OOC
Minecraft Username: Dimonok_
Are you at least 18 years old?: Yes
Have you read the rules? (Link): Yes
(Optional) How did you hear about Avalore?: Found while searching for rp servers.
(Max. 1) Were you referred by someone? If so, please provide their in-game username: No
(Optional) Introduce yourself if you’d like, as well as any creations you want to share (e.g. art, builds, skins):
I am Dimonok, pretty standard gamer with "nerdy" interests like DnD, roleplay, and many different videogames. Have played on one other server for about four years until start of this year before and am now looking for a new world to explore.
—
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?)
(Only for this exercise will I write little responses from the old woman to make the ramblings and topics more fluent. I would never powergame in real rp.)
My head, lead by the bright orange eyes, only turns slowly to the woman, looking like my thoughts are still looking elsewhere. Only when the other passengers, turned away or sleeping under their caps, stay quiet, do I fully realize that she is talking to me. As if surprised my hand shoots up, grabbing my cap to lift in polite greeting but forgetting the paper's under it, now sliding out around my head. My other free hand jumps up, trying to catch all the papers while I press the cap against my chest to not let more fall out. "Ah-h! Excuse me..." My face may be pointed towards the woman but my eyes are everywhere but her face, trying to spot all the little papers. One, a crude drawing of a simple woodhouse with a wheat farm and a small forest further away, my old family home in Crossroads, Fallstone, gets stuffed into the cap. "I mean... who wouldn't want to visit the Spire. ... ?"
The woman's smile doesn't waver as she keeps her eye roll back. The youth and their cop out answers. "Oh, so a little holiday travel?" Why hide her sarcasm when she has the old lady charm? "But wouldn't the Realm have had more monuments to visit? Mhm?"
The papers are just stuffed into the cap as I slowly set it back onto my head, now finally able to take a real look at her. And seeing the patience and kindness in her eyes made it no bit easier to come up with a good answer. "Well... I might have run away from there... just a tiny bit." - "My parents sent me there to work and learn under some trading partners. Said I should strive for more like a metal tradesman than just the family farm." How could I lie to an old lady lie this? But even then, telling the truth still made me nervous. My eyes already sliding elsewhere again while my arms laid over each other, slightly scratching on my scales, the memories made my body start to become nervous. "Turns out the people there really believed all this Fey-Touched bringing bad luck very much so. Tried my best to work for years but having to gamble in alleys to get food money works only so many years. At some point I got why the Falstoner left to create their own nation. And some of my last crowns went into buying this seat."
"No one buys their escape randomly, dear. There were a lot of wagons. Go on, those other old scraps don't care about your sob-story." She snickered a bit, feeling rather protected from her status of being a harmless old woman.
"...My sister always enjoyed the rumors about the spire from wanderers and traders that visited our home town. Said she would someday go and climb it. And when I heard more rumors about it in the Realm's alleys it started to paint this different picture. How could a whole culture hide this thing and then just disappear? A-Am I crazy for thinking people should want to build a wall around it? We already passed one big wall, so they definitely can do it. Does everyone just want to leave the risk?" As my ramblings turned more monologue like, my head wiped from side to side, some of the papers corners trying to wiggle out from under the cap.
Even the old woman takes a moment to think. The answer was not that hard, but she was less interested in the topic of risk and more why this boy went against his own worries. "Dear, oh dear. So you are looking to find your sister? Or preparing a welcome for her?"
As I looked back at the woman's face and I was just about to answer, the wagon climbed over some rocks, jolting all the passengers. Two papers slipped out again, not being properly secured in the cap. One with a handprint, smaller than my own, and the other a crude drawing of a tall building that does not properly catch the true size of what the rumors could only try to capture. Picked up by the wind, the papers started to fly out the open back of the wagon. I don't have enough time to think, to debate what to do, before my body just slightly jumped, my fingers tightly closing around the handprint paper while the old woman and me watch as the other paper flies to somewhere my arm can't reach.
—
Character Name: Rey Racht
Character Race: Fey-Touched (wetland/river)
Character Age: 27
Brief Physical Description: At only about 157 cm tall, and around 48 kg heavy, Rey can be confused with a human's teenager's height. But the red hair, messy, knotted and only bound together at the end on his back, his orange eyes and the scales on his arm quickly give away his true origin. From beneath his cap and inside the few pockets on his worn worker clothes do the corners of many different papers stick out. His scales show marks of routine scratching, his back always slightly buckled making him look even smaller, with pale rose skin and his mouth waiting until he is sure he can smile, he paints the picture of an unsure and slightly malnurished worker boy who had seen better days.
