OOC
Minecraft Username: o_mari
Are you at least 18 years old?: Yes, 20!!! (I turn 21 in September )
Have you read the rules? (Link): Yes(Optional) How did you hear about Avalore?: Friends :D(Max. 1) Were you referred by someone? If so, please provide their in-game username: MikaTheDrunk
(Optional) Introduce yourself if you’d like, as well as any creations you want to share (e.g. art, builds, skins): I am always tired and all of my characters are twinks. Sorry in advance
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?”
The boys’ eyes readjusted, glancing at the woman with a look of indifference. In his hand, a map laid out the contents of Southern Reach, along with small indentations of Ko’ram and the Mist Isles. Small notes of tourism dot the page in dried red ink. Seems like he had a fun time at Sirensong… little wispy souls were drawn coming out of the water.
“Got bored of my hometown, wanted to look for some kind of education–” The edges of the map started to fall limp, to which he quickly snapped the parchment back into place. “–and a life, which was requested.” He nodded to the two swords that rattled against his spine, bound by layers of twine. They looked ceremonial, almost like heirlooms.
“I was once interested in the Forgotten Ocean, but I fear my mind reconsidered. East is a prettier thought than West, is what I’m taught. Should never cross it unless you’re a seasoned sailor, at the minimum. That’s what everyone in Pyo says, anyway.”
His eyes finally peered away from the map's legend, having memorized all the ports and sailors' routes by memory. The Spire, in all its grandeur, forced his undivided attention.
“Never seen something that fucking tall… are you not-” Ah, he best mind his words around the old woman. “...Are you not bothered by something so enormous? Enough damage to the infrastructure and it is bound to lay waste to the entirety of the Southern Reach. Wouldn’t be surprised if it caused another Disappearance by collateral alone.” He remembered the old tales his mother often used to teach him about the Southern Reaches tragedies. Seems like he grew out of his nightmares, no longer afraid to one day disappear.
It was difficult to tell where he was looking, the only thing reflecting in his eye being the glint of the sun against a blackened sclera. He folded the map into a roll, fist acting as the ribbon that kept it bound. Seems he needed to hustle, watching the sun start to drift across The Spires peak. In its own way, it acted like a sundial for giants.
“Hope my ramble gave you some reminiscence, miss.” He nodded to the woman, but was he really looking at her?
Character Name: Vihn
Character Race: Half-Race | Arsa Sidhe & Fey-Touched
Character Age: 22
Brief Physical Description:
He stands at 5’8”, just under 147lbs. There’s no definition to his body as he's considerably stringy.
His skin is a more gauntish paleness with an undertone of indigo, overlaying what would've been a lively complexion. Scarrings or indentations have yet to break his skin, the only thing that compliments his image are sporadically dotted moles. They come in big and small, dotting his shoulders, finding themselves on the back of his legs, or under the elbows. Some threaten to creep up his chin, sitting just under the crest of his jaw.
Despite his palidity, he doesn’t have the hollow cheeks or sunken eyes to match. Full cheeks are complimented by a messy bowl cut across his forehead with a snub nose and bottom heavy lips. There’s a reflective glint where the shape of his eye rounds out where his pupil would’ve been, if not for the oily black depths enticing whoever may peer into them. Such is the eye of a Fey.
