OOC
Minecraft Username: ClownMotel
Are you at least 18 years old?: Yes, 21.
Have you read the rules?: Of course..
How did you hear about Avalore?: That one 'minecraftservers.org' site. It's kind of a funky looking place, but when I was scrolling the roleplay section, this caught my eye.
Were you referred by someone? If so, please provide their in-game username: N/A
Introduce yourself if you’d like, as well as any creations you want to share (e.g. art, builds, skins): Hi!
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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?”
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"Oh, oh, uh.." The woman shifts in her seat, turning to the older woman as she sits up straight and clears her throat. Her hair was messy, and the prominent bags under her rosy eyes made it immediately obvious she'd been awake for quite a while.
"I'm here.. because.. well.. this place is just brimming with opportunity, isn't it? I mean, that whole.. 'disappearance' thing wasn't that long ago, and now.. people seem to be pouring onto these lands by the dozen.."
She lets out a wistful little sigh, leaning back in her seat as her eyes trailed across the wagon, taking note of all the other travelers in tow with her.
"Listen, I'm not gonna give you my whole life story, but I've really not been able to settle anywhere my whole life. My parents and I moved from the Mist Isles when I was pretty young and set off towards the steppe to live under Fallstone. Ended up working as an apprentice blacksmith for a pretty gruff Greatling fellow in the Rolling Haven-- ..that's, uh, one of the big caravan groups out there, if you didn't know-- and worked my way up to a being a proper blacksmith."
Her mind wanders to her earlier years; her time in the Mist Isles was short lived, and although her memories of the place aren't the clearest due to how young she was at the time, she has a pretty solid idea of what happened to drive her parents out from the place-- her.
It's an easy conclusion to come to, really. The populous of the small village her and her family lived in must have taken her birth as a bad omen, as a sign that hardship was coming to their quaint little town, be it a bad fishing season or something much worse. It'd certainly explain why her parents didn't like her going out very much. But things like that don't just go away, and eventually, well, her parents couldn't really find a reason to keep staying there with all the glares sent their way when they went outside.
Her parents.. her relationship with her parents was.. strained, perhaps. They loved her? Surely. They did a lot for her. The entire reason they travelled out to the steppe was to let her grow up in a place where things would be a little more normal for her, but she couldn't help but feel there was a slight shame in their eyes as they looked at her. She was the reason they had to leave their home, after all. She ended up heading out on her own as soon as she could. She still isn't really sure if she should have.
It was a few days of wandering along the side of a trail and sleeping in a tent before she came across the caravan. Really, she just wanted to hitch a ride to the next town, so after a quick talk with one of the coachmen (and maybe a bit of begging), she settled down in a seat of a wagon near the back and started a chat with the Greatling sitting inside.
Although she had kept her words brief, she realized long after that she said much more than she was intending to. It was obvious she barely had an idea of where she was really going or what she was doing, but completely clear she just wanted to be somewhere other than where she came from.
Maybe it resonated with the guy. She still doesn't know alot about him-- he was an incredibly reserved type, with her practically just calling him 'smithy' the entire time she knew him, only really learning that his first name was Aslak by an offhanded comment he threw out to her when she was getting ready to leave for good. But it was clear he was lonely, and perhaps a bit lost in his own way.. and she was too.
By the time they got to the next town, he threw an offer out to her. 'You can travel with the caravan, you'll have hot meals, a place to sleep, and perhaps some Crowns for your time, but you'd have to work-- pick up the hammer and learn under me, figure out how to be proper smith and eventually start pulling your weight for the group'.
She couldn't really refuse. The offer was good, and she assumed it'd be a bit of light work to keep her busy, but the real surprise came when she found out she really, truly enjoyed the craft. Work she had to do to get some food on her plate turned into something she'd spend long, sleepless nights trying to get better at. The guy really did have a talent, and if even a little of it passed onto her, she figured she'd end up pretty good at her job.
Days turned to months, months turned to years, and eventually she made good on her promise-- she did work her way up to being a proper smith. From the outside, everything was fine-- working as a travelling blacksmith, providing her services for people across the steppe..
But something was still off. The whole thing was kind of just.. stagnant. Her weapons weren't exactly legendary, her work was all under pretty quick notice. The caravan was nice, of course, but she had the feeling her job was more about the convenience of having a smith rather than anything she in particular could do. Maybe she had just gotten in her own head, but in that position she was in, her work felt replaceable, unnoteworthy. Perhaps this time, she had fit in too much.
So, once again, something had to change.
She clicks her tongue, pausing for a moment as she reflects. Her voice is laced with a twinge of melancholy.
"..Well, it was a fine life, right? But I couldn't help but feel that I was kind of just.. uh.. coasting along. And for some, that's a good life, a great life, even.. but the feeling that I could just be doing so much more was just eating away at me."
"But.."
She gestures towards the front of the wagon, pointing a finger forward at the green expanse just outside of the wagon they were travelling in-- the Southern Reach.
"That's when I remembered this place. A place that's only now getting back on it's feet, with people pouring in.. developing towns, settling down, all that.. and it just clicked. That might be it. Getting over there and establishing myself, proving myself while the land is still young.. maybe, just maybe.. I can make something happen."
...
She finally turns back to the old woman, looking her in the eyes. She gives a tired, but genuine smile.
"..Well, I atleast hope I can. Sincerest apologies for talking your ear off, miss."
—
Character Name: Esenyn Odtsetseg
Character Race: Fey-Touched
Character Age: 23
Brief Physical Description: Standing at 4'11, Odtsetseg is a short and stocky type, with her lineage giving her solid rose eyes and thick, rocky scales across her arms. With her job as an aspiring blacksmith, she's more often than not wearing clothing befitting her profession-- most prominently a reinforced black leather apron adorned with a few tools.
Image of Skin and Figura Model: (This is mostly a placeholder, I expect to change it sometime..)
