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Topics - Hae-Won Wuxian

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Shuki Province / Home is an Empty Word
« on: September 18, 2020, 01:35:00 AM »
He was late. In normal times, one of her students being late to a lesson wouldn't have overly concerned her. Children would be children after all. Now, after the recent mayhem and all the death, Hae-Won couldn't help but fear the worst. The earthquakes and deaths had drawn her home; back to this too-big, empty, skeleton of a home. These were people she had known since she was a child, and she couldn't stay a coward when she knew this respectable little Blood town would need her. Her home had been cared for in her absence, basic maintenance done on it to keep it in functional order for her eventual return. The furnishings were all still there, some notable bedrooms cleared out and converted into sick rooms for when she had patients to treat. She'd moved herself into the main bedroom as well, as was only proper for the head of the family.
     "'Not that it's much of a family anymore," Hae-Won commented to herself. A single person did not a family make. The woman grumbled and looked down at the clay she had been working between her hands. The shell-like coil to the clay from her kneading had long worked out all the air bubbles. The other four skull-sized mounds of clay were similarly shaped. She hadn't even realized she'd worked all of them already. Her hands felt disconnected as they loaded up the piles of clay onto a round of wood and she walked to her throwing station. Her eyes kept straying to the back door where Jun should be bursting through any second. He was only thirteen, still so young into his long life and already so touched with pain and hardship. His father had died in the last earthquake and Jun has shown up outside her door not long after she returned, watching with wide eyes as she set about making funeral urns. She'd invited him in to watch her work and he'd just started showing up a few times a week after that.

Hae-Won set up the clay on her station, throwing it on the the spinning table and kicking a bottom wheel with her foot to get it going. She used Craft to maintain the speed when she got it going fast enough and set to work with her hands. This urn was for her neighbors who'd watched her family home while she travelled. Their daughter had died in the earthquakes and they wanted something to place on their family shrine that represented her well. Hae-Won blamed her mother for the local trend. It didn't extend far from their village, but most households used urns and pottery to represent or even hold their loved ones ashes. At least it kept Hae-Won busy.

Hours passed in silence broken only by the wet sound of Hae-Won pushing the clay into shape. It turned from a formless lump to a small cylinder before being opened on the inside and rounded into an elegantly round pot with a small opening that she quickly crafted a simple but equally elegant lid for. Hae-Won cut both from her throwing wheel and set it aside while she stopped the wheel with her foot and threw a second mound of clay down. It turned into a similarly shaped urn with a slightly more elegant lid.
It's not right.
She kept throwing. This one was tall and thin, a flared top, the lid fit snuggly but a lip hung over the edge, giving it a more interesting shape. No! She threw that one against the floor in a sudden fit of anger. The white-gray vase collapsed in sadly as she threw a third mound of clay onto her wheel and forced it to center for her. This one was more of an oval shape, rounded more at the top than bottom. The shape fit. Four lids had to be thrown to the side and she had to start peeling off pieces from her final mound before she found something that worked with the shape of the urn. it rounded out the top of the urn in a natural curve, slotting in almost seamlessly to create a unified whole. This would would be worth showing to her neighbors, so see how they would like it to be painted and glazed. She set all the urns, excluding the one she'd smashed onto the floor, into a backroom of her workshop to dry and leaned against the door, letting loose a long sigh. Her heart felt sick with worry for her absent young student, and the silence of the home connected to her workshop weighed on Hae-Won, settling itself about her neck and shoulders like a too familiar and unwanted embrace.

Hae-Won gave a small snarly sigh and stepped outside, uncaring that she was dressed in a dark grey clay-smeared fitted sleeveless top and loose black pants that settled themselves about her like skirts when she stood still. She sat herself on the middle of the three steps leading up to her workshop from the road and used Craft to summon a bottle of spiced whiskey into her hand along with a small glass. She filled the cup to three fingers and threw back half of it immediately, relishing the distraction of the burn down her throat, and wishing that maybe this time it would successfully drive the nightmares away before they could start to come. She tried to find Jun's house six homes down and across the road, but it was out of sight. She could hear the distant sound of children laugh, though. It let her hope that maybe he'd just decided to play and wasn't being prepared for cremation or burial.

"Don't you dare take more children, you horrible bastard," Hae-Won whispered out to the Darkness, rubbing a thumb over the Summer-Sky Jewel on her finger.

Dhemlan / Wuxian, Hae-Won
« on: September 13, 2020, 04:03:36 AM »
Hae-Won Wuxian

The Basics

Full Name: Hae-Won Wuxian
Age: 942 as of AW103
Gender/Pronouns: Female/She/Her

Ethnicity: Long-Lived
Birthplace: A small seaside village near Isha
Current Location: Heyasi Province
Profession: Healer / Potter / Teacher

Caste: Healer
Birthright Jewel: Summer-Sky(CUT 14)
Offering Jewel: Purple Dusk(CUT 63)

Face Claim: Meng Ziyi

The Body

Height: 5'3"
Body Type: Willowy
Hair Color: Brown
Eye Color: Gold

She wears her hair loosely behind her, bangs pulled back and up into small ties with small ribbon or decorative ties. Her features are soft and youthful and defy her slowly growing years, a small blessing from her mother and grandmother. Her eyes are a deep, soulful brown color, normally dancing with a wicked little gleam, but always turned down with the ghost of grief. She wears simple but elegant robes and dresses during her everyday travel. Her mother brought her up to take pride in her appearance, which she still follows to an extent. Her working attire is entirely different. Sleeveless and form-fitting men's tops and loose pants that might look like a a skirt when she stands still. Her hair gets pulled back into as utilitarian a form as possible. Her hands, though small, hold hardened muscle earned from a lifetime of working with her hands. Her body underneath the clothing is much the same, small, thin, but wiry with earned muscle.

The Mind

Healing Webs
Regenerative Webs
Craft Brews
Craft Weaknesses: Breaking Jewels, Power Blast, Weapon Enhancement

Personal Strengths: utterly fearless
Personal Weaknesses: Drowns her problems, new and old, in alcohol

Hae-Won used to think she should have been born a man when she was a child. Her temperament always felt too fierce compared to the other girls around her and it fit in with the boys of her village so much easier. She didn't dislike being a girl, though, but in her child's mind, being a boy would just solve the fact she didn't fit in. She never saw any problem with herself, but when compared to such an analogous set of women, it was the easiest solution. She learned when she became older that no, she actually felt like a woman, just not like those women. If their color was blue, she was red. Warm, unashamed, vibrant red. She loved life, loved singing and dancing without the reserve befitting a proper lady. She liked to swear and let loose her sharp-edged tongue, leading to more than one fight she almost couldn't talk her way out of.

She loved helping people too, mostly children. God forbid she ever have one of her own, but she was happy to be a warm presence for ones that wouldn't have to belong to her. The idea of that kind of centuries long commitment scared her too much. Those aspects never changed after the fall of Witch.

But the fall of Witch did change her. She saw it all. She saw all the tyranny and hurt, and experienced the horrors of it all firsthand. It dulled her vibrancy. Acting as the woman she used to be became harder. Finding the unashamed joy in her passions that she used to take for granted became harder and harder. Ghosts haunted most of her old activities. Hae-Won doesn't dance anymore, not when she's sober at least. She only sings to the dead and dying now, letting her voice act as a small soothing last moment before the slip into the Darkness. She doesn't even know for sure if her voice still sounds like it used to.

She loved the idea of travelling and seeing the world before everything happened, would take small trips to go and visit, but her love for Home always drew her back. Now she wanders to avoid Home, avoid the empty husk that used to be a vibrant house bursting with laughter and love. She can find joy in the wanderings now. Seeing new sights, meeting new people, finding use in using her Craft to heal. It's easy to lock away the ghosts and forget when she has the distractions. But it's the quiet moments that get to her. Siting in a dark room, listening to someone struggle to keep breathing, to keep holding on, passing by homes housing families to small to fill them, or meeting young adults who lost one, or Darkness forbid both parents in their infancy. Those are the moments that drive her to drink, to try and drink herself into a peaceful oblivion until the ghosts of the past can leave her again. Thank the Darkness that she's not a sad bitter drunk at least.

But the horrors that still haunt her also left one, somewhat regrettable silver lining. Hae-Won lost her sense of fear. She was always a brave child, but now that innate fear of death has lost its sway on her. Maybe it's the inevitable conclusion of all healers who see the ugly side of dealing with the injured.

The Backstory

  • Hae-Yoon | Mother | White to Rose Witch
  • Meng | Grandmother | Summer-Sky to Purple Dusk Healer
  • Sung | Sister | Yellow to Rose Priestess

Her childhood was a happy one, everything considered. She lived with her mother, grandmother, and sister, content in the warm embrace of two women, who in their own ways, loved her. Her grandmother was the latest, and last, in a line of healers. She saved their family secrets for their Craft until Hae-Won started showing skill for their Craft. It had skipped over her mother and sister, much to her grandmother's dismay. Her grandmother always preferred her because of this. She was a golden child.

Her mother had learned how to use her Craft for pottery, becoming one of the few potters in their region. She was quite skilled at her work, teaching it to both Sung and Hae-Won as they grew. Sung was always more talented than Hae-Won, but Hae-Won put in more time over  the years and made up for that natural talent Sung originally showed.

Her Virgin Night happened a few short years after her Offering. He was an older Prince travelling in the area, but kind, and trustworthy enough for her to feel safe giving herself over to a more powerful man. She was innocent then, kind and quick to laughter. Their night together was a gleeful one, filled with dinner and drink and pleasure.

It was after that where everything started turning sour. Her world started to upheave itself, more mutterings against Witch started rising. Her sister joined those starting to move against Witch early. Her family was slower to take up the cause, Hae-Won joining last of all. She used her skills as a Healer to help, but the fall of Witch claimed her family. She held her Mother and Grandmother's hands as they choked on their own blood and slipped away into the Darkness, not responding to any types of Craft that might have helped them. She lost track of her sister in the chaos of Witch. She assumed her to be lost, like so many others.

