OOC
Minecraft Username: Aguila16
Are you at least 18 years old?: Yes
Have you read the rules? (Link): Yes
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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)?
Mulrath simply stays quiet and ignores the woman's attempts at communication. With his arms crossed over before him, and his helmet on, his whole aura is one of closedness and apathy, perhaps to be confused with ignorance or self-absorption; for the helmet covers his every human expression.
"Well come on, dear," she insists after a brief pause, "you look like you have an interesting story, with all that armor on you!"
Mulrath keeps silent for a few more seconds after that, looking down at the ground between his feet over the floor of the moving cabin, as if reminiscing.
"Mmhh..." he finally answered, "... miss, you want a pleasant trip?"
The woman furrowed her brow, "Certainly, why?"
Mulrath sighed, his tone as heavy as his words. "Then don't ask about my story."
"You think I can't take it? I know I look young, but I was patching up dying warriors when your mom was breastfeeding you." she answered, still with a kind and concerned tone in her voice, and a hint of humor, "I'm no stranger to blood and tragedy. So what's weighing on you?"
Mulrath stayed silent for a moment, his jaw tight. Her calm but firm tone—it reminded him of someone. Someone he might’ve trusted, once. Against his better judgment, he began, voice clipped. “Mom? Never met her.” He paused, his hand reaching into his pouch to pull out a small, half-carved wooden figure and a knife. His hands worked as he continued, the words coming cold and even. “I was born, next thing I know my father’s got me out in the snow, chopping wood in the dead of winter.”
The knife scraped against the wood, the sound filling the air. “Didn’t last long. Bastard sold me to a pack of Ashland outfits. Needed booze more than a son.” His voice dropped, sharp as a blade. “Hated me for killin’ her.”
The woman’s face softened, but she didn’t interrupt, letting the silence sit until he spoke again.
“Spent twenty years gettin’ pushed around. Used. Beaten.” His eyes stayed down on the carving. “Then the Spirit came to me.”
She raised an eyebrow. “The ‘Spirit’?”
Mulrath exhaled sharply, then pulled off his glove, holding up his hand. The dark emblem of the Fire Dragon glared back at her from his skin. He didn’t wait for a reaction, slipping the glove back on with deliberate movements.
“Hmmh. Made me strong,” he said simply, voice distant but firm. "Enough to kill a fuckin' devil."
"What do you mean, 'a devil'?"
"Wailing nighthound. My first hunt. I was a kid. Got too close to it. Thought I was dead. Hell, I was near enough to death to feel it. But I survived... got its head.” He exhaled slowly, like the memory still stung. “Some people thought I was a fuckin' hero. Gave me a coin... So I started beatin' things to a pulp for a livin'. And I became damn good at it.”
Character Name: Mulrath Wolvenskar
Character Race: Human
Character Age: 38
Brief Physical Description:
A true aberration of mankind, Mulrath is practically a beast within a man’s body, standing tall and wide at some 6'7. Usually fitted with full armor set and a steel helmet which covers his face, he truly does never talk, often his most satisfying answers being vague sounds.
