OOC
Minecraft Username: MercyAsphodel
Are you at least 18 years old?: Yes, 20
Have you read the rules? (Link): Yes
(Optional) How did you hear about Avalore?: My friend, Scarlet.
(Max. 1) Were you referred by someone? If so, please provide their in-game username: ScarletRoseTea
(Optional) Introduce yourself if you’d like, as well as any creations you want to share (e.g. art, builds, skins): Hello :)
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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?)
Bronwen’s lips pressed into a line. Her fingers, calloused and rough, stained a shade of charcoal from forgework, twist the cord of a single burning lock upon her head; unbridled, unruly as a tangled net upon the bed of the sea. For a while, she listened to the wheel-groan of the wagon and the soft winds cutting across the plains. Then, without quite looking, she spoke.
“Have you ever sailed off, not because you wanted to; but because staying would gut you worse?”
She swallowed. “I’m Mistan; from a small fishing settlement at the cliffsides. We grow up on salt and story. My Gram’ma says the Siren Serene crooned lullabies to my cradle; she meant it sweetly.” She paused, a quiet contemplation. “.. But I’ve come to wonder whether the Serene’s more warning than guardian.”
Bronwen’s gaze veered further off, wistfully. The willful woman of the smithy rarely took the time to contemplate. “I was meant to sail tides ago. Comin’ of age, as we do; build your ship, and go find a tale to carry carefully home. I stayed; for the guppy.” She elaborated, her Mistan tongue abruptly altered from the common of the mainland. “.. My sister, I mean. For love; for everything I thought rooted me.” Her fist tightened. “Turned out, that boy and my sister both had anchors of their own. Just not tied to me.”
She finally looked at the woman, a momentary fury set behind her gaze, deflected by the tone of the Mistan. “Sailing together will reunite us, she says - Gram’ma says. My sister wasn’t born.. Right. She don’t look like everyone else, and I damn well made sure they treated her no different. Cursed by the fey, we think. I taught that guppy how a fork n’ knife sits in her hands and she struck with it the moment I turned my back. I love my sister, truly. But I ain’t forgivin’ her lies. Sometimes I think we weren’t sent to come back home. I think Gram’ma decided we’d be the deaths of each other.” She drew in a sharp breath. “I think she’s right.”
—
Character Name: Bronwen Braith Caddell
Character Race: Human
Character Age: 22
Brief Physical Description: Bronwen Braith Caddell stands at 5’9”, broad-shouldered and built with the solid, muscular frame of someone long acquainted with the weight of hammer and tongs. Her skin is fair and freckled, sun-kissed in patches where sleeves ride up or collars dip, and her arms bear the faint, darkened traces of old forge-burns. A tousle of deep ginger hair is often tied back in a loose knot, though rebellious strands still frame her face and cling to the sweat of hard work. Her light brown eyes, warm in hue but watchful, rarely give much away unless she wants them to. There’s a lingering scent of spilt beer and smoke about her; the quiet signatures of a life spent between the forge and the tavern, and when she speaks, her Mistan lilt makes everything sound like the start of a story, even when it's not.
