If Ji were a month: October.
Because October is full of mischief, mayhem, and the macabre. It’s also the month when everything truly dies to make way for the coming winter. The first half of October tries to cling to the last hours of September’s warmth, but by the end of the month, October gives up and turns cold. Ji is similar in that friendly warmth makes up her surface, but her innards are cold and lonely, and she’s sure she dies a little more each day.
If Ji were a day: Saturday.
"Saturday’s child has far to go.” Ji was born on a Saturday and she has hundreds of thousands of more miles to tread before she can finally lay down and rest.
If Ji were a planet: Argus.
Before the Burning Legion arrived, Argus was a utopia teeming with life: pure and full of possibilities. Then the demons arrived and corrupted everything they touched, turning proud trees into stunted, gnarled husks, sapping the life from the grass, warping the wildlife. Ji is similar: an innocent child stripped of all her possible paths and twisted by wicked hands that left her an inhospitable, barren world.
If Ji were an animal: Spider.
Spiders hang out in dark corners, completely innocuous... until you draw too close. Then they bite, and some are capable of injecting you with enough poison to take down an adult elekk. They also spin webs and dangle on strings so thin you think you could break them with one swipe--but that silk is more resilient than many people give might imagine. Some spiders collect “trophies” from their captured prey and use those to build little nests around their webs. Ji takes trophies from her kills.
If Ji were a god/goddess: Torga, the Loa of Wisdom.
Before his death and rebirth, all the tortollans (and those trolls who followed this loa) made pilgrimages to his lands. They came from all over Azeroth to sit before him and hear his tales. To bask in his wisdom and learn something about themselves, the world, and their place within it. Ji wants her theatre to be something similar: a place where people come from all over to sit and watch her stories acted out by silly puppets. Beyond that, she connects with the trolls’ ode to the turtle loa--”if to you (s)he tells his/her story, that may be your highest glory.” She is secretive about herself and her life, and only one person has ever known everything about her. So if she ever tells her story to you, then you can know you’ve breached the many barriers and earned her trust. That scarf she always wears is similar to a turtle shell--when she’s embarrassed, discomfited, thinking, or generally upset, she buries her head in her scarf.
If Ji were a piece of furniture: Bookshelf.
Her head is full of stories and sometimes, she wonders if she’s nothing more than a repository for tales. Alternately, she’d be a mirror, reflecting all those unpleasant parts of yourself back at you whenever you look her way. The majority of her plays and poetry are rife with satire--satire can be an important teaching tool if you want people to learn and grow and change things. Provided they are smart enough to realize the satire is parodying their bad behaviours.
If Ji were a gemstone: Shifting Shadowsong Amethyst.
Beneath the bawdy cheer and crass silliness, Ji is a murder machine. Many assassins brag about their kills and their skill, and they wrap themselves in black leathers, thinking they’ll go unseen and unnoticed. But a smart assassin never talks about all the people she’s sent to their graves. And she never wears black. She wears dark purples and smoke greys, midnight blues and forest greens because shadows are not black. Black stands out, even in darkness. Plus, Ji’s favourite colour is purple.
If Ji were a flower: Purple Lotus.
For the elvish cultures, the lotus symbolizes eloquence and while most people who’ve ever spoken to Ji would never equate her with eloquent speech, she has a silver tongue behind her inarticulate mask. The lotus also represents triumph over hardship--it grows from muck and shit, and rises above the pond’s stagnant surface to bloom. Its roots grow deep and strong, and it is unswayed by moving water when it grows in streams and rivers. Her real name--not the “Ji” she gives others--can be translated as both “lotus” and “water lily.” The purple lotus in particular has connections with the twilight and night, as it shares a classification with the moon lily and only blooms in the evening. Ji has many ties to the night herself, and her stark white skin and dark hair remind many of the moon.
If Ji were a kind of weather: Fog.
Thicker than congealed fat. In such a fog, you never quite know where you’re going and it can be difficult to see your hand in front of your face. Fog seems innocuous, but it’s dangerous and it can lead you to your doom.
If Ji were a color: Grey.
Mutable. Neutral. Often considered drab and goes unnoticed. But grey is a mirror colour and it will reflect whatever tones you throw at it. Grey is the colour of shadows and storm clouds, of mirrors and the dead things.
If Ji were an emotion: Shame.
She knows many people would think her abnormal; the person she disguises is a filthy creature who deserved every terrible thing that happened to her. At least--that’s what she’s been told and that’s what she believes. Everything about her is shameful and she’s terrified others will see all the nastiness in her face, in her eyes.
If Ji were a fruit: Manchineel.
It looks like a small Granny Smith apple--harmless, inviting, probably tart and refreshingly crisp, and growing from a tree, exactly like the fruit it resembles. But every part of the manchineel plant will do you terrible harm. Eat the fruit and vomit until you feel like you’ve thrown up all your innards--the fruit will do permanent damage to your gastrointestinal system if it doesn’t outright kill you first. Touch the tree and receive nasty blisters that leave permanent scars--this is not a sap you ever want to harvest for syrup. If the tree is on fire, the fumes from its burning branches will shrivel your lungs and make you ill. In a similar way, Ji is full of unpleasant surprises that can and will do you great harm if you’re not careful.
