OOC
Minecraft Username: Elysiatic
Are you at least 18 years old?: Rapidly approaching double. ((yes))
Have you read the rules? (Link): Yes
(Optional) How did you hear about Avalore?:
(Max. 1) Were you referred by someone? If so, please provide their in-game username:
(Optional) Introduce yourself if you’d like, as well as any creations you want to share (e.g. art, builds, skins): Filling in optional content? Sounds like I get to save myself some busywork.
—
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?)
—
The middle-aged man, calloused hands and a permanent half-grin on his bloated late-stage-alcoholic 'face' hardly responded to the kindly old woman. Though his cheeks were red and the bags under his eyes totes. he carried that typical Midland-Valk swagger in the way he *didn't* move. In fact, his blood-shot eyes were permanently afixed on a horizon he probably couldn't quite make out in the first place. A rebellious attitude, inherited from his Walljack mother, he supposed. Or rather, he didn't suppose. He had long stopped supposing any sort of thing. That was not the type of person he was nowadays. His life was strict routine. Not of swordmanship or adventure or any such befuddling suicidal behaviour, but of turnips and taverns. First he'd go to the fields to turn the turnips for any lord that needed them turning, then he'd go to the tavern to spend any of his not-particularly-hard-earned money as soon as possible. They couldn't tax what he had already consumed after all. The middle-aged dissapointment of a man didn't have many principles, but hating taxes was certainly one of them. "Don't like em, you know. I just don't like em at all." he said aloud, revealing to the old woman that he had no intentions of listening.
He had, though, been listening, and added to that previous statement, briefly losing the volition to refrain: "I remember my first time alright. It was fucking good and it's none of your business. Unless you have wine or anything else to help me not remember what I am and who I wanted to be by tomorrow, it's best we keep this trip silent. I've a hangover heavier than all the bricks in the Spire."
Character Name: Harold (no surname. He didn't need one where he came from)
Character Race: Human -- Nua Sidhe
Character Age: 46
Brief Physical Description: Human with a beard, probably, depending on the day and if he hates having a beard or not. He has green eyes, can't change those, so even though he hates them they are going to be green. He also hates his stature being so middle-of-the-road and unbardic in nature. He wanted to be more bardic. This might explain his tendency to play dress-up when, really, this man was just the trash of the world that needed stepping on; a bloody no-good alcoholic self-hating peasant with no sense of honour or loyalty or whatever.
You know the feeling. Sometimes you kind of just don't want to be human and would prefer to return to fish. Harold is the embodiment of that.
