OOC
Minecraft Username: thiefclass
Are you at least 18 years old?: Yes!
Have you read the rules? (Link): Yes!~
(Optional) Were you referred by someone? If so, who: I was referred by Doc! (Konrad Radziwill)
(Optional) Introduce yourself if you’d like, as well as any creations you want to share (e.g. art, builds, skins): Hello hello! I am Allie (or thief, if you're spicy) and I have been a big rpg/mcrp/tabletop roleplayer for many years! Writing is a passion of mine, so group storytelling in mcrp is definitely a favorite hobby of mine. I also love to paint, but I'll probably share art mostly in the discord! :) Excited to be hereeee!
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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)? (150 words minimum - please make sure to include some references to our lore in your response!)
Locke itches a scar on her left hand, examines her dirty nails- giving herself a moment to think. Running away, like so many. Descending from up North to hide, out here in the recesses of the world, wild and uncharted. Where those she leaves behind won't find her... she hopes.
"Mariza is getting crowded," she replies. The lie comes smoothly, despite the rasping gravel of her voice. "I hunt, and I'd say I am tough enough to do well here. Someplace new intrigues, ah?" There's pain in her shoulders as she rolls them back against the wood slats of the wagon. There's soreness and aches everywhere in her body, really. Her back, in particular. It burns. "My family passed on, and the city became too urban to need a simple game hunter. Everything is so easily traded, bought, produced. Here, I feel I will be needed." More lies, the sort Locke is adept at telling. They leave her on an easy breath. Though- that last one stung. She pushes the thought of family from her mind, buries it, shoves it beneath the well of detached cold she has filled her chest with.
Questions make her bristle. The people, the caravan, the closeness; that is far worse. Too many eyes, too many faces that she cannot bring herself to trust. Not with the wounds in her scarred skin or her lack of supplies. The departure from home in the cold urban reaches of the north was... sudden. Violent, and as quick as her boots could carry her until she managed to hop from carriage to horse to boat as needed. Any vessel to take her further away. The guilt of what happened to those who were found sheltering her on this journey... she doesn't feel it, now. She doesn't feel it as she glances about the wagon and knows what danger she may put them in. They weren't the first lives she'd taken, and she knew they'd not be the last, either.
The Reach. She murmurs the name to herself like the prayer of a non-believer. Let it be far enough.
Character Name: Eris Severin Locke - or Locke, simply.
Character Race: Human
Character Age: 26
Brief Physical Description: Locke is a woman of average height, typically garbed in muted browns, reds, and blacks. Her skin is a deep golden color sprayed with countless freckles, framed by a mass of curling brown hair that is typically wrangled into a low tail. With wide honey toned eyes and delicate features, the girl might've been lovely, once-- though the evidence of the life she has lived is difficult to overlook. She is a mess of scars, from face down to her very fingertips and nail beds. The woman hides a sickly figure beneath her clothes, layered with nothing but the ragged muscles she tries to maintain. Though tanned, there is a paleness and sunkeness to her cheeks that speak of illness, and cracked lips and palms to match.
