OOC
Minecraft Username: Qwelled
Are you at least 18 years old?: Yes
Have you read the rules? (Link): Yes(Optional) How did you hear about Avalore?: On a Minecraft servers listing(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’m Qwelled, been doing roleplay off and on for a pretty long time now, and I’m down to try getting back into Minecraft roleplaying.
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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?)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.
Florence’s gaze remains fixed, unmoving, on the amorphous clouds overhead for several seconds. The chattering of those in the surrounding wagons blends together into a vague murmur, interrupted by the creaking of wood and dull thud of travel supplies hitting the edge of the cart as the wheel of the wagon crests a small rock along the path. Their gaze shifts in response towards the kindly woman, patiently waiting for an answer, as though her words weren’t enough to reach them without an accompanying physical shock.
“Oh. Well, there isn’t anything in particular.” Florence’s voice is monotone and dreary, the kind of voice that would put you to sleep should you try too hard to listen. “I was lying in a field outside Auclair. There are these red flowers that grow about an hour from the gates. If the wind blows hard enough, it looks like waves of fresh blood. Pretty, though, since it’s just flowers.” They turn their eyes back to the sky, blankly staring outward as they visualize the scene in their head as they recount it. “It was a little cloudier than today. The sun started setting, and the light made the clouds red, too. It felt like I was somewhere new.”
Florence knows they were leaving most of the story out. Lots of little reasons to find themself here, all piled up over time. The unpaved roads of the southwest edge of Auclair, where mud and dirt caked the boots of the poverty-stricken laborers calling the place their home, tracking into the crumbling bunkhouse Florence and their family called home. The dull, flavorless bread and pottage that made up both meals they ate, day after day. The toxic associations they’d built in their teenage years with some of the more disreputable types local to the community. Their brief stay in Mariza along the way convinced them life there would be much the same as it was before. To the question of why they’ve come here, the only answer is a vague feeling of looking for something new, but as for why they’ve left? There’s plenty.
With a glance over their shoulder to see if she’s still listening, Florence turns to face the kindly old woman, pulling their legs over the edge of the wagon they’d been dangling from and scooting forward to sit cross-legged in front of her. “This place has been mostly abandoned for fifty years, and no one’s come to take it yet. The swamp’s in the way, but Valkia could just send boats full of people instead. I don't think they're just scared of another disappearing act. Wherever they went, those elves didn't take anyone else with them. Those Walljacks are still here, and apparently no one south of the Wall even noticed they were gone at first. And most of the people that were alive back then are dead now anyway. I think, for some reason, they've decided they can't change the rules of this place to be more like home yet, so they're not sticking their nose in it. That means this place is still somewhere new."
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Character Name: Florence Laporte
Character Race: Human
Character Age: 24
Brief Physical Description: The most memorable thing about Florence is their dour expression. A gaunt, angular face, tired dark blue eyes, and expressionless voice all point to a deep-seated fatigue that’s seemingly become core to their being.
Florence stands at 5’6”, though usually compensates for their height with thick-soled shoes and insoles, adding two to three inches. Their slight frame and pale skin gives an appearance of fragility belying their surprisingly robust cardiovascular health. Florence’s straight brown hair is pulled taut across their scalp, all gathered to the back of their head in a high ponytail that reaches just above their shoulders.
Image of Skin and Figura Model:
