Rising over the gleaming sands, the moon waits for her to cast her fortune.
The moon is patient as she hesitates.
Jumi folds the fabric over her eyes. She knows she must reach into the center of the sacred circle, dark and formless, to touch her fate.
the moon guides the future
Jumi unfolds the paper she has pulled from the circle.
"Let's offer flowers, pour a cup of libation,
split open the skies and start anew on creation.If the forces of grief invade our lovers' veins,
cupbearer and I will wash away this temptation.With rose water we'll mellow crimson wine's bitter cup;
we'll sugar the fire to sweeten smoke's emanation.Take this fine lyre, musician, strike up a love song;
let's dance, sing all night, go wild in celebration.As dust, O West Wind, let us rise to the Heavens,
floating free in Creator's glow of elation."
A thoughtful wrinkle appears between her brows, as she reads the poem once and again. She consults the dregs of coffee at her side, and gives a hapless sigh. A storm of change upon the horizon, it was to be. So be it, she thought, and considered the ways she might address her fate.
piracy
Only a few years had passed since she began to work full time with Ollix, who in turn worked for a nasty man who commanded a fleet of airships. Though their airship is small, it's fast, and where it can't take prey on its own, they've been known to fly support for larger groups. When that doesn't pay the bills, they take on other grey-trade. They travel far, and frequently, and she supposes that was a likely place to chanage her fortunes.
salvage skills
Before Ollix, she spent most of her life trawling the sands of Dalmasca, making do by turning profit on scrap. Gradually, she learned how to fix various things--including magitek left behind by the Garlean scum invaders. Her fortunes have turned more than once from an unlikely piece of junk. She should definitely keep an eye out for more.
indulgences
Her love of gambling, drinking, smoking, and all the glorious escapes of the flesh have, well...if it wasn't enjoyable, she wouldn't do it, but more often than not things come back to haunt her. Still, there are quiet whispers in her bones of the deeper meanings beneath the urge to smoke certain substances, to scry the hidden world of things that exists just beneath the surface. But no, no, maybe she should take it easy for awhile. Yeah, definitely shouldn't open that bottle of whisky she recently traded for...
trade
Speaking of trade, there's that too, she thinks. It brings her into contact with a right high number of individuals. It isn't all scrap and loot, either. She's got a nose for information, and she's always free with her coin, ready to buy more. She should buy more. Especially if the winds of change are stirring, it might be a good idea to broaden her range of contacts, expand her network.
She sweeps clean the sacred circle, piling the discarded fortunes to the side. Into the sacred circle she carefully stacks the reagants that form the body of her prayer to the moon. Carefully, she lights it, and the flame sparks and dies down, smouldering. As the smoke rises towards the moon, she lifts her face to it, and prays.To the left sits the discarded fortunes. To the right, her reagents. In the center remains the circle, mysterious and beyond the wall of her ken.
the moon guides the future
the moon waxes towards efforts made
the moon wanes from health
the moon eclipses gains made in haste
the moon stands witness to dissolution
the moon burns red towards new encounters
the moon wanes from health
Jumi unfolds the paper she has pulled from the circle.
"Would ye leave this wild and live,
Strange road is ours, for where the she-wolf lies
Shall no man pass, except the path he tries
Her craft entangle."
"Ouch," she mutters, wincing as she reads the poem. She consults the dregs of coffee at her side, and her expression does not improve. So the moon thought to comment on her health, did she? It was telling her what she already knows. Still, she thinks about it anyways, trying to decide if imminent death or illness was upon her.
name
Jumi Juradi
age
34
race
Miqo'te Moonkeeper
physicality
Lithe: muscled in the way of one who moves around often and lifts a lot of heavy objects as a matter of course. Scrawny in the way of one who has too many bad habits and burns the candle at both ends. Every unfortunate time she's needed a doctor for something, she's gotten a lecture about how her body won't last forever.
notable features
Her skin is wind-scoured, her hands calloused, with a branching fan of wrinkles forming at the outer corners of her eyes. She has innumerable small faded scars ranging over her hands and forearms, and a scattering of them on knees and shins.She has her share of ink sprawling over forearms, hips, and thighs. Most of it is unclear at a glance and would need a careful look to decipher.
She sweeps clean the sacred circle, piling the discarded fortunes to the side. After hesitating, she adds a few reagents to the sacred circle, muttering to herself. Carefully, she lights it, and the flame sparks and dies down, smouldering. As the smoke rises towards the moon, she lifts her face to it, and prays.To the left sits the discarded fortunes. To the right, her reagents. In the center remains the circle, mysterious and beyond the wall of her ken.
the moon stands witness to dissolution
Jumi unfolds the paper she has pulled from the circle.
"Drink in the rose garden, no matter what they say.
Enjoy yourself in this world, no matter what they say.
What’s the difference between slur and praise to me in this world.
Let the beloveds live long no matter what they say."
