OOC
Minecraft Username: Aufberon
Are you at least 18 years old?: Yes
Have you read the rules? (Link): Yes
(Optional) How did you hear about Avalore?: www.minecraftiplist.com
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In-Character
Read the following prompt:
The rhythmic lull of hoofbeats are a marching drum to the small group of pioneers and variety of folk you have found yourself amongst, packed into a wobbling wagon. The rolling plains of the Southern Reach and a clear sky stretch out all around you, the buzz of excited chatter a dull wash in your ears as your mind strays to your former life and what has led you here to new lands.
“Nervous?”
You blink, returning to the present moment. A kindly older woman sat near you is smiling warmly with a crinkle to her eyes.
“I can tell it’s your first time. Still remember mine,” she flashes a grin and leans in.
“Tell me my dear, why have you come to the Reach?”
How do you respond (in character)? (250 word minimum - please make sure to include at least three references to our lore in your response, with two coming from different pages in the Compendium. Two of the three selected should also be in-depth, avoid simply name-dropping lore terms. Tie the terms into your character's backstory. Why are they important to them?)
I blink, pulled from my wandering thoughts, and offer a crooked smile, pushing my glasses up the bridge of my nose while my other hand clutches the battered book in my lap.
"Is it that obvious?" I say, my voice rough with nerves. I thumb the worn cover, its edges soft from years of reading. "I'm from Fallstone. A place called the Crossroads. You might've heard of it — nearly every caravan passes through at some point. It's full of smiths, tailors, carpenters... people who can make real things with their hands."
I glance down, adjusting my glasses again, the old habit steadying me. "I tried growing up. I really did. But my hands..." I trail off, shaking my head. "Books made more sense than forges. Stories felt more real than any tool in my grasp."
The wagon jolts lightly, and I hug the book closer. "I grew up collecting myths and half-truths from travelers. One of them was about the Vale of the Fallen — and the old story that somewhere among the stones, a portal to the Ether lies hidden. Most folk call it nonsense. Just a story to scare or inspire, depending on who's telling it."
I pause, and a flicker of excitement sneaks into my voice. "One Faerie’s Eve, after the feast and lantern-light, I drew from a Deck of Divining. Pulled the Omen card — a white raven flying through storm and flame. The reader said it meant something lost would find its way back to me. Maybe it was just festival talk. Maybe not. When you stand there, sending your secret skyward on a paper lantern, it’s hard not to think... maybe anything is possible."
I glance out across the rolling fields of the Southern Reach, heart racing a little faster. "But it’s not just the Vale I’m chasing. There are other stories too — the Fables." My voice picks up, and I can't help but lean forward a little. "The Lady of the Lake, the Portents, the Spirit of the Fire Dragon... beings that aren't quite gods, but still leave marks on the world. Luck, trials, and strange objects found in impossible places. If even one of them is true — if even one fable is real —"
I smile widely, a little breathless with the thought. "I want to find it. I want to see it with my own eyes."
The wagon jostles again, and I steady myself, pushing my glasses up automatically, book still clutched against my chest.
"I was born under the Lantern sign," I add after a pause, softer but sure. "They say it means revelation. The kind you don’t find sitting still. Maybe that's foolish. Maybe it’s dangerous. But..."
I glance at the open sky, where the road winds on and the wind carries secrets no one has caught yet.
"...I had to try."
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Character Name: Aufberon
Character Race: 50/50 Human Fey-Touched
Character Age: 20
Brief Physical Description: Aufberon has warm, sun-browned skin and a lean, wiry frame, standing at about 5'9". His hair is thick, messy, and black, falling untamed into his face. His eyes are a pure, solid silver-gray, without any visible pupils or irises. His fingertips are slightly blackened, as if permanently colored by ink. He wears thin-rimmed glasses. He wears a dark, layered high-collar coat with muted blue-gray undertones. Beneath it, a lighter cloth wraps close around his chest and waist. His pants match in darker tones, reinforced for travel, and his boots are pale and scuffed from long roads. Thin-rimmed glasses sit on his nose, often being pushed back into place. A heavy, battered backpack rests on his shoulders, and a worn book is almost always tucked under one arm.
