Mango
Villager
FiddlerShard
Minecraft Username: FiddlerShard
Age: 20
Country & Timezone: GMT-6
Read the Kings Law, Code of Conducts, Official Lore, and the Player Guides?: Yes
Define Metagaming & Powergaming?: Metagaming involves the usage of OOC knowledge within an IC setting, such as having a character immediately know the life behind someone else whose backstory is available OOC, even if their characters have never heard of each other before. Powergaming is the act of, inside a RPG setting, having a character whose every action leads to the maximization of a skill or the pursuit of a very specific goal; this can also be the actions within RP where a participant declares themselves (their character) above anyone else in terms of capacity or skill without room for discussion, or attempts to override other people’s actions and choices in a similar manner.
Do we allow Xray mods or X-Ray texture packs?: No
Tell us about yourself!: Wannabe Artist/Writer/Musician, fanatic of most things geek, avid player of videogames and lover of unfair game-balance (looking at you Dead Cells). Owner of a fat cat and several failed formicarium attempts.
Referral: By looking online for servers having the brewing plugin
________________________________________
Character Name: Thrandgar Hammerstone
Age: 37 years old
Race: Dwarf
Appearance: Standing at a "tall" 4'3ft, broad shouldered and thick all around, Thrandgar bears the characteristic bushy beard dwarvenkind is known for, its dark brown color matching the almost-bronze tan of his skin, a nose plump and bony protruding from it, his small eyes almost completely covered by similarly lush eyebrows. Outfit-wise, he often wears nothing fancier than stout-coloured boots, simple red pants, and a once-white shirt under a brown vest.
(Optional) Picture of the Skin: Attach on the thread
Written Test (Min: 400 words):
Thrandgar had been called many things over the years, ranging from the well-meant nicknames of people he'd work with, to the foul mouth-stenching words the Hargar he sometimes had the misfortune to meet; and regardless of how he felt at the frequency of such manners of referring to himself, he saw this as a sign of having been going down the right path in life.
"If you ever find yourself hated and loved, loathed and admired, you’re doing good” His father used to tell him. This had, of course, been said in the context of Thrandgar's father convincing his only son to pursue a career as a high ranking official so as to grant his father some inkling of political power, but he’d rather forget this specific nugget of information while gently brushing the few good mugs he had managed to keep on his decade of self discovery. The Duskhammer blood had long diluted in his family, and he'd make no effort to rekindle any dormant flame buried inside of himself.
Yes, he had been called many things, yet he had never before, in his memory and by someone outside of his close family, been called a child.
“What is a benbin like you doing manning the bar? Don’t you have some snot to clean from your mustache, boy?”
The gruffness of the voice, alongside a tone so deep it was practically a tribute to the caves beneath the crust of the world, immediately led Thrandgar to guess this individual making way into his bar was a dwarven of old, suspicion which was immediately proven right as he put down the mug and looked over to the door. There they stood, an impressive 5 feet tall, with a beard so thick, lustrous, and white it could have been easily confused with a fresh layer of winter’s snow, and a nose so twisted and reddened that it would have taken arduous years of drinking and fighting to come close to replicate even a fraction of its sheer presence. Even the way the dwarf walked towards the bar and sat down on a stool, with a mixture of lightness and weight that could have been easily seen in the armies of a great king, demanded attention and respect. Plus, whomever this greybeard was, the quality of their travel clothes pointed towards pretty coin, and pretty coin spoke louder than Thrandgar’s youthful rebellion.
“If oencle may allow me, I’d rather mention that a brewer’s skill is not determined by the gray of their beard, nor the rocks and stones in their bones, but instead by their skill alone. Wouldn’t you honor a fellow dwarf’s profession the same way were you in their mead hall or in their forge?”
His hands moving deftly as he spoke, Thrandgar pulled out from beneath the bar a thick-rimmed pint, the glassy surface presenting a tactile landscape of swirls, dots, and the glass-blower’s name somewhere on there (a long night of drinking with this same glass-blower had earned Thrandgar both this piece and the pleasure of forgetting the artisan’s identity, thus allowing him to keep the pint glass). He finished his small statement by holding the glass under the barrel behind him, pouring a generous amount of a strong, clear, golden lager, still smiling at the greybeard.
