OOC
Minecraft Username: BobbieSpritz
Are you at least 18 years old?: Yes
Have you read the rules? (Link): Yes
(Optional) How did you hear about Avalore?: Referrals from some long-term friends.
(Max. 1) Were you referred by someone? If so, please provide their in-game username: MCCookie333, Tidepod
(Optional) Introduce yourself if you’d like, as well as any creations you want to share (e.g. art, builds, skins):
I'm Bobbie, thanks for checking out my Whitelist Application. I'm an on and off creative writer and an even more sporadic Minecraft roleplayer, but I enjoy the outlet it gives me to think creatively rather than quantitatively, which is something I do often in my real life.
—
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)? (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?)
It took the woman a moment to bring herself out of the world of the well-loved novel she clutched in her hands; dog-eared pages, lines inked along the margins suggest that she was revisiting a story.
A half smile played upon her lips as she looked up to her fellow traveler then, emerald gemstones lovingly set in her visage twinkling upon acknowledgment.
“Greener pastures, I suppose. Though, that does feel quite contradictory, as-” She chuckled, glancing over her shoulder behind them, a forest now marked with the brand of civilization, the road their carriage tread on. “-Nothing has yet to compare to those Falstoner fields I once called home.”
Pocketing the tome within the folds of her cloak, she leaned against the wagon wall, taking a deep inhale of the shared breath of the travelers haphazardly sitting together, before exhaling.
“A more practical answer lies within my skills - or more so, their diminishing growth. I’m a healer - a quite capable one, I’d be willing to argue.” She interlaced her hands in front of her, palms facing outwards to give them a gentle stretch.
“There isn’t much pain and suffering out in the countryside. Babies are born, children get colds, farmers break their bones - and eventually lay themselves down with their crops, to keep nourishing them after their deaths.” She pauses for a beat, thinking about her comfort with the cyclical nature of it all. She shifts in her seat, adjusting the folds of her cloak over her chest once more.
“Even our caravans mark the same routes every year - and every time I visit those same posts, there’s this unsettling level of content for such… such mundanity.” The thought of mundanity appeared contradictory, considering her striking, otherworldly gaze, now fixated on the floorboards beneath her shoes.
“Meanwhile, we tend the land alongside the mysterious Fey, the mystical - yet we’re afraid to break bread with them, to take a chance on the good tidings they could bring into our homes, even if we don’t give them our name.”
“And, for heavens’ sake, the only time anyone seems to look up from their painstaking, backbreaking work is on Faerie’s Eve, when we all turn our gaze upwards towards the sky, watching those damned lanterns float away, with the rest of our hopes and dreams.” A small huff escapes her lips then, followed by the smirk of a trickster, almost.
“Well you know what my secret was, what I wished into existence this very Faerie’s Eve?” She looked up, grinning then. “It was to leave it all behind. To take my skills elsewhere, and test how these steady hands would fare in holding the fates of others. I caught wind that folks were gathering by the Spire, like moths to flame, if flame were a sharp, jutting thing.” She punctuated the air, as if to emphasize the bold nature of this mystical landmark. “Wouldn’t it be fascinating to become a part of that thing?”
Ophelia, though cloaked in dull, unassuming colors, spoke with great grandeur - never quite leaning into delusions, but rather with distinct hope, for the future. Looking back to her right, the elder seemed to have dozed off, probably quite bored of many variations of the story of the well-meaning protagonist, hoping to do good in a world of other, idiosyncratic protagonists.
Fiddling with her copper curls, she settled back into her own, special state of content, lulled back to silence within the familiar, steady rhythm of the wheels and the carriage beating against the winding thoroughfare.
—
Character Name: Ophelia of Falstone
Character Race: Half Human, Half Fey-Touched (Woodland Descent)
Character Age: 24 Years
Brief Physical Description:
Ophelia is a sunkissed woman hailing from the wide south-eastern fields of Falstone, where she grew up training as a caravan medic under the wide skies. Her kind yet well-worn appearance contradicts her youthful wonder for the world beyond her own. She is often dressed in linens with a well-worn apron holding her medicinal kit and a small paperback novel to keep her company. Her flowing red curls are complemented by her most striking feature - those emerald eyes, jewels embedded into her visage.
