OOC
Minecraft Username: ninble_
Are you at least 18 years old?: Yes
Have you read the rules? (Link): Yes
(Optional) Were you referred by someone? If so, who: Not really, but I saw a comment on a youtube video from one of your members (I believe) mentioning this server and thought it interesting
(Optional) Introduce yourself if you’d like, as well as any creations you want to share (e.g. art, builds, skins):
I'm Nin, I'm an animator currently studying games art and design. I'm super into both illustration and writing, with experience in both in a professional capacity.
I hope to get along with everyone :D
—
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 artist looked up from her sketch, pushing her large glasses up her nose. If one looked to the girls back, they would notice a pack bulging at the seams with anything but the necessary tools for survival. It seemed this girl had not brought clothing, food or anything of true importance with her, instead opting for different types of rocks and rolls upon rolls of parchment.
"Nervous?" The girl was visibly puzzled.
"Not at all. Is that how I should be feeling? No, I'd say excited better fits the bill." The girl went back to her sketching.
Upon hearing the girl speak, the old woman recognized the familiar tone of the Mistan people, an upbeat sing-songy accent that makes it difficult to fully understand their emotions.
Suddenly the girl bolted upright, as if having seen a ghost,
"Oh my! I am so sorry, I ignored your other question! I have a bad habit of getting lost in my thoughts, I truly meant nothing by it." Despite her sing-song tone, this came across as entirely sincere. The woman let out a soft chuckle at the sight of the young elf's panic.
"I have always admired the landscape paintings that were on the walls of my father's study. He called the Reach 'a painter's dream'. Of course, I had to come here for myself when I came of age to make sure the old fool wasn't exaggerating again." The girl went quiet for a moment, taking in the scenery before her.
"He would always tell me stories of how he came across me. Bundled up in a basket in a tree, laughing as a bird tried to pull the twine out from beneath me. He couldn't in good conscious leave me, so he grabbed the basket and set out to find my parents. Alas, it would seem he never achieved that goal..."
Despite this heavy tale, the girls expression never darkened. It was almost as if she didn't care to find her real parents at all, simply revelling in the beautiful scenery as it passed.
—
Character Name: Alara Mévouiret
Character Race: Arse Sidhe, though her adopted father is a human native to the Mist Isles.
Character Age: 18
Brief Physical Description: Alara is 5'8 with a build that could only be described as lanky. Despite her shorter stature (for an elf), her arms and legs are longer than most.
She wears round glasses that are a little too big for her face, and her eyes have a deep red hue to them. Her hair is long, brown and often tied up in a bun or a pony tail. She likes to adorn her hair with different accessories. She has relatively fair skin, with a large deep red birthmark over her left eye and freckles across her entire form. She tends to dress in more comfortable, flowy pieces of clothing, not caring for fashion or beauty as much as most.
