Minecraft Username: Roudium Are you at least 18 years old?: Yes Have you read the rules? (Link): Yes(Optional) How did you hear about Avalore?: From my friends(Max. 1) Were you referred by someone? If so, please provide their in-game username: stqted (Optional) Introduce yourself if you’d like, as well as any creations you want to share (e.g. art, builds, skins): I am Roudium, I have been building on minecraft for a long time, at one point professionaly for the minecraft marketplace, currently I am working on a recreation of the world of middle earth by JRR Tolkien in minecraft (visit ArdaCraft.me!)  — 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?”"Oh." he blurted out, raising his head and straightening his back to meet her gaze, "I-" He paused for a moment. "-I guess just for the weather...?" He tried straightening his posture more, to poorly resemble a once proud sailor and navy doctor. Remembering the days he meant something to people, with rank, stature, and respect."Maybe... for work?" he said softly, not realising he was still speaking out loud. He had been 'jumping puddles' for a few decades now, going from one town to the next, earning his stay with helping out locals with the common illness, the occasional broken arm from a tavern brawl or open gash from a recent fight outside the town walls.'Why were they fighting again?' the thought of a couple of young kids raising steel against each-other outside Caz-On-Bord crossed his mind for a moment, He thought 'Gold? Honour? Fables??' Ugh.. the Fables. The endless babbling of holy workers and clerics over wounded soldiers, sick children and ill elders on their deathbeds. He found, in his line of work, that the gods don't stop an open gash or a poisoned stomach. A well placed tourniquette and carefully selected herbs do it. He had spent a year in Caz-On-Bord after catching a merchant ship coming back after unloading a silver shipment, having heard about a minor plague infecting dock workers. After helping out as much as he could, finding the place a bit too crowded, seeing a few too familiar faces from his past in Sirensong he eventually left."Or maybe I'll find something else..." he lowered his head, staring at the rough boards of the cart beneath him. He slowly put his hand on the tattered blue sash around his waist, thinking back to that night.Clear, calm waters carrying 'Ocean strider' his tiny-freshly painted craft from Sirensong to the west with the dimming lights of the town behind him. Images of him and his close friends working on building this vessel, with hopes of being able to sail all the way to the Ashlands, Maybe further.Full of hope and quite a bit of ale. Truly believing in his heart, that after years of service to the Mistan navy, the wind will carry him to greatness, and in a few short months he will be able to return home and reunite with his family, singing songs of the Siren Serene and finally completing this rite of passage.Of course, that never came to be. A storm found him a week out into the open sea. He was stranded for three days on a tiny rock north of Eryndor, until a merchant ship heading to Marionport spotted him. Even the thought of coming back home, beaten and bruised, cast aside by the same spirits that he once believed will lead him to his destiny, that thought made him sick.Though, he did come back. Having to eventually face his community like that, like a rat caught on rigging lines of a ship, soaked with seawater and shivering. He truly could not face almost anyone during that time, of grief and anger. That anger seemed to fill his head again. Why would he be cast aside and thrown against the gravely shores by the Siren? Like a piece of driftwood, unwanted. The same anger started fizzling out and turned into sadness and shame. After a few months of not being able to leave his own home, he took the next ship heading east to the midlands.What is he even looking for at this point? "You know", he looked back at the lady sitting across from him "I'm not entirely sure myself..." 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. — Character Name: Ferren Character Race: Human Character Age: 49  Brief Physical Description: A tall (about 180 cm) sun worn salt and pepper hair, olive skinned taller human, wearing semi tattered clothes. An unkept beard, and silver blue eyes. The only semi noteworthy points of interest on his person are his military blue sash connected to his time in the Mistan navy, and his heavy worn boots, also from the same origin.  Image of Skin and Figura Model: