OOC
Minecraft Username: Corndizzy
Are you at least 18 years old?: Yes
Have you read the rules? (Link): Yes
(Optional) Were you referred by someone? If so, who: thiefclass
(Optional) Introduce yourself if you’d like, as well as any creations you want to share (e.g. art, builds, skins): Hi, I'm Corndizzy (or Corndog). I'm a classical musician and fan of all things sci-fi/fantasy.
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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!)
The young man glances up from the wood grain that was holding his attention, a hair too quick to seem comfortable. One of his tough, sinewy hands reaches up to smooth the hair back out of his eyes, while the other moves to tuck his belongings more securely behind his legs, as if the notion of being spoken to implied he was taking up too much space. After a moment, the woman's words register, and he speaks in a quiet tone, "Not much to tell. No doubt you've heard the stories in the Midlands. Opportunity. Wilderness. Freedom. 'Adventure'. Somewhere to carve out a slice of this world for yourself." His words betray several things. First, and most noticeably, is that the young man is a terrible liar. The way he practically spat out the word 'adventure' was obvious enough to tell that he doesn't put much stake in that idea. In his pronunciation, while his accent is definitely Valkian, there is an unmistakable affectation of Northern Common.
The lie appears to weigh on him. Whether she intends it or not, the woman's gaze rankles that guilt. "Or, well..." He hesitates. "Where I'm from, war comes early, and takes the young with it. I'm not interested in dying over a line on a map. And the battle drums don't reach the air here."
His pupils turn back down to the floor of the wagon. He has closed himself off again. He wonders if the woman saw the weathered blade he surrendered to the wagon owner's safekeeping. He wonders if she, or anyone else, saw the faint emblem of the Valkian Realm on its scabbard, worn away by time and the grinding wheels of war with the North.
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Character Name: Arain of Windbank
Character Race: Human
Character Age: 23
Brief Physical Description: Arain stands at an average height, with the build of someone who has worked fields since he could walk, thin but tough. His dark hair, which could reach near to his neck, is kept slicked back by sweat and grease, barely keeping the young man from seeming completely unkempt. He could use a shave, though his facial hair is not nearly a beard yet. His clothing is simple, a cream colored linen shirt with rolled sleeves, and faded trousers that may have once been a fairly vibrant orange. He bears no visible scars on his body or face, though his left ear is notched as if it was struck by an arrow. His face is narrow, and his smile slightly crooked.
