An endless expanse of wood and paper is all you've ever known, illuminated by weak, grey light that seeps in through the floorboards by day, and the great ceiling-pyres of the Mothfolk by night. You've lived the better part of your life in the Dolls' great capital city of Alexandria, but as of late the streets have grown quiet. Nothing is as your remember it was in your youth, so you've decided that is time for you, too to move on.
To that end, you've enrolled in the Scholar's Guild, the much-venerated explorers of The Library, and are on the verge of a life of adventure and freedom. Or at least, that's what it said on the recruitment flyers.
The sound of bustling crowds. The scent of freshly stewed bugflesh. A fond memory of a time two-score decades past.
It was the first time you'd ever seen one of the fabled Scholar's that you'd heard so much of in your youth. A real, proper one, at least. They walked with their head held high and their shoulders level, regardless of the troves of treasure that burdened their shoulders. As they're trudging through the endless droves of onlookers, you swear you catch them flashing you a smile.
"That's what a proper Doll 'ought to be like."
"Hey, let's get her autograph!"
"Stupid bitch probably didn't even find half of that herself."
From within the crowd, you can hear all sorts of people running their mouths. Friends, fans, enemies, they all seem to have something unique to say, some shred of sage wisdom or worthless nonsense, but every peep of it is white noise to you. Your attention lay transfixed, your head bobbing up and down with each of their movements, following each and every one of them like a Doll possessed. In retrospect, you actually find it quite startling, just how easily enraptured the young mind is, and you can't deny that if you hadn't decided to go to that festival on that day, you probably wouldn't be who you are today.
...Final Check: Check.
It's been years. Quite literal uncountable years have passed since you first decided to become a Scholar. Time has taken its toll on your home city, Alexandria, and yet you still remain. The streets are much quieter nowadays, their wooden walkways left to gather dust, and many of the city's twisting corridors have turned into treacherous dead ends, travelled only by opportunistic youths and brew-addled drunkards. Still, a flicker of nostalgia stirs in you as you pass them by. You recall ancient memories, of times spent playing Scholars and Mites, or Faraway Chase. It'd be enough to make your figurative heart stir, for lack of making your literal one flutter. Not that you're some sort of emotionless monster, mind you, it's really no fault of your own that you lack a heart to pump blood, a pair of lungs to run ragged, a windpipe to strain for all its worth, or even skin to feel sizzle under the sun's rays.
You are a Doll, after all.
A glance into a wayward mirror propped up outside some failed business you can't recall the name of is enough to remind you of that. Unlike the mythical Humans that populate so many of the books you read in your youth, you aren't a creature of flesh and blood. Hell, it's debatable if you're even one of life and death, at that. You pause for a moment as you stand before the pane of reflective glass, inspecting yourself one last time before heading off to your meeting.
What do you see?
[ ] A refined, graceful figure. You are made up of sturdy, rock-hard Porcelain, and are painted with a myriad of probably quite expensive dyes and paints. A number of minor, fleeting cracks mark your casing, a sign of the hard effort you've gone through in the past. (Porcelain Doll. Dolls made of Porcelain are quite hardy and are able to take a good beating, but are very hard to repair.)
[ ] A dull thing. You've never been confident in your appearance, what with your wooden body and simple detailing, but you're not exactly ashamed of it either. You're proud to say that all your joints and hinges twist and turn as they should, and however simple your paint job is quite well done, the only problem is maintaining it. (Wooden Doll. While certainly not as flashy as some of their cousins, the Wooden Doll is properly reliable. You aren't the toughest things around, but you won't go breaking in a breeze easier. They're not the easiest of the Dolls to repair, but they're pretty close, given the surplus of the case material)
[ ] A proper work of art. You don't mean to brag, but you're pretty damn fine-looking. Your features are delicate and your proportions carefully considered, all to make you as cute and pretty as a darn button. You might not be the sturdiest thing, but if you're gonna break, you're gonna make a damn beautiful corpse. (Resin Doll. A Doll clearly not made for adventuring, but you've got a will for it and therefore a way. Resin Dolls are by far and way amongst the most fragile dolls you'll come across, but if you take care of yourself your very company might be worth someone's hard-earned cash. Your repairs aren't impossible, but you'll have to find a specialist for anything major."
You cast your eyes up and down your frame, adjusting and tightening the straps and laces of your outfit as you go. You hardly look the role of a dashing adventurer just yet, but, you figure, that'll come with time. Well, that or you'll make for a very well-prepared heap of scrap!
Haha!
You give the straps on your rucksack one last tug, and then shake your head. It's far too early in your journey for such pessimistic thoughts. Your gear clatters in your wake as you move on, though, to your slight satisfaction, it does make slightly less of a ruckus than it did previously.
