Lifelong Rookie

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The Basics

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Bozja: An Orphan of War

People ought to be satisfied with their ignorance. Becoming comfortable with death is a feat I'd never thought would be possible. But everyday, I inch closer. The familiar smell of blood and the endless deafening throes, have created a painful hypersensitivity. I can only endure for so much longer before I go numb.My family, or what was left of it, was a proud pairing of strength and wit. "Our might is not solely our physical prowess. It is honed, in here," he'd touch his temple with such intensity behind his eyes. "And pours forth from here," and then his chest; right above his heart. "It'd do you best to remember that, child." A kindhearted brute, my father was. He had a belly laugh that could rattle our entire home and could be heard far across the battlefield. Or so I was told.But, if my father's mantle was his overwhelming brawn, then my mother's crown was cunning finesse. She strayed from speeches and preferred practical utility in the least amount of words. As a young child, more than half my life ago, I was instructed to fight by any means necessary; to assure what was rightfully mine. I should and could attain anything within reach. Stay silent. Don't draw attention; leave those unknowing, open for surprise. A laundry list of dos and don'ts I never had time to complete.My mother was loving in her own way. Though, I always have to work to, and focus on, recalling her tenderness. It's much easier to see my father's smile or imagine the warmth of his embrace. It's much easier to hear his laugh while passing through a crowd. I know I'm going crazy, but I can't help the excitement I feel when I rush in his direction, only to be met with reality.All that that I have left are memories.I remember our talks. I remember the brief flashes of peaceful lulls. I remember how proud they both were of my potential. And ultimately, I remember when they left. The details are countless moons old, but the lingering sentiment remains.My parents left for war. And another war, I now face.Hope has no place on the battlefield, and yet, it's here I search for a morsel of truth; a single crumb to lead me in the right direction. I understand the futility. An epoch has passed since they last held me in their arms. An untold number of lives have come and gone since then. Any useful hint might as well be buried with the dead.Still, I can't give up.
Because If I stop,
then...

At the moment...Healing remains low on her list of favorites. Without her usual practice, she's gotten rather rusty. Lucky for her, there's a special person that's willing to help her relearn. Being thrown into the deep end seems to be doing just the trick. Lucas, a surrogate father figure of sorts, has been corralling her to the Bozjan Southern Front. The classic, catch-all "Sink or Swim" approach has been doing wonders to refuel the familiar anxiety she had during her previous curative stint.

. . .

However, all is never fun and games. A routine check of a Ceruleum cache, lead to some unsavory events. Battered and bruised from a run-in, Zi'lua and one of two of her leading commanders barely escape alive. Devastated that all of her training was for naught, Bhoi withdraws in a loss.

. . .

The poor girl's been lost in a dull mental fog. She barely eats or sleeps these days; focused on an exasperated, obsessive search. Exhaustion sets in and takes it toll on what was once a seemingly cheerful Miqo'te. Forlorn and withdrawn, she remembers little from her day-to-day. Too preoccupied with the final touch and last words of... Lucas.Bhoi is quick to weep from the endless loop of the violent memory. "He's alive," she can barely bring her voice above a rasped whisper; her throat has grown raw from her incessant lament. And yet, she continues to call out for him; ignoring the pain and the threat of becoming mute.

. . .

It feels like fever dream. She witnessed his body, the same one lost to rubble, move and strike as if a building hadn't collapsed on it. How was this possible? The mystifying tale of events only spurs more turmoil inside the young rookie. When and if the time comes, how could she possibly strike the only assumed family she has left?

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North Shroud: A Counter to Tradition

People are satisfied with what they know. They’re comfortable with routines; the same places, the same faces. Even the same food, day in and day out, can get tiring after a while. Unless you’ve settled.My family comes from a long line of Keepers, a people set in our ways. “Our traditions,” my grandmother and aunts would shout triumphantly in a rush to enlighten me. If anything, it taught me to voice my opinions less often. Especially if I wanted to avoid unwanted attention or an unsolicited history lesson. Surprisingly at times, my mom would join in… though, she wasn’t nearly as enthusiastic. It’s difficult to rally with the crowd when you knowingly stand out.Mom had broken a tradition. The messy practice of scouring the lands in search of an elusive mate. One that was not bound by our traditions. Instead, this mate was free to plant their seed and disappear, only to return on a whim.“What sense does that make?” she probably said to herself. At least, it’s what I’ve said to myself a number of times. Nevertheless, she rebelled and saw something in a Highlander she’d met on a few of her travels. He, a Hyur, seemingly swept her off her feet. And was apparently good with his hands.“Both on and off the field, if you catch my drift.”“Mother, please!”