“Here you go, old man, on the house”
Age: 20
Country & Timezone: GMT-6
Read the Kings Law, Code of Conducts, Official Lore, and the Player Guides?: Yes
Define Metagaming & Powergaming?: Metagaming involves the usage of OOC knowledge within an IC setting, such as having a character immediately know the life behind someone else whose backstory is available OOC, even if their characters have never heard of each other before. Powergaming is the act of, inside a RPG setting, having a character whose every action leads to the maximization of a skill or the pursuit of a very specific goal; this can also be the actions within RP where a participant declares themselves (their character) above anyone else in terms of capacity or skill without room for discussion, or attempts to override other people’s actions and choices in a similar manner.
Do we allow Xray mods or X-Ray texture packs?: No
Tell us about yourself!: Wannabe Artist/Writer/Musician, fanatic of most things geek, avid player of videogames and lover of unfair game-balance (looking at you Dead Cells). Owner of a fat cat and several failed formicarium attempts.
Referral: By looking online for servers having the brewing plugin
________________________________________
Character Name: Thrandgar Hammerstone
Age: 37 years old
Race: Dwarf
Appearance: Standing at a "tall" 4'3ft, broad shouldered and thick all around, Thrandgar bears the characteristic bushy beard dwarvenkind is known for, its dark brown color matching the almost-bronze tan of his skin, a nose plump and bony protruding from it, his small eyes almost completely covered by similarly lush eyebrows. Outfit-wise, he often wears nothing fancier than stout-coloured boots, simple red pants, and a once-white shirt under a brown vest.
(Optional) Picture of the Skin: Attach on the thread
Written Test (Min: 400 words):
Thrandgar had been called many things over the years, ranging from the well-meant nicknames of people he'd work with, to the foul mouth-stenching words the Hargar he sometimes had the misfortune to meet; and regardless of how he felt at the frequency of such manners of referring to himself, he saw this as a sign of having been going down the right path in life.
"If you ever find yourself hated and loved, loathed and admired, you’re doing good” His father used to tell him. This had, of course, been said in the context of Thrandgar's father convincing his only son to pursue a career as a high ranking official so as to grant his father some inkling of political power, but he’d rather forget this specific nugget of information while gently brushing the few good mugs he had managed to keep on his decade of self discovery. The Duskhammer blood had long diluted in his family, and he'd make no effort to rekindle any dormant flame buried inside of himself.
Yes, he had been called many things, yet he had never before, in his memory and by someone outside of his close family, been called a child.
“What is a benbin like you doing manning the bar? Don’t you have some snot to clean from your mustache, boy?”
The gruffness of the voice, alongside a tone so deep it was practically a tribute to the caves beneath the crust of the world, immediately led Thrandgar to guess this individual making way into his bar was a dwarven of old, suspicion which was immediately proven right as he put down the mug and looked over to the door. There they stood, an impressive 5 feet tall, with a beard so thick, lustrous, and white it could have been easily confused with a fresh layer of winter’s snow, and a nose so twisted and reddened that it would have taken arduous years of drinking and fighting to come close to replicate even a fraction of its sheer presence. Even the way the dwarf walked towards the bar and sat down on a stool, with a mixture of lightness and weight that could have been easily seen in the armies of a great king, demanded attention and respect. Plus, whomever this greybeard was, the quality of their travel clothes pointed towards pretty coin, and pretty coin spoke louder than Thrandgar’s youthful rebellion.
“If oencle may allow me, I’d rather mention that a brewer’s skill is not determined by the gray of their beard, nor the rocks and stones in their bones, but instead by their skill alone. Wouldn’t you honor a fellow dwarf’s profession the same way were you in their mead hall or in their forge?”
His hands moving deftly as he spoke, Thrandgar pulled out from beneath the bar a thick-rimmed pint, the glassy surface presenting a tactile landscape of swirls, dots, and the glass-blower’s name somewhere on there (a long night of drinking with this same glass-blower had earned Thrandgar both this piece and the pleasure of forgetting the artisan’s identity, thus allowing him to keep the pint glass). He finished his small statement by holding the glass under the barrel behind him, pouring a generous amount of a strong, clear, golden lager, still smiling at the greybeard.
“Here you go, old man, on the house”