If Ji were a sound: Pandaren erhu.
Ji loves music and the Pandaren erhu is one of her favourite instruments. No matter how cheerful the tune it plays, the song always sounds mournful and she relates to that.
If Ji were an element: Water.
Water is wholly mutable. As Ji puts it: “Water confined fits any sort of mold.” And with all the masks she wears in public, she does exactly as water. She is adaptable, reflective, and transforms herself to fit any sort of role she needs to play--thus, you can never be sure which one is the real person, just as you can never be sure how deep the pond is, even if you can see all the way to the bottom. She’s also persistent and determined to reach her goals, and water eventually erodes everything.
If Ji were a place: Moonglade.
A land of eternal night filled with enormous, ancient trees and shy wildlife that skitters through the underbrush. You may never see the doe eyes peeking out at you, sizing you up, determining whether you are friend or foe. You may never see the dappled hide darting through the glade--it blends in too well with the moonbeams pouring through the branches, creating patches of light and shadow. Mirror ponds grow lilies and lotus, and reflect you when you lean over the water.
If Ji were a mythological creature: Rusalka.
The rusalka is a water spirit, often likened to a mermaid. In early versions of their myth, they were considered good creatures who made fields fertile with the water they brought from their ponds and streams. In later versions, they were twisted and thought to be the souls of drowned women, particularly those who have been murdered. The rusalka disguises herself as a beautiful woman who lures men close to her watery home with sweet, suggestive songs, teasing smiles, and doe-eyed innocence. Once the man is caught, she drags him beneath the surface where she watches him drown in her elongated, spidery limbs and her skin becomes fish scales, too slippery for him to grasp and use to propel himself upward. Those who believe in her know that the second week of June is the rusalka’s week--a time when she is most powerful and most dangerous, and Ji’s true birthday falls in the second week of June. Her birthday is a time of harsh memory and fury. You should never go swimming during the rusalka’s week.
If Ji were a taste: Overripe peach.
It looks perfect when you buy it from the produce stand. It’s soft, fuzzy, and glowing with that peachy beauty that makes you want to sink your teeth right in. But when you take a bite, the fruit is mealy and sour, and though you spit it out immediately, that awful taste lingers. And everything you eat for the rest of the day reminds you of that squishy, grainy bite. It’s like eating sand.
If Ji were a scent: Strawberry wine.
Sweet, heady, and reminiscent of summer, strawberry wine lures you in with promises of laughter and delightful evenings spent chasing fireflies, rolling around in soft green grass, and tossing your cares to the wind while you tell old stories around your campfire. Drink too much, however, and you’ll wind up with a sour stomach and a headache that will leave you wishing for death.
If Ji were an object: Ultra-strong spider silk.
It looks like any ordinary web. You could brush your hand right through it and destroy it without a thought, right? Wrong. This silk is stronger than steel and is virtually bulletproof. You can’t tear it. You can’t destroy it. Run your hand through it and it clings to your skin, wrapping around and around you. You could use this silk as a perfect garrote. Sometimes it’s sharper than a fresh knife. This silk is hardy and it will endure long after it’s taken your life.
If Ji were a body part: Ears.
Unless you’ve been welcomed into her inner circle, Ji’s face will rarely give you any indication of what goes on behind her wide, guileless eyes. But her ears seem to have a mind of their own, always flicking and moving in tandem with her thoughts and emotions. If you want insight into her current state of mind, watch her ears. They’re also an excellent representation of her life--mismatched, broken, scarred, damaged, and still somehow perfectly serviceable and standing upright.
If Ji were a pair of shoes: Lotus shoes.
A walking representation of the idea that perfection means sacrifice and suffering. These shoes appear to belong to a foal, but they are meant for feet so broken and twisted that you can never straighten them out. Tiny and made of expensive silk, they are littered with whimsical embroidery that hides a plethora of painful secrets, shattered bones, and deformities deeper than the skin. As part of their dowry, brides were required to sew several pairs of these shoes for the female relatives they would gain after the wedding and those brides who were particularly unhappy about the impending marriage (and filled with dislike of their new family) would often leave small sewing needles and pins buried in the fine silk. Whenever the shoes were worn, those needles would burrow through the linen bandages and stab the flesh, adding more pain to a woman already drowning in a sea of misery. Beyond that, lotus shoes are always accompanied by the tight bandages that contort and compress the foot, and Ji is never without the bandages that mask her own deformities. The lotus shoe was supposed to symbolize beauty--a male idea of feminine beauty--and the foot binding was ordered by the patriarchs. All too similar to Ji’s life. She has many memories of agony associated with her feet and walking, including pits of burning coals, paths filled with broken glass, balancing on bamboo spikes, canes filled with nails, railroad spikes, and iron presses.
Tagged by: @nyyght -- Thank you for the tag!
Tagging: I’m pretty sure everyone who wants to do this has already done it, so if you have and I tag you, I apologize. @smith-hadeon (particularly for Tziska) @ma-at-thought (for any or all of your characters) @centoridellanir @karidakdellanir @kelzthalassunwhisper (for my favourite dragon) @silvertonguedaggermaw (for Sav and/or Khairan).
