ThatMorbidBanter
Evil
1. What is your Minecraft username?
ThatMorbidBanter
2. How old are you?
Seventeen.
3. What country are you from?
The United States of America.
4. Have you read the King's Law, Tome of Citizenship, Official Lore, and the Survival Guides yet?
Well, it was a requirement, so yes.
5. In your own words, how would you define metagaming and powergaming?
After reading your definitions of meta and power gaming, I must say I was either entirely wrong as to their meanings, or was misinformed. Anyhow, now that I do know what they mean, meta gaming is a form of role-play where a character takes information that could only have been know out of character, and applies it, making plot development useless. Power gaming is similar, except it is more along the lines of making a character overpowered. Giving them incredible abilities with no drawbacks or flaws. For instance, a character who may fly or teleport is an interesting idea, but if it has no drawbacks, cooldowns, or flaws, they can abuse it. It also can mean taking away another player's ability to chose what they do, such as ordering them to do something along the lines of "*knocks away Player, making them break their back and trip and fall on a root that wasn't there before and die*".
6. Do we allow X-Raying mods or X-Ray texture packs on the server?
Well, I take it you do not.
7. Name one of our current Mentors.
Snerus. Can't say I've met him, though.
8. Tell us about yourself!
Well, I suppose I can talk about myself a bit. I write, dabble in voice-acting and roleplaying, and am an avid reader of classic and... older, books. I enjoy reading the works of J.R.R. Tolkien and H.P. Lovecraft, and base a lot of my characters on their detailed writing styles. I am, however, generally opposed to doing anything romantic roleplaying or acting, as I am in a very committed relationship. Other than that, I hope this little note catches your attention, and goodnight.
Note:
I have written a different character, hopefully my last, and I pray you will enjoy it.
Character Name: Tavrik Ivald
Character Age: 65
Character Race: Dwarf
Appearance: Is 5 feet exact in hight. Body is heavily muscular with runic tattoos all over. Has fiery red hair and twinkling emerald green eyes, suggesting of a kind spirit. Wears clothes of green and brown hues to represent nature, and ties his beard in a braided knot.
Written Test!
"Easy lad, mind those bellows!" Roared Urlogik, pointing a stern finger at his slacking son, age causing the appendage to tremble a mite. He had worked for weeks, nay, months on this sword, soon to be his most illustrious achievement of his shinning career as a smith, and he would not allow anything which drew breath to bring this effort to naught, with the inclusion of his own son.
"Aye, sorry ye' dusty old iron!" Was Tavrik's response, "We'll ne'er have the damned sword at the ready lest ye' stop shoutin' at me."
Urlogik merely grunted in an irate manner before returning to his tedious quest, hammer meeting sword until it was as though all the thunder and lightning of a mighty typhoon had taken residence in the space betwixt the two, all the while the strong westerly wind of Tavrik's bellows fanned the wildfire of the forge, resulting in what might be described as a glorious apocalypse of worksmanship. And as this Ragnarok died, the tremendous din becoming as the quiet of the open sea, Urlogik Ivald held aloft his magnum opus: the sword Durgaahustidwaer, or the "Royal-Bedrock-Sword", a blade of such magnificent proportions, such sharp edges, and for the weight of but a feather, it might have been light as the air. He knew in the core of his being that it would be this saber which would finally make it known that none other should have the title of Guildmaster of Dwarven Smiths, for none other could match him in his craft. This... this would make it known.
"It is indeed a miracle, is it not benbin?"
"Ya', it does seem special vada..."
"'Special'? What do ye' mean just 'special', Tavrik?"
Tavrik shuffled his soot-covered boots a smidge, the knowledge that what he was about to confess may distress his father heavily weighed upon his mind.
"It has come to be my belief, vada, that we may be wrong for makin' nothin' but tools of use only for a butcher or hunter? Why is it we dunne' make items o' peace, shovels or plantin' devices that we might for once make life not steel, as the Druids teach?"
Urlogik let loose an exasperated groan, as if he had been reminded of something which had long bothered him.