Witch's fall changed her. Losing her family, everything she loved in the world, made staying in her home too heartbreaking. She sold it and started to travel, avoiding home at all costs, but seeing the world, somewhat hoping to find a home again, but never staying somewhere long enough to risk more heartbreak. She sold her skills as a Healer, and eventually as a reluctant teacher. She would stay long enough to teach the basics, of pottery or Craft.

When the nightmares, of holding her family's hands as they died, got to be too heavy, she would indulge in more harmful behaviors, drinking away the memories, or starting to indulge in the pleasures of the flesh, men and women alike. And life went on, the pain dulling slightly over time, but never disappearing.

The Writer

Player Name: Graveside
Player Pronouns: Female/She/Her
Timezone: Pacific Standard
Contact: PM / Discord
How did you find us?: RPG-Directory

Inactivity Instructions: If you do not log in to your player account and cannot be reached by staff for a period of three months, your account will be considered inactive. (It’s okay; life happens to the best of us.) In the event of your inactivity, what should staff do with this character? (You may answer this question with things like Archive/Retire or Put up for adoption, or you can specify how you’d like them to be written out of the plot in your absence.)

Roleplay Sample:
(Excerpt from a short fiction piece I wrote. If this doesn't work, I an write something original that's better in the style of a RP post. Haven't played in a while so I don't have any recent writing samples is all, sorry.)

Autopsies are not overly exciting affairs. Nothing like what you’d see on television. It was a meticulous process of monologuing your actions, photographing everything, and taking small samples across the body, where it was relevant.
   Doctor Helene Raphael had already photographed the body in front of her, catalogued the clothes and removed, noting her actions softly into the recorder sitting next to her tools on a sterile rolling side table. Her technicians had already left for the day, leaving the room bright and sterile with only her, the recorder, and Gertrude Floyd.
   “Subject has signs of arthritis in her fingers, swelling at the joints, and prominent bruising over the sternum body and fractured ribs from first responders attempts at CPR. Photographing now.”
   Click, click, click. The camera was positioned over the body, long white arm bending silently as Helene positioned it over the ribs and started photographing from several angles.
   “Photographing has been completed. Proceeding to open the chest cavity and begin internal autopsy,” Helene murmured to the recorder. The scalpel fit perfectly in her fingers as the separated the body with slow grace. Starting at each shoulder joint and running down, around and under the curve of the body’s sagging breasts to meet in the center before cutting down, opening the internal body to her.
   “Subject appears, at first glance, to have healthy organs for her age. Photographing in situ before proceeding to examination of organs. I will be using the Virchow technique and removing each organ individually,” Helene murmured softly to the recorder. The camera’s clicks filled the room before she cut through the rib cage, removing it, and started pulling out the intestines, separating them cleanly from the rest of the body and pulling them out into long slippery ropes.
   “Excuse me? What are you doing?” The voice was thin and raspy, Helene almost ignored it before the lungs in the body inflated again and Gertrude Floyd asked a second time,
   “What are you doing?”
   Helene started, interesting spilling from her hands and onto the floor as she just gaped at the body that had turned its head towards her, cloudy, flattened eyes trained on her.
   “E-excuse me? Are you talking to me?”
   “I don’t believe there’s anyone else here, dearie. What are you doing? My eyes aren’t what they used to be, so I can’t properly see you.”
   “Um, your autopsy, Miss… Miss Floyd,” Helene had to glance at the tag on her side table, reading Gertrude’s name on it.
   “Oh, was that today? I’ve been forgetting all of my appointments lately. Is this for the arthritis?” Gertrude asked. Helene blinked, Gertrude just stared back at her.
   “It’s, uh, to establish the cause of your death,” Helene offered. Had she finally lost it? Had she slipped and fallen and now she was having a hallucination? Was she dead?
   “My death? No, I don’t think that sounds right. We couldn’t be talking if I was dead.”
   “I honestly don’t know if we’re actually talking right now either.”
   “What was that, Dearie? You shouldn’t mumble, doesn’t inspire confidence in your patients.”
   “Okay,” Helene replied. She looked down at the floor, where the intestines were still spooled together. She should probably pick those up.
   “You can keep going if you need to, Dearie. Just let me know what you’re doing as you go,” Gertrude offered, head still lolled over to watch her. Helene was personally glad that the block she’d put under Gertrude to extend the chest cavity for her examination kept the dead woman’s eyes from watching her as she pulled up all the organs and started methodically measuring and weighing them. She spoke as she worked.
   “Large intestine weighs three-point-four pounds and eight ounces. Small intestine weighs two-point-nine pounds and eleven ounces, moving on to the stomach and liver.”
   “Is that heavy? On average?” Gertrude was still watching her, muscles in her neck straining to lift her head to watch Helene work.
   “Just below average, actually. But given that you are generally below the average size and weight for a woman your age, it’s expected I supposed,” Helene replied. Gertrude made a small sound in response. The same question repeated as Helene tried to focus on her job and not how unsettling it was for her cadaver to be asking her follow up questions while she worked.
   “How are you going to put them back in?” Gertrude asked as Helene finished answering that yes, Gertrude’s liver was a lovely size and it looked very healthy, despite her being deceased.

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