Before long, those hallowed halls you've been seeking out tower above you. The entrance is marked with a familiar symbol, the Scholar's Brand, which now also sits upon your lapel as a tiny, gleaming pin. It's been a long time coming, but this is the first time you've entered Quillshearth not as an outsider or some fawning fan, but as one of its proper residents. The room bustles lightly as you enter. The sound of pens lightly scratching away at paper seasons the air, coming from every corner of the mostly secretarial greeting hall. You make your way through the hall, trying your best to look natural until you're standing before the main desk. You hover for a moment, waiting for the Doll stationed there to take notice of you, but when it becomes apparent that they're far too enraptured with their paperwork to do so without help, you make a small noise to catch their attention.
"Huh?" They look up with a start, their head darting around the room before settling on you. Despite the fact that their eyes are little more than a pair of nicely polished buttons, you can feel them squinting at you as they figure out how to respond to your interruption. Their mouth opens for a moment, their expression turns to a frown, and you ready yourself for the worst. Before they have a chance to make whatever rude or mean comment they were about to make, though, a lightbulb of recognition goes off in their head.
"Oh! You're that new hire then, eh? Lordy me, we really must be getting desperate these days then, huh?" And then they make it anyway. "Well don't just stand there looking coy all day, come on! Let's get you briefed and debriefed and whatnot." With that, the Rude Doll claps their hands together to the sound of a dull thud, and hops from their chair. You're quite surprised to see them drop much further than you expected, revealing that they only measure up to your waist when standing.
The Rude Doll then leads you into the depths of the building, passing by a series of offices and storerooms, until you find yourself in a tiny little cubby hole that barely fits the both of you. There's another desk in the undersized room, which your companion is effortlessly able to slide behind, at which point he gestures for you to take a seat on the small stool that sits opposite. Somehow, despite the cute features that are sewn onto his body of cloth and cotton, he manages to look quite intimidating behind his desk.
"Hmm... Let's see then." There's a rustling of papers as he withdraws a stack of documents from within his desk. "You are..."
[ ] An alley urchin. Dolls aren't properly born, so they don't have parents per se, but most are lucky enough to find a parental figure that's willing to take care of them. You weren't one of the lucky ones though, and have been living alone for most of your life. You ran with a few alley gangs in your youth, but you left them behind before you started training to become a Scholar. You're not as well educated as most, but you have a far better taste for the physical world. Better yet, your face is familiar in the underworld of the Library, which may serve you well yet.
[ ] One of the frills. Fine draperies and delicate lace, your youth with ripe with many of the lavish comforts that the Inner Library had to offer. You wanted for very little thanks to a rare, influential benefactor, and are far more educated than most in the realms of manners and subterfuge. You've left that world behind you for now, but you still know a few names in high places, and might even be owed a favour here and there. Perhaps because you're so used to being waited on, however, you have less physical competence than the average Scholar.
[ ] The charge of a weary Translator. Your father was a cowardly, but altogether respectable man who worked for the Translator's Guild of Alexandria. He spent most of his days either squirrelled away in his office, or staying overnight at the Translator's Hall, but he was good to you none the less. He taught you nothing of his trade, but the ever-present books throughout your home were enough for you to educate yourself on some matters. You're more well educated in Library lore than most outside of the Translator's Guild, and while your upbringing didn't make for much in the way of outstanding strengths, the same can be said for your weaknesses too.
[X] A proper work of art. You don't mean to brag, but you're pretty damn fine-looking. Your features are delicate and your proportions carefully considered, all to make you as cute and pretty as a darn button. You might not be the sturdiest thing, but if you're gonna break, you're gonna make a damn beautiful corpse. (Resin Doll. A Doll clearly not made for adventuring, but you've got a will for it and therefore a way. Resin Dolls are by far and way amongst the most fragile dolls you'll come across, but if you take care of yourself your very company might be worth someone's hard-earned cash. Your repairs aren't impossible, but you'll have to find a specialist for anything major."
[X] An alley urchin. Dolls aren't properly born, so they don't have parents per se, but most are lucky enough to find a parental figure that's willing to take care of them. You weren't one of the lucky ones though, and have been living alone for most of your life. You ran with a few alley gangs in your youth, but you left them behind before you started training to become a Scholar. You're not as well educated as most, but you have a far better taste for the physical world. Better yet, your face is familiar in the underworld of the Library, which may serve you well yet.
A fascinating setting! I'm very curious about your Alexandria and the Dolls that inhabit it. Also, welcome to SV! I hope you enjoy your time here.