Whenever I had managed to forget the lively reenactment of their first… romp, one or both of them were always eager to remind me. Even to this day, I can’t escape it! It’s always: "You should feel blessed that you're the culmination of our love". Their words, not mine. Even the twins don’t have to suffer the details of their battles, sweat, and love. I guess, it's only the firstborn that has to endure such a cruel fate.On paper, their coupling doesn't make sense. But, after seeing my parents enjoy their shared space, cooperate towards a common goal, and cover each other’s faults in their own oddball ways, I understand how it works.At the end of the day, though… they’ve settled. They’re comfortable; no longer having to fight to survive. They’re satisfied with the easy living in the woods they’ve tamed. And I can’t blame them.I can see myself falling in line and going along with whatever plans my mother may have for me. But on the other hand... I can still hear my father's encouraging words driving me to go forth and find my own path. It’s… conflicting, to say the least.

I don’t want to be a disappointment.The Keepers’ blood sows doubt in anything that isn’t a part of the tradition.I want to discover and explore; to see the world!The Highlander’s adrenaline kicks into gear at the hint of a possible high.I don’t know what I’ll do.But, I’ll figure it out.After all, I know I can always settle back into thick of things at home; almost as if I’d never left. As much as that thought makes me roll my eyes, it’s somewhat comforting… in a home cooked meal sort of way.

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The Pitch

"Hey aren't you...?"
Well-known in a few circles for his craftsmanship and cheerful demeanor, her father's [Φ] "popularity" has become somewhat of a hindrance. His over dramatic and highly embellished accounts of her adventures have lead to demands of proof, recruitment, or worse..."Are you the one who posted this?"
Moons old bulletin bill, buried under numerous posts, catches a curious eye. It reads: Will heal for head pats and snacks. :)"I like your..."
Zi'lua is a bit self-conscious and can get real bashful at the drop of a dime. She is easily confused, generally speaking. So as to why someone would notice the hue of her eyes or remark on the color of her hair, she hasn't a clue. She isn't the best with compliments, but one can try."I'm friends your father [Φ/Ψ]..."
Easily lured into a false sense of security, Bhoi's unconditional love for her father figure can blind her from the apparent dangers of a stranger's true intention. Of course, it will take more than just a name or a photo to entrap the naive, little greenhorn.Two Peas in a Pod / Partners in Crime
They go way back. The two of them might have met in some dungeon, did this one trial, or literally ran into each other and haven't been able to part since. Sure they might go their own ways, but it's never long before the two of them butt heads and cause a ruckus. They're so in sync, they might even finish each others' sandwiches.Slow Burn: Rivals to Lovers
Their last argument has been replaying non-stop in her mind all week. Zi swears up and down that the next time she sees that punk, she's really going to let them have it. But what "it" is exactly, she doesn't quite know yet.Curiosity killed the cat. But, satisfaction brought it back.
Got an idea? Feel free to pitch it. Or, if any of these hooks are confusing, please feel free to ask or build upon any of them. They're kind of vague for that reason.

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Behind the Scenes

Slice of life, silly antics, happy-go-lucky, and lovey-dovey scenes are my jam. But, I'd be lying if I said I didn't enjoy the darker themes in life. Psychological, thriller, manipulation, and pain would definitely be my "crunchy peanut butter" in this scenario.Realistically, if a scene is presented in an intriguing and appetizing way, then it would be rather difficult for me to turn it down. Especially if the series of events that lead up to this hypothetical plot point just made sense.Case and point: There are two timelines that have been set up as neither can be played in the same continuity. The "Orphan of War" is a lot darker than what was originally planned for the character. So, if you aren't up for Nick Jr. type plot threads, then the Southern Front is the best way to get gritty with Zi.Otherwise, the Original Timeline is the default base for stories while my RP tag is on.I'm also up for creating a number of timelines if need be. These two are the forerunners and will be focused on accordingly.

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