Minecraft Username: MeatWest
Are you at least 18 years old?: Yes
Have you read the rules? (Link): Yes
(Optional) How did you hear about Avalore?: Got invited by a friend
(Max. 1) Were you referred by someone? If so, please provide their in-game username: idk their username tbh
(Optional) Introduce yourself if you’d like, as well as any creations you want to share (e.g. art, builds, skins): I’m the biggest sigma y’all ever meet.
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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)?
“Not nervous,” he said, his voice even, eyes studying the old woman as one might study a flame. “I’ve come from the Ashlands. Near the Dragon’s Skull.”
Blood-crusted bandages clung to his hands and forearms, wrapped in haste. He adjusted them with care, fingers trembling slightly from exhaustion or restraint. “I’m not from these lands… but my strength has been tested. Two hellhounds, a day apart.”
He set his gaze upon her again, golden eyes dimmed by soot and distance. Without a word, he lifted his cup and drank until it was empty, the sound of it setting down soft but final.
“I was born among the Fireborne. Both my pater and mater were Greatlings—stone-blooded, iron-willed. Where I come from, strength is not taught. It is revealed.”
His voice dropped, steadier now. “At twelve, we’re cast into the wild. No blade, no food. One year alone. No return permitted before the seasons turn.”
He let the silence settle for a breath.
“That was how men were made.”
His eyes didn’t leave hers. “The Dragon’s Maw isn’t far from where I lived. A dead volcano, they say. But its eyes still burn. You feel it watching. Sometimes... you feel it calling. Some don’t return from their pilgrimages. Some return changed.”
Then he turned his eyes back to her, unreadable. “So no, not nervous. Just... ready.”
—
Character Name: Brontes
Character Race: Giantling
Character Age: 27
Brief Physical Description: Standing at eight feet tall, he looms like a statue carved from ancient stone—his skin a rough, gray hue. Twin ram horns curl back from his temples, thick and ridged. His eyes burn gold and have vertical pupils. Long, wavy white hair cascades down his back in untamed strands, like a lion’s mane. His forearms and fists are wrapped in blood-stained cloth.
