OOC
Minecraft Username: keksin
Are you at least 18 years old?: yes
Have you read the rules? (Link): yes
(Optional) How did you hear about Avalore?: Referred by a friend.
(Max. 1) Were you referred by someone? If so, please provide their in-game username: SomeSanity
(Optional) Introduce yourself if you’d like, as well as any creations you want to share (e.g. art, builds, skins):
Hellos! I’m keksin, a co-head of the DM Team on another Figura-based MCRP server. I am currently taking an extended break from there; and was invited by a friend to hang out here instead. (Also, I won’t name nor advertise it, so staff needn’t worry.) I have a passion for writing and management, and I first dove into roleplay about four years ago. I’m particularly busy irl, so my activity will be unpredictable and likely minimalistic. Still, when I am on, I aim to casually socialize, do redstone, make Figura models, and DM. Also, despite it seeming like a prominent facet of this server, I hold little interest in being involved with any combat.
—
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 took the liberty to characterize the unnamed older woman, so as to make it feel more like a natural conversation, rather than spontaneously dumping a life story upon a silent stranger. If this is an issue, please inform me, and I’ll change it.]
Corran spares a moment to consider the woman, before returning a tired smile of her own. “A bit. I haven’t traveled this far for business in quite some time.”
The woman’s kind and piercing gaze silently lingers, apparently unsatisfied with her curt answer, and Corran concedes with a chuckle. “Alright,” she proceeds, rolling the tension in her shoulders and mind aside, “my wife’s snatched a bookkeeping position, but her pay is… minimal, for now, and I’ve found little work for my talents there, either. I swear,” she suddenly and harshly giggles, as if telling a rarely told inside joke, “they prefer harsh words and outliving their competitors over anything else, and they seldom share local jobs with foreigners. Unless you’re immensely lucky, /stars forbid/ you look for work anywhere beyond the minor clans. So! I figure the risk of traveling all the way out here might prove worthwhile enough. I doubt this part of the Reach has many vaultsmiths about, and even if it does, a bit of friendly competition never hurt anyone, no?”
The elderly human woman nods curiously, and seems surprised when asked a question herself, “What about you? What’re you traveling down here for?”
The woman’s expression softens and rattles with a laugh, “My stonemason days are well behind me, but I’ve still gotta make my rounds to prove I’m not buried yet! I’ll be heading home once we’re all done recounting our glory days and drinking the Wall dry. Now, speaking of, dear,” the woman slips a flask from her coat, and hands it over to Corran following a hearty swig for herself, “where /is/ your home exactly? My hearing might be on its way out, but it sure sounded as if you don’t take to your own homeland nicely.”
“The west isn’t my home,” Corran begins with a sip, before cringing and spitting into her sleeve. This solicits a guffaw from the woman, and a quip of: “An authentic Rulan ‘delight’! This is the good stuff, now, a proper berry slurry of a cocktail. It has enough alcohol to knock you on your toots twice over.”
A nearby couple shares a look of disapproval at the woman and Corran’s loud discussion.
“The alcohol isn’t the issue,” Corran shudders, ignoring the two, “it’s just- how much sugar is in this sludge?! I’ve- stars. Please, give a warning next time, lest you kill someone with shock.”
The woman extends a hand to take it back, which Corran hesitantly refuses. She shrugs and asks in turn, “You were saying, hon?”
“Right, thank you. As I was saying,” she glances around the wagon, feeling compelled to explain herself, “that’s not the case. It’s not that I dislike my kin, it’s more a matter of my upbringing. I hadn’t sailed westward and been ingrained with their culture until a decade after my birth. That’s a reasonably big enough gap to make me appear as an outsider, and the ostracism of my youth made it clear most others shared that sentiment.”
With a brief pause, she reconsiders the woman’s intrigue, before continuing her monologue at greater ease, “My mother’s an adventurous woman, most /especially/ so when she was younger. She sought out to climb ‘every mountain in the world’, yet she stopped short after meeting my father among the Stonerunners. She had the audacity to visit in the summer, and in her iconic fashion, and by his gentle heart, he became her mountain. She was already pregnant at the time, and despite her admittedly not remembering the ‘true’ father, he took me as his own. It was… nice. Strangely so, in hindsight, to grow up among the Greatlings. I was much shorter, and looked nothing like them, but a pleasant many treated me as equally as they could.”
The cart rattled and shook, passing onto an unkempt dirt road. The wagon’s ambient chatter slowed, and so too did their approach. Corran paid it no mind, as she instead nursed the alcoholic flask within her scarred hands, “My mother eventually continued her travels, bringing my father and I along to see the world. It wasn’t long before they agreed that it’d be best for me to live and learn amongst the Elves—or Arsa Sidhe, excuse me—so that I may learn the depth of my ‘other half’. My mother was an orphan, so she had no family to bring me to, yet she unwaveringly settled that I needed the experience.”
“Such a change was...” Corran trails off and clutches an amethyst pendant upon her belt, “both the greatest and worst thing to happen to me. I was tremendously lucky and earned a decent education, yet I was swept up and nearly drowned by the countless in-groupings and infighting. While I looked like them, I lacked their cultural and family ties, so to many, I was worse than a foreigner; I was a deviant.”
“Still,” she smiles fondly, “it wasn’t /all/ that bad. I discovered my passions and the love of my life. I wouldn’t trade that journey for the world.”
The woman grins warmly and prolongs the small talk, “You remind me of my grandson! A fierce lad, with a poetic heart.” She slaps her thigh for emphasis as she coos, “He’s already gotten his heart broken more times than I can count, though! He could use a good voyage to set his head straight. So, how’d you and your dear meet? She must be quite a doll.”
Corran narrows her gaze with a strangely firm tone, “No. Forgive me, but that’s too cherished to share with someone I hardly know.”
The woman blinks, and sighs curtly, “Fine. Then, how’d you go from that situation to a- what’d you say you did for work?”
“I’m a vaultsmith,” Corran reiterates, “and it’s often not as intriguing as it sounds. Few give… /interesting/ commissions, such as secret chambers or complex mechanisms. Most business instead comes from banks or museums, looking for maintenance or to expand their facilities. It can be rather mundane and rife with paperwork, but that’s the life I enjoy. I… do suppose I’ve found that the cities northwest of here best rely on my branch of expertise. Unfortunately, their bureaucracy wastes too much time for me to make what money my wife and I need.” She shakes her head with a sip of the flask, “I never took myself for a gambling woman, and yet here I am. Well. I now aim to work for, or if absolutely necessary, I’ll /found/ my own security business once I get settled in. I don’t believe it’ll come easily, but the skies above have gleaned signs of hope. I have faith it’s worth the risk.” In spite of saying this, she seems doubtful.
The woman nods and gets swiftly interrupted before she has the chance to question further. “I apologize; I need to depart here. I enjoyed speaking with you, and I thank you for the drink.” Corran passes it back as she abruptly stands to leave, and the woman accepts it with a tight, disappointed smile, “The pleasure was all mine. Good luck!”
—
Character Name: Corran
Character Race: Arsa Sidhe
Character Age: 33
Brief Physical Description:
Short, slim, and with a moderately toned build, Corran doesn’t stray from being a stereotypical Elvish labor-woman. Yet, with purple eyes and gray-browned skin and hair, she holds a dashing complexion. She often fancies light or loose, flowing clothing; prioritizing comfort, occasionally to the sacrifice of practicality. She clearly values and takes care of her appearance; and she often carries multiple tools upon her person. A peculiar amethyst pendant seldom strays from herself, as well.