"My son, I cannot count the occasions on which I have stated that we are dwarves! We work with the lower fruits of the earth, the greatest bounties of the land lie beneath and we are those who harvest! You speak of growin' yer damned weeds, and yet ye' know all too well that no blasted leafy things can grow in these caves, and there's to be not another word on it, for I'll box yer ears if ye' dunne' leave these dûrrzûs notions of Druidism and peace to their graves!"
"But vada, if you would only-"
"Nay! I've had enough of yer silly talk at this hour. Get yerself to yer quarters and if it please Korog, find some passion other than hargar and Druidism!"
"Please just li-"
"ENOUGH FANTASY BOY! TO YOUR QUARTERS, NOW!"
As Urlogik barked curses in frustration, Tavrik walked to his chambers, his melancholy rekindled once more. Would his father never understand their ways of iron and pride were folly? What good had it done them, following the ideas of superiority against their fellow races, forging them weapons to cleave each other to blood-soaked bits? No, it may have been the way of his ancestors, but not of himself! He much preferred the ideas of life as was said by the Druids, ways of peace and contentment, violence only when necessary in defense of what is worthwhile, and magic through powers of nature and the Divine. If only he could practice as they did... These thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of his closest companion, strange though it was, as the delicate bird, his pet, perched on his charcoal writing slate, it's wings shining blue as the sky.
"Oh Diarmhárr..." Sighed Tavrik, "I know I be but still tender of age, but I do wish that I could see the lands outside these dûrrzûs caves!" At this, the bird descended upon something on Tavrik's workspace. He picked up the object, a tablet his father had given him upon his recent thirteenth birth season.
"But... if I am gone, then who shall care for vada?" He thought aloud, coming to the epiphany that he was not just responsible for himself, for Urlogik, Diarmhárr, and even the shop, but his mind was made up.
"Someday, Diarmhárr. Someday I shall stride upon yer old home on the surface, and I might bring change, and the ways of the Druid to all people! But until then... I shall forge on ever ahead!" And he chuckled at his own wordplay as he turned once more to his study of the books lent him by the Druids...
ThatMorbidBanter
2. How old are you?
Seventeen.
3. What country are you from?
The United States of America.
4. Have you read the King's Law, Tome of Citizenship, Official Lore, and the Survival Guides yet?
Well, it was a requirement, so yes.
5. In your own words, how would you define metagaming and powergaming?
After reading your definitions of meta and power gaming, I must say I was either entirely wrong as to their meanings, or was misinformed. Anyhow, now that I do know what they mean, meta gaming is a form of role-play where a character takes information that could only have been know out of character, and applies it, making plot development useless. Power gaming is similar, except it is more along the lines of making a character overpowered. Giving them incredible abilities with no drawbacks or flaws. For instance, a character who may fly or teleport is an interesting idea, but if it has no drawbacks, cooldowns, or flaws, they can abuse it. It also can mean taking away another player's ability to chose what they do, such as ordering them to do something along the lines of "*knocks away Player, making them break their back and trip and fall on a root that wasn't there before and die*".
6. Do we allow X-Raying mods or X-Ray texture packs on the server?
Well, I take it you do not.
7. Name one of our current Mentors.
Snerus. Can't say I've met him, though.
8. Tell us about yourself!
Well, I suppose I can talk about myself a bit. I write, dabble in voice-acting and roleplaying, and am an avid reader of classic and... older, books. I enjoy reading the works of J.R.R. Tolkien and H.P. Lovecraft, and base a lot of my characters on their detailed writing styles. I am, however, generally opposed to doing anything romantic roleplaying or acting, as I am in a very committed relationship. Other than that, I hope this little note catches your attention, and goodnight.
Note:
I have written a different character, hopefully my last, and I pray you will enjoy it.
Character Name: Tavrik Ivald
Character Age: 65
Character Race: Dwarf
Appearance: Is 5 feet exact in hight. Body is heavily muscular with runic tattoos all over. Has fiery red hair and twinkling emerald green eyes, suggesting of a kind spirit. Wears clothes of green and brown hues to represent nature, and ties his beard in a braided knot.
