And this one.

Claiming this one for later.

  Malum   Nobody knows from whence he came A man, a beast, a malevolent spirit of the wild Crawled out from the murk and the rot Stinking of corpse-flesh and wreathed in bone What Evil Hails From The Valleys North      RUN AWAY, I WANT TO RUN AWAY    (Not my artwork. Placeholder. Original by 'Euphidyce'. I cannot find their socials.) Age : 24 Race : Human Height : 5'11" - 180cm Pronouns : He/they/it Culture : Vague. Speculated to be a Jack. Sexuality : Vague. Uninterested. Feminine company leaning.  Alignment : Chaotic Neutral(stupid) Affiliation : Anarchist Beliefs : 'We believe only in what we can taste.' Malum (Evil, Wrong) | Lavelle ([of] The Valley Voice : Mikee Goodman ___________ Malum can be described simply as a feral man. He cares little for presentation to the outside world beyond what he himself wishes to make of himself. He makes a large majority of his own clothing from hides, bone, and salvaged wares. His jewelry such as the necklace adorned with a rat's skull he wears (He calls it 'Vern') and the beads in his hair are hand crafted from wood, twine, and bone. Each adornment carries with it some form of significance or memory. He strongly dislikes wearing shoes or any footwear unless the weather is unbearably cold. Malum has youthful features that are masked entirely by the grime and weathering of his lifestyle. His complexion is cracked and dry like his skin was made of pale leather, particularly around his lips which take on a slightly purplish hue. His eyes are most often hidden by his long wild hair but when revealed are wide eclipses of darkness, pitch black irises that are barely differentiated from his pupils. In conjunction with his somewhat gaunt features he has quite the haunting visage. He has very long straw-like blonde hair that covers his eyes while the back reaches beyond his waist. It is frayed, unkempt, Lice ridden, and has the texture of horse hair. He will sometimes braid it but often wears it straight with handmade beads threaded throughout his bangs and the sides of his hair. His teeth are by far the most noticeable feature from a distance. As while he still forms the typical grin of a Jack his is far less comforting, further accentuated from it being one of the only indicators of his mood visible at any given time. His cracked and dry lips framing a maw of teeth that belong more at home on a hyena then a man. His breath smells of rotting meat to those who stand too close.  Generally followed by a miasma of earthen stench. Wood-rot, masked only slightly with strong herbal smells like he had rolled around in a bed of spices, along with the natural musk of sweat and leather. ___________   Likes: Eating. Gnawing. Weapons and tools (for play and hunting). Dancing. Fire. Most animals. Scrimshaw and 'vulture culture' forms of art. Respect. Generosity. 'Glinty ones' (Figures, often Knights, in suits of armor.)   Dislikes: Being still for too long. Talking for too long. Feeling hungry. Mercenary figures. Water. Small and noisy dogs. Things that smell weird to him. Arrogance and pomp. Things he does not understand quickly. Jail. Locked doors/windows.   Character inspirations: Krieg (Borderlands), Inosuke (Demon Slayer), Power (Chainsaw Man), Thorfinn (Vinland Saga), Jin Enjoji - Evil Eye (Dandadan), Rudo (Gachiakuta) ___________     [PLAYLIST]  

OOC Minecraft Username: THE_PRECURS0R Are you at least 18 years old?: Ayup. 25. Have you read the rules? (Link): Yup! (Optional) Were you referred by someone? If so, who: Neji101 (Optional) Introduce yourself if you’d like, as well as any creations you want to share (e.g. art, builds, skins): Howdy howdy. People call me many things but I mostly go by Storm or PRECURSOR. Most folks will know me by the latter in the MCRP community. I've bounced in and out of the space for many countless years.  — 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)? (150 words minimum - please make sure to include some references to our lore in your response!) Nervous was a word for it. That feeling pulling at the fibers of his being sending a tingle through his spine at each thought that sparked a frazzling light of anxiety in his mind. They came in waves, like the wind pushing against his misty features as it rolled over the hills and through the grass of the plains, crashing through the open flap in the wagons tarp. And just as they came, they fizzled away in the sheer excitement of it all. He smiled. How exhilarating this was to not smell the salt of the Mist Isles. To breath the air of the Southern Reach was refreshing. Trading familiar waters for uncharted lands, this was the taste of the unknown. Of discovery for ones lot in the world. He takes it in with one deep breath before the half-fey let his words out, golden eyes directing to the kindly woman.  "Oh - where ta start? There's too much ta say, really."  He folded his hands, one atop the other.  "My Grand-pop. He had a lotta' crazy dreams for 'is children. And 'is grandchildren. Mosta' them had ta do with findin' a life outside of the Isles. Seeking destiny. That's what he wanted to do with 'is life in 'is twilight years, anyhow." He fiddles with a golden band on his wrist, engraved with the motif of the Siren Serene. The innumerable charms that hung from it jingle faintly like soft bells, each a reminder of a song, a tale, or a dream. "Aye. Wanted ta do what he couldn't. And what ma' brothers wont. And ma' father didn't... For 'is sake, I picked myself a dream. And chased it here."  He couldn't help but laugh, his nose crinkles up and his cheeks rise.  "Afraid the ol' man might've cursed me, seeing as how it sounds so daft coming from my mouth now! Chasin' imaginary things like it's all siren-song. But we've made it this far, Aye? No sense givin' into the nervousness now." Llewellyn gives a toothy grin as he settles with his conviction, passing the time with more chatter to the old woman or perhaps just humming seafaring songs to himself to fill the coming hours. Embracing whatever the tides would carry him to in the coming days. — Character Name: Llewellyn Golos Requiem Character Race: Half-race - Arsa-Sidhe/Fey-Touched (Wetlands) Character Age: 28 Brief Physical Description: Llewellyn is a curious individual. In Sirensong he was often teased not only for being a bit of a flimsy individual, but also for his complexion which earned him the name "Golos the Ghost" For his snow white skin and platinum blonde hair. The only mark that distinguished him growing up was his golden-yellow eyes that shined like a lighthouse in the fog. Nowadays, in his young adulthood, he attempts to distinguish himself by keeping his straight hair trimmed neatly above the shoulders, bangs pulled back into a knot at the back showing off his very pointy ears. His sides are shaved and artificially colored with black ink. At times shaving sea-faring motifs and patterns into the sides like waves or more abstract patterns. He has some faint scaly texture to his upper eyelids, up to his temples, and also across his arms that shine with pearlescent hues. He also tends to decorate himself with golden jewelry such as earrings or a charm bangle he keeps on his right arm. He's just cutting 6'2" and is fairly slender, generally unfit for labor.