Her eyebrows lift and then fall as she reads the poem. She consults the dregs of coffee at her side, and sputters a sudden laugh. It would seem the moon rises in her favor. To all her favors. A sly grin snakes across her face, and she thinks about the things she might like to do.
favor
☾ Life is like a game of dice, and Jumi sure likes to throw them. Any game of chance will find her favor, but, perhaps now she should endeavor to find more gambling dens?☾ Oh, and if she's going to gamble, she should definitely bring a flask of something. She hasn't yet found a hard liquor she doesn't like, and that goes double for smokes. Especially the kind that give her a little looksee into altered states of mind.☾ Patronize a good bard. She can hum a decent little tune, but what she really enjoys is listening to music. Especially if it's some tavern ditty she can sing along to.☾ Textures, oh the things she likes to touch. Smooth, finely polished metal, fuzzy cloth, silky satins, shaped wood. She could go shopping, perhaps, or just--well, some things beg to be touched, even if they aren't necessarily hers.
disfavor
☽ The sun. If she's going to be spending some time enjoying herself, the less spent in the sun, the better. Wretched thing.☽ Nags, moralists, and ascetics. Nothing puts a harsh on a good time like someone who doesn't know how to have one--or let someone else have one, for that matter.☽ Working magitek. Sure, she can fiddle with its guts and help it along, but once it starts working it always makes her skin crawl, like the threat of static. More'n one wrencher has told her it's all in her head, but it's all the same to her.☽ Underground. Too much stone. Shaking earth. These are the least of her favorite things. Stonesick, one of her sibs called it. Because they were all sick of hiding underground. Better not to dwell on it.
She sweeps clean the sacred circle, piling the discarded fortunes to the side. With that last unwelcome thought still lingering, she clapped her hands to dispel the malady. Swiftly, she builds her miniature pyre of materials in sacrifice to the moon. Carefully, she lights it, and the flame sparks and dies down, smouldering. As the smoke rises towards the moon, she lifts her face to it, and prays.To the left sits the discarded fortunes. To the right, her reagents. In the center remains the circle, mysterious and beyond the wall of her ken.
the moon waxes towards efforts made
Jumi unfolds the paper she has pulled from the circle.
"At evening I make it down the mountain.
Keeping company with the moon.
Looking back I see the paths I’ve taken
Blue now, blue beneath the skyline.
You greet me, show the hidden track,
Where children pull back hawthorn curtains,
Reveal green bamboo, the secret path,
Vines that touch the traveler's clothes.
I love finding space to rest,
Clear wine to enjoy with you.
Wind in the pines till voices stop,
Songs till the Ocean of Heaven pales.
I get drunk and you are happy,
Both of us pleased to forget the world."
Solemnly, she nods as she reads the poem, tapping at a welcome line. She consults the dregs of coffee at her side, and rocks back on her heels in consideration. The endless cycle of working to live, amidst small respites: the moon was prepared to reward hard work. She thinks about that, her crew and her home.
The crew of the Wild Zephyr
The forming pirate coalition,
Brethren of the Coast
She sweeps clean the sacred circle, piling the discarded fortunes to the side. She nods to herself as she places reagents into the circle, thinking that after she's done she should go back, wrangle one of her crewmates and talk about their plans. Carefully, she lights it, and the flame sparks and dies down, smouldering. As the smoke rises towards the moon, she lifts her face to it, and prays.To the left sits the discarded fortunes. To the right, her reagents. In the center remains the circle, mysterious and beyond the wall of her ken.
the moon eclipses gains made in haste
Jumi unfolds the paper she has pulled from the circle.
"كأساً إذا انحدَرَتْ في حلْقِ شاربها،
When the glass has flown down the throat of its drinker
أترك حُمْرَتَها في العينِ والخدّ
leaving its redness on the eye and on the cheek
فالخَمرُ ياقوتة ٌ، والكأسُ لُؤْلُؤة
And so wine is a ruby, and the glass is a pearl.
من كَفِّ جارِيَة ٍ مَمشوقَة ِ القَدّ
From the palm of the odalisque, svelte in form,
تَسْقيكَ من عيْنها خمراً، ومن يدها
She pours you wine from her eye, and from her hand
خمْراً، فما لك من سُكرَينِ من بُدّ
wine until you are twice drunk without escape.
لي نشوتان، وللنَّدْمانِ واحدة ٌ،
For me pleasure is double, and remorse is one.
شيءٌ خُصِصْتُ به من بينِهِمْ وحدي
I was allotted this, from others things, alone."
