OOC
Minecraft Username: PlaidWeasel
Are you at least 18 years old?: Yes
Have you read the rules? (Link): Yes
(Optional) How did you hear about Avalore?: I looked for Minecraft roleplaying servers and found this one.
(Max. 1) Were you referred by someone? If so, please provide their in-game username: N/A
(Optional) Introduce yourself if you’d like, as well as any creations you want to share (e.g. art, builds, skins): I'm Plaid/GrandMagus (on Discord), I'm a Dad of 3, I've been doing roleplaying/TTRPGs for 16-17 years now, and I'm a huge fantasy nerd!
—
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)?
Talvor turned his head slowly toward the woman, his broad shoulders shifting with the creak of the wagon as he adjusted his weight. Her eyes were kind and steady, though he could feel how small she was next to him; a bird peering up at a mountain. He let the silence hang a moment, his amber-green gaze lingering on her face, before he drew in a long breath.
“The mountains do not give,” he said at last, his voice carrying low, shaped with that heavy cadence of the Giantlings, like striking two stones against one another. His eyes drifted past her to the horizon, the endless green rolling out behind them, further and further away. “They take. Year after year, they take. I was raised where the soil is thin, where goats grow lean, where a man’s belly is filled with what he can hunt… or what he can take from another. My father taught me the spear. My mother taught me the ways of leadership. But neither could teach me how to make the earth itself feed me. Not in the high stone, not in that life.”
He shifted again, tusks catching the sun as his jaw tightened. “I have killed, more times than I care to count. And though my blood is dark, I would rather it run warm through me than stain another man’s hands.” His tone softened, almost in jest. “I am tired of blood. I want bread.”
Talvor reached into his knapsack and pulled out a full loaf of bread, breaking it between his hands and passing it between the wagon-goers. Finally, he passed the largest piece to her, a faint smile tugging at the edge of his mouth. “So I come to the Reach. To coax life from the soil. To grow instead of burn. To put down roots where the land will let me. If the people here will let me.”
He leaned back against the rattling wagon wall, letting the sway rock him to sleep as though the matter were now settled. Yet the old woman would notice the faintest flicker in his eyes as he slept, betraying what he would not say aloud: that he feared this dream was more fragile than he dared to admit.
—
Character Name: Talvor of Clan Highmarch
Character Race: Greatling
Character Age (Appearance): 35
Brief Physical Description: 7'9", 400 lbs; thick, coal-black hair; stone-gray skin with faint freckles around his nose and shoulders. Amber-green eyes with modest back-sweeping horns; smaller mouth tusks. Prefers to wear practical fabrics like wool, leather, or furs, over a weathered farmer's cloak of his own design.
Image of Skin and Figura Model: 
