Pilot™
Villager
| ________________________________________ {Introduction Section} Minecraft Username: Diesel_TM Age: 23 Country & Timezone: CLST Read the Kings Law, Code of Conducts, Official Lore, and the Player Guides?: Yes Define Metagaming & Powergaming?: Metagaming: The use of OOC resources/information during a IC scenario. Powergaming: When an action goes above and beyond the limits of one's characters or the scenario's reality. Do we allow Xray mods or X-Ray texture packs?: No Tell us about yourself!: I'm a pretty chill dude. Johnny Silverhand is my spirit animal. ________________________________________ {Character Section} Character Name: Vann Richthofen Age: 25 Race: Half-Spawn Appearance: The figure of Vann moved throughout the vicinity in nearly perfect symmetry. On their right hand, the hilt of a Zweihander resides steadily, its massive 6’1 blade leaning against his shoulder as the plates of his armor clunk against each faintly as small body motions were made. Vann presented sharp and well-defined humanoid facial features followed by gleaming blonde hair and a singular golden eye that reflected a somewhat sharp look, the other side of the coin of course, lacked signs of life in the form of a scar. Over the twenty-five-year-old's right shoulder, a crimson half-cloak would hide any other armaments from the eye of the beholder. Written Test (Min: 400 words): Here's a snip from an old one. . . Massive displays of force make the walls of Himmelsrand shake. With a screech of tortured glass, a mounted figure falls through the glass dome, crashing into the marble floor. The ground shatters into a million pieces. Splinters of stone flash across the hall like shrapnel. There, standing tall, resided the figure of *Redacted*, mounted on a Griffin. From his seat the Sterkite watches his warriors mill around in confusion. The walls and streets hold thousands of men, seasoned veterans, and all now panicking. He knows they are more frightened by his silence than by the enemy. They look to him for leadership and he can give them none. For the first time, the Sterkite knows despair. The magnitude of this defeat stuns him. Some of Himmelsrand’s greatest allies have fallen. *Redacted* is under the void's heel and the fallen surround what remains of the walls. Himmelsrand is falling. "Sire, what are your orders?" asks *Redacted*, Second in command of the Goldhunde Landsknechts and Vann’s apprentice. Embraced by the gold and dark *Redacted* plates she stands tall on top of the mighty Griffin, yet their armors now without lustre, dented in a dozen places and soaked in both friend and foe’s blood. The Sterkite doesn't answer. The moment he has always dreaded has arrived. Is my time over, he wonders. Is this where it all ends? Is this where I die? Even now, with the fallen Kapitänin's forces battering at the gate, he finds it difficult to believe that he has been betrayed. "Richthofen, what are your orders?" asks *Redacted*, General and King of the Vaedrian people. He stares at the Sterkite, yet once more he does not reply. So much will be lost. The grand library is in flames, history erased. The time of re-building is over. "Sire, what are your orders?" asks *Redacted*. He gazes at the Sterkite yet no answer follows. The Sterkite knows they rely on him for guidance. They think he can lead them out of this trap. They are wrong. The Fallen Kapitänin was laying siege to the place that she once called home. Schooled by a century of warfare. There will be only war. The Sterkite takes a stand and looks down on the faces of his allies, sees the trust written there, and feels the weight of responsibility. His singular eye now crawls towards the entire war machine spreaded out beneath him, and the pitifully outnumbered forces of Himmelsrand being mown down by the fallen hordes. "What are your orders, Sire?" The feminine figure on top of the Giffin asks again. “Comrades! - This is the moment of truth. you will not fear. You will not falter. You will not give a single step to the enemy. Although the golden throne of terror watches over the horizon, the Maiden’s hand is on your shoulders today. For every one of us who falls, ten more will take his place. Only in death does duty end. It is as she wills. Forward to victory, and for the glory of our future. . . No fear! - No hesitation!” |