[X] A dull thing. You've never been confident in your appearance, what with your wooden body and simple detailing, but you're not exactly ashamed of it either. You're proud to say that all your joints and hinges twist and turn as they should, and however simple your paint job is quite well done, the only problem is maintaining it. (Wooden Doll. While certainly not as flashy as some of their cousins, the Wooden Doll is properly reliable. You aren't the toughest things around, but you won't go breaking in a breeze easier. They're not the easiest of the Dolls to repair, but they're pretty close, given the surplus of the case material)
[X] One of the frills. Fine draperies and delicate lace, your youth with ripe with many of the lavish comforts that the Inner Library had to offer. You wanted for very little thanks to a rare, influential benefactor, and are far more educated than most in the realms of manners and subterfuge. You've left that world behind you for now, but you still know a few names in high places, and might even be owed a favour here and there. Perhaps because you're so used to being waited on, however, you have less physical competence than the average Scholar.
[X] A dull thing. You've never been confident in your appearance, what with your wooden body and simple detailing, but you're not exactly ashamed of it either. You're proud to say that all your joints and hinges twist and turn as they should, and however simple your paint job is quite well done, the only problem is maintaining it. (Wooden Doll. While certainly not as flashy as some of their cousins, the Wooden Doll is properly reliable. You aren't the toughest things around, but you won't go breaking in a breeze easier. They're not the easiest of the Dolls to repair, but they're pretty close, given the surplus of the case material)
[X] The charge of a weary Translator. Your father was a cowardly, but altogether respectable man who worked for the Translator's Guild of Alexandria. He spent most of his days either squirrelled away in his office, or staying overnight at the Translator's Hall, but he was good to you none the less. He taught you nothing of his trade, but the ever-present books throughout your home were enough for you to educate yourself on some matters. You're more well educated in Library lore than most outside of the Translator's Guild, and while your upbringing didn't make for much in the way of outstanding strengths, the same can be said for your weaknesses too.
[X] A dull thing. You've never been confident in your appearance, what with your wooden body and simple detailing, but you're not exactly ashamed of it either. You're proud to say that all your joints and hinges twist and turn as they should, and however simple your paint job is quite well done, the only problem is maintaining it. (Wooden Doll. While certainly not as flashy as some of their cousins, the Wooden Doll is properly reliable. You aren't the toughest things around, but you won't go breaking in a breeze easier. They're not the easiest of the Dolls to repair, but they're pretty close, given the surplus of the case material)
[X] One of the frills. Fine draperies and delicate lace, your youth with ripe with many of the lavish comforts that the Inner Library had to offer. You wanted for very little thanks to a rare, influential benefactor, and are far more educated than most in the realms of manners and subterfuge. You've left that world behind you for now, but you still know a few names in high places, and might even be owed a favour here and there. Perhaps because you're so used to being waited on, however, you have less physical competence than the average Scholar.
Hoi golly, I'm glad a good number of votes came through. I posted this just before heading to bed, and was sweatin' a little when I saw just one had come in overnight. (Though the greeting and feedback there was very welcome!) Thank you all for giving this a chance, and a warm welcome to the site! I'll probably be counting up the votes tomorrow night, and hopefully I can figure out how this auto tally thing works before then. There's a lot more fancy doohickies on this site compared to the one I'm used to using.
As an aside, I'll probably be bolding a sentence at the start of longer options in the future for copying and pasting, just to make it easier to scan through the votes. Thanks to @Yatr and @Scribin for basically doing that already, because I wouldn't have thought of it otherwise.
[X] A dull thing. You've never been confident in your appearance, what with your wooden body and simple detailing, but you're not exactly ashamed of it either. You're proud to say that all your joints and hinges twist and turn as they should, and however simple your paint job is quite well done, the only problem is maintaining it. (Wooden Doll. While certainly not as flashy as some of their cousins, the Wooden Doll is properly reliable. You aren't the toughest things around, but you won't go breaking in a breeze easier. They're not the easiest of the Dolls to repair, but they're pretty close, given the surplus of the case material)
[X] The charge of a weary Translator. Your father was a cowardly, but altogether respectable man who worked for the Translator's Guild of Alexandria. He spent most of his days either squirrelled away in his office, or staying overnight at the Translator's Hall, but he was good to you none the less. He taught you nothing of his trade, but the ever-present books throughout your home were enough for you to educate yourself on some matters. You're more well educated in Library lore than most outside of the Translator's Guild, and while your upbringing didn't make for much in the way of outstanding strengths, the same can be said for your weaknesses too.
Votes have been tabulated and locked. I managed to figure out the tally system, but it came out kinda weird so I've just done it manually this time. A dull thing has won for make, saved from the coin toss by that last-minute vote, and One of the frills has done so for your early life, winning the coin toss with Heads. I'm honestly surprised Wood ended up winning, it was always the least popular choice when I ran this as a roleplay.
Are there any tiebreaker systems built into the site, as an aside? I've had a hard time navigating around, so I'm not sure if there's a compendium of common tools or something floating about. Regardless, the next post will be coming tomorrow night.
[2] A refined, graceful figure. [5] A dull thing.
[4] A proper work of art.
[2] An alley urchin. [4] One of the frills.
[4] The charge of a weary Translator.
