OOC
Minecraft Username: EmpInAbyss
Are you at least 18 years old?: Yes, I am 21.
Have you read the rules? (Link): Yes
(Optional) Were you referred by someone? If so, who: Lyressi
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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 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?)
The figure turns his head up, two slowly burning eyes taking in her shape, pausing as if to assess if she were truly talking to the Shaman. After all, his lot was not a common kind here, not a common kind in the Ashlands he hailed. Many turned away, minded their own business, and kids tugged at the mess of clothing he wore. But for such an open response?.. Well.
“Mmn.. you’re right.” A crackling voice speaks from beneath the mask, its low, tired, as if he hadn’t spoken to another soul in a few days. But still, it seemed.. Oddly chipper. Despite the low groan and crackling texture of the sound, he seemed more than happy to speak to another soul, a bit relieved even. “I’ve not been to the reach before.” He speaks up, though he had seemed to be in the middle of something. In his hand is a small knife, and he seems to be chipping away at a piece of burnt wood, cut, cut, cut, he carves out meaning from the wood, it looks vaguely like a person, but only vaguely at the moment. His attention split between the work at hand and the conversation.
“The Ashlands grow restless.” Sllliceee… goes the brushstroke of his dagger against the wood. “I seek new stories, new quarry; a hunter is only as good as his prey, yesss?..” He chuckles softly as the edge cuts through another chunk of the wood, dust falling onto the cloak. He seems awfully calm, focused even on the task at hand. “I’ve traveled far from the steps I traversed when young, but the Reach- I’ve heard whispers, rumors of what lay there, beyond where civilizations fell and are born anew. New stories, new experience..” Upon mentioning ‘prey’ it becomes apparent what many of the trinkets on his person are from. A shell of an Igneous Crawler shaped into a small ornament, Hell-Hound hide patching some places on his garb, and some more unknown animals is used. What is hunted is used; what is found dead is used. His voice grows softer as he hones in on the shape in the wood, the figure becoming more and more humanoid, long hair cut and smoothed, little details cut into it, not just a shape, but a person. “The spirit of flame, the essence of fire, it moves, it grows, it brings life and death. The Ashlands are just that, Ash, it no longer needs me, and so I go forth. Like fire, to collect stories and feed it to the flame, prey and feed it to the flame. As I sustain your curiosity with my own tale noww..” He seems satisfied with the figurine he’s carved, one final stroke of his ‘brush’ finishing it.
It’s a figure of an elderly woman, human, and he holds it out in his palm for the woman to take. “A gift, for your story, if you’ll share it..” The Old Hunter smiles beneath the layers of cloth, perhaps this wouldn’t be such a lonely ride after all..
—
Character Name: Tömörbaatar Erdem, Ashlands Büge.
Character Race: Feytouched - Fireborne.
Character Age: 26
Brief Physical Description:
Tömörbaatar Erdem is covered in a mix of hides, cloths, and patched-together fabrics in a long and encompassing tapestry of stories and ‘clothing’. Attached to this amalgamation of pieces are little trinkets and carved-out bones decorating him as if they were windchimes. Each small movement is an effort, the heavy pile that he calls ‘clothing’ shifting with the chime of bells, trinkets, and hung mirrors. Through years and years of wear he has grown used to it. Atop his head is a hooded mask, one bearing what appears to hold a small slit visor carved from some sort of bone with fiery eyes painted onto it. Figurines depict beasts, hunters, weapons, bones, and carry on into the very patchwork of his cloak, featuring depictions of scenes and epics from the histories of the Ashlands and beyond.
Beneath the patchwork mess, Erdem stands at 170cm, though he can often seem shorter due to poor posture and the heavy weight he carries. Two fiery eyes simmer from the visor, a low dark red, a simmer if you will.
Skin: Placeholder!