She gnaws on her lip as she reads the poem. She consults the dregs of coffee at her side, taking a deep breath. Her eyes narrow. There's fewer things she takes more seriously than creature comforts, and if she isn't mistaken, the moon is warning her to be more careful lest she lose them. Carefully, she considers her qualities.
strengths
☾ Determined
☾ Sociable
☾ Loyalty
☾ Whatever it takes
weaknesses
☽ Cynical
☽ Grudging
☽ Short-sighted
☽ Too single-minded
She sweeps clean the sacred circle, pushing the discarded fortunes to her side. She's not wholly convinced, and wonders if she's maybe interpreted the fortune incorrectly as she scoots reagents into the circle. Then again, she's never been particularly good at self reflection. She lights the sacrificial pile, and as the smoke rises to the moon, she lifts her face to it and prays.To the left sits the discarded fortunes. To the right, her reagents. In the center remains the circle, mysterious and beyond the wall of her ken.
the moon burns red towards new encounters
Jumi unfolds the paper she has pulled from the circle.
"O flames that glowed! O hearts that yearned!
They were indeed too much akin,
The drift-wood fire without that burned,
The thoughts that burned and glowed within."
A rueful smile curves her eyes as she reads the poem. She consults the dregs of coffee at her side. Was the moon telling her to go out and party more? Maybe that was her. Regardless, it brought to mind those in her life who were dear to her, her struggles with the culture she lost, as well as the potential in the future to find new allies.
family
Some lessons are hard won, and for the Juradi clan, they heeded it. When Garlemald came over the Skatay range in their airships, the nomadic Keeper clan's only sin was to be in the path of destruction. The days and nights of bloodshed and horror followed Dalmasca's people, and when the smoke cleared, most of the adults of the Juradi people had perished or disappeared.Jumi's generation, only children then, had to grow up quickly. They scattered to the winds, small groups of siblings and cousins, developing methods to keep connected. Though they have rebounded since the invasion, they keep a core principle in mind: close in spirit, never proximity. As such, though Jumi has a sprawling and tight-knit family of siblings, cousins, and niblings, she rarely gets to see them face-to-face.Whether near or far, however, she'll do anything to keep them alive and prospering. They all would. That's family, baby.
culture
Generations of tradition and belief disappeared almost overnight, and the surviving children were left with what bits and pieces they'd learned. Painstakingly, over time and diligence, they have recovered much of their heritage. Still more, they have reconstructed. But much has been lost that is irreplaceable to them.It can be said that Jumi is among those most obsessed with piecing the old ways back together. From their worship of the moon, to the rituals of everyday life, to the esoteric knowledge that guided their journeys, she is diligent and determined. What time she doesn't spend hustling in the name of her family's prosperity, she spends practicing the old ways, and lecturing the youngsters over linkpearl for their monthly lessons in their heritage.
kith
WIP
She sweeps clean the sacred circle, rocking back with curved spine. She thinks she's ready for anything anyone can throw at her. Confidence surges through her, and she sits straight as she gathers up her reagents and piles them carefully into the sacred circle. People might have torn down her life, but they also helped her build it back up again. Sure, she's cynical, but that's never stopped her before. She lights the reagents, and as the smoke rises to the moon, she lifts her face to it and prays.To the left sits the discarded fortunes. To the right, her reagents. In the center remains the circle, mysterious and beyond the wall of her ken.
fingerguns
under construction
i bit off more than i could chew
we can still be friends though, right?
Please enjoy this basic bitch picture of Jumi staring thoughtfully into space like a Walmart photo center appointment from the 90s instead of actual content until I get my shit together. <3
Jumi Juradi ☽ Halicarnassus ☾ Alaskan Time
Alaskan Time is one hour behind Pacific. I am best available after 5pm on weekdays (except Weds), and my time is sometimes limited on weekends. Discord rp is probably the easiest for me, but I will absolutely figure out a way to do in-game rp if it's what will work for rp, scout's honor.My style is to just create things that speak to me, and so this is kind of a base layer of Jumi. She's a rough-edged gal with a lot of beliefs, a lot of hurt, and a lot of buried hope. Her themes are adventure, PIRATES, action, scheming, grey-trade/smuggling, getting into trouble, having fun, fuck the police, walk that fucking duck.I only work with players and characters over 18. I really enjoy hanging out with older folks. I've reached an age where I value being laid-back and easy to work with. I love plotting and working out stories. Geeking out over story and characters is a way of life.Is this font hard to read or is it just my eyes? I keep thinking about changing it but I still like the way it looks. The struggle of life.Catch me on discord: whimsical#3698Let's write.
Oh, before I forget. Poetry creds.
"A New World" - Hafiz
"Inferno" - Dante Alighieri
These words in #hobbies were spoken by Maroalizade Leyla, supposedly as she was pushed to divorce due to her husband being an absolute ass in the bridal chamber, as recorded by Fatma Aliye: https://typeset.io/pdf/on-the-margins-and-between-the-lines-ottoman-women-poets-ltfpt2s410.pdf
"Reaching the Hermitage" - Li Po
"Do Not Cry for Layla" - Abu Nuwas
"The Fire of Driftwood" - Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (this is only a stanza, the whole thing is pretty dope)
