WROOK [Will eventually be a drawing by Veradite or myself and not this semi-accurate Heroforge screenshot]   Name | Wrook (silent 'W', rʊk like 'book') Age | 22 Race | Arsa Sidhe/Mountain Fey-Touched Culture | Falstoner Rejecting   Appearance At first glance, he's not much to look at. One may most readily note the abyssal navy of the eyes. Upon closer inspection, his physicality seems to hold an undefinable tension. The lithe muscularity that shows limited strength but boundless potential. Rounded, warm features clash against a jagged and angular bone structure. The near-black of the hair hints at its true ruddy color only in the sunlight. The dead, raptor set of the eyes juxtapose above a mocking grin. It all combines to make him both plain and unsettling.  Story Contentment has always been an alien and unobtainable idea to Wrook. Growing up in one of the smaller, independent caravans certainly held its charms, but it was… lacking.  It didn't help that his mother's growing debts loomed over their lives. Her decision to become a small and insignificant part of the massive Star Seer caravan was the last straw. He knew he could do better. There were richer, freer lives out there to live. But first, he had to make good on a promise to himself. His mother had told him that his father was a travelling man of a different sort. He had a lot of stories and, due to his mother's hobby, a few old drawings of the man. The trail eventually led him to Ynes, an older half sister he had suspected was out there. He took her under his wing and now… he has a few ideas in the works. Relationships     --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- RP Philosophy  At the risk of giving some of the game away, I find it helpful to explain what I’m going for here. Wrook was conceived as a way to generate interesting inter-character dynamics. He’s intended to be an exploration of selfishness, cruelty, desperation, and identity. His actions will not be a reflection of any OOC feelings. That being said, we’re all here to have fun and rewarding experiences, so I will always try to keep that at the front of my mind. Despite what I’ve said, Wrook is a man who is written on the precipice of many different directions, so I’m excited to write an organic evolution! I will give my blanket consent for him to be attacked, maimed, perhaps killed. Please feel free to give him what he deserves. I promise I will never hold it against you. 

OOC Minecraft Username: GoldenBrainedP Are you at least 18 years old?: Yes Have you read the rules? (Link): Yes(Optional) How did you hear about Avalore?: Referral(Max. 1) Were you referred by someone? If so, please provide their in-game username: Veradite (Optional) Introduce yourself if you’d like, as well as any creations you want to share (e.g. art, builds, skins): — In-Character Read the following prompt: The sound of clinking glasses and idle chatter welcome you in as you find yourself stepping into The Full Cask. An older man with a full mustache and warm smile beckons you over to the bar he's tending. His gazes washes over you, a glint of some knowing look shining in his eyes. As you sit, his voice rumbles out: "Hello there stranger! What can I get for you?"  After you order, he continues to make small talk. "You must be a newcomer. I'm Maarten, glad to meet you." He says with a certain kindness in his tone.  "Tell me, what brings you to the Spire?"   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?)Usage of AI to generate, modify or translate the writing on your application will result in denial of your whitelist. There will be no chance to re-apply afterwards. Your Response: Slouching and ragged, Wrook waits for the ale to arrive before tilting up his head to respond. His dark, moonless-night eyes slowly peak from beneath a threadbare traveling cloak.  He clears his throat and rasps, "A carriage." He watches Maarten carefully and emotionlessly. The bartender opens their mouth to reply, but can't seem to decide how. Just as the awkward moment threatens to scare off his access to ale, the shabby man breaks the façade. He lets out a long breathy note and waggles a finger. "Ohhhh, I gotcha, I did! Just a jest, sir!" He chugs half the flagon, laughing into the drink. He watches as Maarten chuckles in turn, but he notes the subtle corner of eye-roll as the bartender bends down to grab a cloth. It doesn't bother him, but Wrook's snaggle-tooth smile doesn't make it above his mouth regardless. They are simply humoring each other after all, aren't they? "In truth, sir… I'm a tourist. Always been one, I'm afraid. Even in those Fallstone steppes where I was birthed. Had a good thing 'til we joined the Star Seers last Bazaar. Movin' and tradin' was fine… but too bloody big now." He keeps his pupil-less gaze fixed on the bartender as he speaks. When another patron distracts him with a refill, Wrook's hand shoots towards a newly-unprotected flagon to his right. He tips the remaining contents into his own, returns the emptied flagon, and leans in closer to the bartender.  "But hey! We've all gotta see the Spire, eh? People love a mystery. Mystery is opportunity. Lie and say you have an answer… like 'Oi, those daft Aedall didn't disappear, they're all stacked up in the Spire! Here's a bone!' You'll turn a couple heads, make a little coin, yeh. Find a real answer though? Oh, buddy-boy." He downs the flagon, drumming his free hand on the counter arrhythmically. Without looking, he gesticulates the flagon at Maarten before he can respond. "Every drunk here knows money and power are practically layin' about this wide world waitin' for someone to try and grab 'em without gettin' a sword for their trouble. As much as they'd boast, they don't have what it takes. They think money and power are their own ends. But I know they're just the stuff freedom is made of." Maarten raises his brows and nods distractedly. Wrook knows he's rambling. Acutely aware that the bartender is beginning to regret initiating this, he smiles to himself. "Freedom is everything, mate. True… real freedom. Aaanyway." He whips out a small, tattered page of a book folded into a square. "You get many Korami folk in here? Spooky, hardass elves I hear. Love fightin' and swords… talkin' with their hands sometimes." He unfolds the page as he talks, revealing a smudgy but competent charcoal drawing of an Arsa Sidhe man on one side. "Like this…but add a couple decades. Look familiar?" His expression doesn't flinch upon the bartender's eventual shrug. He nods his head a few times, then shakes it slowly. "Thought not. Not important." He slaps a couple coins on the bar and lets his smile slacken. He folds the picture back up and puts it away. "Thanks for the ale. Hope you have… just a great…" Wrook doesn't feel the need to finish, so simply stands up from the bar and heads towards the exit in what seems to be a purposefully aimless fashion. Character Name: Wrook (pronounced with a silent 'w', rʊk like 'book') Character Race: Half Arsa Sidhe, half Mountain Fey-Touched Character Age: 22 Character Height: 5ft Brief Physical Description: He has a small frame with a lithe muscularity, tanned skin, near-black hair that reveals highlights of ruddy brownish tones in sunlight, and wide-set inky navy blue eyes set in an expressive but plain face.  Image of Skin and Figura Model: