of gold (covered by Character Pass).



Ophelia's avatar: Kruuja
Ophelia's banner: AriesRedLo
Ophelia's reference: Franknsteins
Vyron's reference: LiLaiRa
Profile table pattern/background: Rawpixel

Played by:

inkbone (PM Player)

DeviantArt:

inkbone    //   

Discord:

inkbone#9064

Staff Log




Saved incentives/prizes: None.



12/20/20 +1EXP for visiting on Dec. 20th of advent calendar. -LAYLA
12/25/20 +9EXP for 1st, 2nd, and 3rd OOC anniversary (04/19/17). -INKBONE
12/26/20 Character approved with character pass (includes passive magic) and immortality. +20 signos awarded for visual reference. -GRIFFIN
12/26/20 +2EXP for visiting on Dec. 25th of advent calendar. -SID
04/06/21 Sent to Inkbone - +2000 signos and removed character pass item from inventory & records. No longer needed for this character due to the April 2021 design rule changes. -INKBONE
04/24/21 +200 signos and Seers Amulet item for encountering random event TID6407. -LULLIVY
07/08/21 +100 signos for winning 506 Winter Pair OTS with Raglan; item sent. -INKBONE