Written Test!
"Easy lad, mind those bellows!" Roared Urlogik, pointing a stern finger at his slacking son, age causing the appendage to tremble a mite. He had worked for weeks, nay, months on this sword, soon to be his most illustrious achievement of his shinning career as a smith, and he would not allow anything which drew breath to bring this effort to naught, with the inclusion of his own son.
"Aye, sorry ye' dusty old iron!" Was Tavrik's response, "We'll ne'er have the damned sword at the ready lest ye' stop shoutin' at me."
Urlogik merely grunted in an irate manner before returning to his tedious quest, hammer meeting sword until it was as though all the thunder and lightning of a mighty typhoon had taken residence in the space betwixt the two, all the while the strong westerly wind of Tavrik's bellows fanned the wildfire of the forge, resulting in what might be described as a glorious apocalypse of worksmanship. And as this Ragnarok died, the tremendous din becoming as the quiet of the open sea, Urlogik Ivald held aloft his magnum opus: the sword Durgaahustidwaer, or the "Royal-Bedrock-Sword", a blade of such magnificent proportions, such sharp edges, and for the weight of but a feather, it might have been light as the air. He knew in the core of his being that it would be this saber which would finally make it known that none other should have the title of Guildmaster of Dwarven Smiths, for none other could match him in his craft. This... this would make it known.
"It is indeed a miracle, is it not benbin?"
"Ya', it does seem special vada..."
"'Special'? What do ye' mean just 'special', Tavrik?"
Tavrik shuffled his soot-covered boots a smidge, the knowledge that what he was about to confess may distress his father heavily weighed upon his mind.
"It has come to be my belief, vada, that we may be wrong for makin' nothin' but tools of use only for a butcher or hunter? Why is it we dunne' make items o' peace, shovels or plantin' devices that we might for once make life not steel, as the Druids teach?"
Urlogik let loose an exasperated groan, as if he had been reminded of something which had long bothered him.
"My son, I cannot count the occasions on which I have stated that we are dwarves! We work with the lower fruits of the earth, the greatest bounties of the land lie beneath and we are those who harvest! You speak of growin' yer damned weeds, and yet ye' know all too well that no blasted leafy things can grow in these caves, and there's to be not another word on it, for I'll box yer ears if ye' dunne' leave these dûrrzûs notions of Druidism and peace to their graves!"
"But vada, if you would only-"
"Nay! I've had enough of yer silly talk at this hour. Get yerself to yer quarters and if it please Korog, find some passion other than hargar and Druidism!"
"Please just li-"
"ENOUGH FANTASY BOY! TO YOUR QUARTERS, NOW!"
As Urlogik barked curses in frustration, Tavrik walked to his chambers, his melancholy rekindled once more. Would his father never understand their ways of iron and pride were folly? What good had it done them, following the ideas of superiority against their fellow races, forging them weapons to cleave each other to blood-soaked bits? No, it may have been the way of his ancestors, but not of himself! He much preferred the ideas of life as was said by the Druids, ways of peace and contentment, violence only when necessary in defense of what is worthwhile, and magic through powers of nature and the Divine. If only he could practice as they did... These thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of his closest companion, strange though it was, as the delicate bird, his pet, perched on his charcoal writing slate, it's wings shining blue as the sky.
"Oh Diarmhárr..." Sighed Tavrik, "I know I be but still tender of age, but I do wish that I could see the lands outside these dûrrzûs caves!" At this, the bird descended upon something on Tavrik's workspace. He picked up the object, a tablet his father had given him upon his recent thirteenth birth season.
"But... if I am gone, then who shall care for vada?" He thought aloud, coming to the epiphany that he was not just responsible for himself, for Urlogik, Diarmhárr, and even the shop, but his mind was made up.
"Someday, Diarmhárr. Someday I shall stride upon yer old home on the surface, and I might bring change, and the ways of the Druid to all people! But until then... I shall forge on ever ahead!" And he chuckled at his own wordplay as he turned once more to his study of the books lent him by the Druids...
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