OOC
Minecraft Username: stqted
Are you at least 18 years old?: YES… I turned 18 on Sept. 10th 2024
Have you read the rules?: YES
How did you hear about Avalore?: mc cookie 333
Were you referred by someone? If so, please provide their in-game username: mccookie333
Introduce yourself if you’d like, as well as any creations you want to share (e.g. art, builds, skins): I am stqted/Stated/Matt. I’ve been roleplaying and building for ~7 years, and sometimes I forget this is a silly block game. My special obsession with the late medieval and early modern era has fueled my writing hobby very effectively. I am also a big fan of the indomitable human spirit. And also men.
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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?)
A young man dressed in patchwork, extravagant fabrics and various mismatched pieces of plate stood opposite the lady.
“Well, kind madam, normally I strictly adhere to sacred virtue of minding one’s own fuckin’ business.” The flaming haired rogue began, eyes fluttering shut for a second as if enthralled by his own voice. What a cunt. “But, you know, since this bastard behind me’s been elbowin’ me spine since I boarded this damned carriage, I rather spew my heart out to the wonderful madam-” - He gracefully flourished to the woman before him, like a circus director presenting his spectacle - “Than clock this arse upside the ‘ead.” - and the runt crossed his arms and forced his way back to lean against the crowd, of course received with many an unpleasant glance and the occasional curse.
He theatrically cleared his throat. “Ta. You’re right, though. It is me first time this far south o’ The Wall. I’m goin’ to ply me trade, sellswordin’, all that. Valkia’s a borin’ place, and the novelty burns out after the tenth Northerner castle ye have to storm at nightfall.”
A few moments of pause halted the mercenary’s tale. The same spry retort from before didn’t come out nearly as fast. “My Da used to tell me to love me profession like a lover, so I guess I’m ‘avin a falling out with mine. I thought me fate would be to die in some backwater duchy dungeon, or sneakin’ cross the Rulan border with me mates.”
The blackguard stopped again, still deep in thought - reminiscing. He must’ve been young, under thirty, but every time he ceased talking it seemed like the fire in his eyes was sputtering like it’d burned through every last ember of firewood.
“I met a… er, some kinda noble son-of-a-bitch from Rulan while I was smugglin’ wine last year. Told me he ‘ad the same Ma as me; I didn’t believe ‘im of course, but now that I take a think about it, his hair and whatnot was just’s red as mine.” A gloved hand came to run down his face and cover his mouth. “I told ‘im about me debacle, an’ he told me that if I really wanted a worthy death, that I oughta make an oath with the Lady.”
Where his tone was normally bawdy and braggart, now he lowered his voice. “I didn’t really believe any of that fable spiel, y’know, but one night after a tavern bender, I coulda \sworn\ that in a moment o’ clarity I heard a voice call out to me.” His cocky grin that he bore when he began talking had gradually faded off his face. He permitted a deep sigh to escape his lips. Resignation, realisation, along those lines. “Whatever. Now I’m goin’ south to find me a handy pouch of coin.”
He finished, shoulders caving inward as he closed himself to contemplate with a scowl. That rhythmic tumbling of the carriage let up for a moment, it took a moment to realise that they were now on paved ground, and he could barely spy the Albern Crossing guidepost just beyond the coachman’s back.
He didn’t quite know if this is where Her guidance wanted him. And before he could reflect further, a slap to the back of the head and a shove brought him back to his senses.
—
Character Name: Sigurd of The Wall
Character Race: Human - Walljack
Character Age: 25
Brief Physical Description: Average in stature and nothing else, this fiery haired walljack, of course, sports his signature coppery-red mane - which he claims protects him from harm -, to frame a youthful face in shades of weathered olive, marred by a few grazes long scarred over - a few along the cheek running below the right eye, and one coming up from the chin.
A pair of clean, steel stud earrings will always be spotted on him, and his usual attire consists of the last skirmish’s looted armour; most recently a cuirass in the Valkian style, over a colourful red and yellow doublet - his company’s colours.
