OOC Minecraft Username: Scylla Are you at least 18 years old?: Yes Have you read the rules? (Link): Yes(Optional) How did you hear about Avalore?: It'll be a story for another day ahah(Max. 1) Were you referred by someone? If so, please provide their in-game username: N/A (Optional) Introduce yourself if you’d like, as well as any creations you want to share (e.g. art, builds, skins): I dabble in a few roleplaying video games, such as Baldur's Gate 3 and Oblivion to name some of the recent ones, but when it comes to true roleplay, my experience is rather limited:I've played on a few roleplaying MC servers in the past (many many years ago), but would like to think that I evolved since then and am capable of engaging in and creating more interesting stories these days, so I would like to give this little hobby another shot. — 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?) I shift slightly on the rough wagon seat, fingers tracing the worn edges of the carved driftwood amulet that hangs at my neck. The sea breeze isn’t here to catch in my hair, nor the salt sting to kiss my skin, but I can almost feel it, the echo of it, in my bones. "My name is Sæla," I begin, my voice steady though soft, "from the Mist Isles, though I’ve not seen their shores for some seasons now. My father, a trader of the western routes, sent me here." My gaze drifts across the plains, watching a hawk wheel high overhead. "He said it’s time I know the lands as I know the seas. That it isn’t enough to read the currents or chart the stars. The Reach, he told me, has a rhythm all its own, and I’m to learn it." A small, wistful smile tugs at my lips, though my fingers still curl tighter around the amulet. "He taught me the ways of the ship: sails and rope, tides and temper. It’s expected, where I come from. In Mistan culture, you’re raised to know the sea like it’s part of you, an extension of your own hands. To not know a ship, to not feel at home on the water... it would be a quiet shame, like you’d lost something you should’ve been born with." I glance back to the woman, the warmth in her eyes almost enough to settle the ache in my chest. Almost. "I miss... her," I say softly, my gaze drifting somewhere far beyond the horizon, as if scanning the horizon for a glimpse of a ship’s mast. "Some say it’s a fable, a superstition told by old sailors to quiet restless hearts. But I know... I know. There’s a presence out there on the waves, watching, guiding, pulling at you when the fog grows thick and the stars vanish. I could feel her near, back on the sea." My voice lowers, almost as if in confession. "But here... it’s too still. Too quiet. I wonder if she’ll find me, out here among the plains." The wagon creaks on, the plains wide and waiting, and I sit quietly, the weight of the amulet heavy in my palm. — Character Name: Sæla Stormsdóttir Character Race: Human Character Age: 28 Brief Physical Description: Sæla has sun-kissed skin and dark hair that falls past her shoulders, often tied back in a simple braid. She has sea-grey eyes, and her hands are calloused from ropework. A driftwood amulet is always resting at her throat. Her frame is lean, shaped by a life of movement, and physical labour. She often wears practical, travel-worn clothes suited for long days under sun and salt.