OOC
Minecraft Username: DocterDuck.
Are you at least 18 years old?: Yes.
Have you read the rules? (Link): Yes.(Optional) How did you hear about Avalore?: I saw it in a dm Ccarkus sent me like several months ago.(Max. 1) Were you referred by someone? If so, please provide their in-game username: Ccarkus.
(Optional) Introduce yourself if you’d like, as well as any creations you want to share (e.g. art, builds, skins): Heyo, I'm DocterDuck. Been rping for like 8ish years at this point. I've made a variety of characters around the place on a bunch of different servers and done some creative writing on the side. That's pretty much it.
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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)? (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?)
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They swiped their eyes over at the woman, their gaze holding with a hint of shock at their friendliness. The pioneers weren't the best people to be stuck around on the trip. Fixing a rusted, muddied helmet back against their face, they marched forth a few steps. They spoke rather loosely, their voice chugging off with a stern, played-up amount of seriousness;
"Seen 'nough Walljacks swamps. About time I revel in some actual opportunities for once.. y'know?"
They paused, their gaze lifting up skyward for a moment. They almost clicked their fingers together, only to realize they were adorning thick, leathery gloves that solidified around their hands. The mud and water inside the fabric bound to their skin, dampening and hardening in tandem. They paced over a bit, shaking their head aside;
"Ever heard of the.. Lady of the Lake? She- well. She's got something with honour. Parents told me 'bout it growing up, got into some knighthood fantasies."
He gestured towards his beat-up, broken down suit of shite that he was wearing, before posturing back towards the older woman;
"Point being, I'm here to make an Oath for 'er. At some point. Consider it conquest... maybe I'm- crazy. Dehydrated. Ate a worm."
They glanced back behind themself, carrying an eye over towards the departing wagon, before rubbing a hand over the visor of their helmet. They were a bit interested in the Portents, more than any honour at this point. The witches, the power, and the wishes. It was what they deemed truth, what they deemed so miserably desirable that they stowed away on some false pilgrimage to wherever they were now. They should have left for somewhere like the Valkan Realm or Fallstone, they thought privately. Yet. hey wanted that power, even if it meant getting every disease known to sentient kind. They wanted their power easy, somewhere they believed it was more than possible. This Reach;
"Well... off to do the Lady's work. Good meetin' you- I'll be off towards the Midlands in a while. Feels like home. Any whom, fort now... I'm going to find somewhere to take a damn nap."
Character Name: Solormandre d'Ancator.
Character Race: Human (Walljack).
Character Age: 30.
Brief Physical Description: The man stands at around 5'11'', with a bulker physique. His hair is muggy and tangled, elongated like some deranged wild-man, with its messy black plopped onto his shoulders. His ears rounded, his face gaunt with the chin drawn down into an almost forced frown usually. His eyes are green, his body bulked and flesh fairly pale. Wrinkles from stress and exhaustion wrapped around his body, alongside several bits of scarred tissue from his jaunts out across the land. He is usually seen coating much of his features down in scrapped armor or some debris.
