OOC
Minecraft Username: Veradite
Are you at least 18 years old?: Yeah, late 1900s elderly
Have you read the rules? (Link): Yes!
(Optional) How did you hear about Avalore?: A former place had several birdies (mostly Dee)
(Max. 1) Were you referred by someone? If so, please provide their in-game username: Deester
(Optional) Introduce yourself if you’d like, as well as any creations you want to share (e.g. art, builds, skins):
Hi! I'm Vera, Veradite, or whatever people come up with. I like nicknames. I am a life-long rper who occasionally does art. I have accidentally done a few pieces on this site, already. I am always open to a DM, but I warn everyone who may be interested that I can chatter quite a bit. I look forward to sticking my nose in the world--but I am tragically bad at memory, so if I forget something, please remind me. I try :')
In-Character
Read the following prompt:
The sound of clinking glasses and idle chatter welcome you in as you find yourself stepping into The Full Cask. An older man with a full mustache and warm smile beckons you over to the bar he's tending. His gazes washes over you, a glint of some knowing look shining in his eyes. As you sit, his voice rumbles out:
"Hello there stranger! What can I get for you?"
After you order, he continues to make small talk. "You must be a newcomer. I'm Maarten, glad to meet you." He says with a certain kindness in his tone.
"Tell me, what brings you to the Spire?"
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?)
Usage of AI to generate, modify or translate the writing on your application will result in denial of your whitelist. There will be no chance to re-apply afterwards.
Your Response:
There was a slight delay in every response, bodily or verbally. She had only spoken a single word, which was probably, 'ale,' as was the default heard in many such locations. The eyes were a sodden iris color, dragging across the scenery as though loaded with weights. They peered out from under a shaggy hood, evidently guarding ashen skin. When finally the woman had stopped absorbing her environment, her full attention was paid to the gentleman. "....Research," came her answer, though she squinted as though debating if this was rudely understating things. She had to work to press on, "For...where I'm meant. One must have an occupation, or....reasonable living." It was evident speaking did not come comfortably to her, whether by shyness or a hermitage she wore on her person. Like the protection of her hood, she wore a long-sleeved, patchy frock, and fingerless gloves--where skin was to be shown, she shielded. The gloves sparing her fingers gave evidence to a fire Fey-Touched, the black digits stark contrast to her face. She was paradoxical to herself in being a walking discomfort, as she was to (apparently) researching without being inclined to speak.
She blinked, slowly. The silence felt awkward for her, but by his countenance, she wondered if he really was that patient. It spurred her to keep divulging. "I am not cut from the same cloth as my mother's forebears. I did not find it...endurable to live as she did. The Fireborne are noble and capable, but I do not claim the same constitution to be a slayer of beasts." Her lips puckered momentarily, mulling her words. It took some time, but she vibrated a bit with what seemed an effort to not take so...painfully long. Again, she spoke, "But perhaps in coming to the Spire, I may find an academic path. I have a dream that the dragon's tongue may be recoverable. I am seeking any library records that may contain clues as to where to look." She halted again, only now noticing the ale she'd left untouched. She extended one hand initially, but it quaked, so she offered out the second to the task of handling her drink. Her lips twisted in embarrassment, but she took a single polite sip to pay compliment to Maarten's hospitality before rather quickly placing it back down. She tamped down a would-be cringe from the taste. Her arms returned to her sides, her hands withdrawing into the overlarge sleeves. "Perhaps I may start in a local bookstore. Have you any recommendations? Or even, have you any dishes I may wash in exchange for food? The Midlands were....easy to be lost in," she rambled a little, her tone dipping quieter in the end. Likely shame.
Again she stared, like waiting for a prompt to tell her when it was time to respond. In the meantime, something else dawned on her and she added in a blurted rush, "I am Ynesalith Tsuhara. I have been told my surname was to remember my father--he climbed the Maw volcano as a latent coming of age. That's how he met mother." A slow blink and pause. "I don't know him, but I heard he was charming."
Character Name: Ynesalith Tsuhara (Yi'nez-alith Soo-hara)
Character Race: Half fire Fey-Touched, Half Arsa Sidhe
Character Age: 23
Character Height: 5'6''
Brief Physical Description: Ynesalith is slight of build with long, bony-leaning fingers. She is typically seen smaller than she is, given her larger clothing meant to protect her skin (though this may be more of a hypochondriac tendency) dwarfs her a touch. The skin in question is ashen, leaning white--starkly contrasted by her black scales and fingers. Her scales are not so abundant as would be found in a full fire Fey-Touched, though still prominent. Her eyes are the solid of fey-touched, the color of an iris drenched by the rain. She is naturally a sort of sodden person, and it seems to have seeped into her being. At a glance, her tired eyes are the most immediate feature to be noticed. Upon closer inspection, her features are tidy, angular, yet somehow fragile--akin to a sad looking house cat. Her hair pokes out from beneath her hood, a cascade of black waves maintained in a bubble braid that reaches the thigh.
Image of Skin and Figura Model:
