ThechiliCheese
Villager
About You!
1. What is your Minecraft username?
ThechiliCheese
2. How old are you?
20 years old!
3. What country are you from?
That's a tough question! I've lived everywhere! Half Bosnian, half American, but I grew up in Croatia, then Indonesia, then Thailand, then Macedonia, and now I'm studying at College in the US!
4. Have you read the King's Law, Code of Conducts, Official Lore, and the Player Guides yet?
Yes I have!
5. In your own words, how would you define metagaming and powergaming?
Metagaming: Simply put, Metagaming is using OOC information ICLY. An example would be seeing the player name above a disguised character, and having your character suddenly, inexplicably identify the disguised figure as whatever the name of the player's character is.
Powergaming: Powergaming is emoting/writing actions in a way that leave no room for response from whoever you're RPing with. The most common cases are in combat situations. An example of this would be:
*Khor swung the battleaxe with a dull whirr, burying it into his enemy and killing them instantly.*
These sort of emotes are unfair because they don't give the opponent any space or chance to react in some way.
6. Do we allow X-Raying mods or X-Ray texture packs on the server?
Not at all, in any way, shape, or form.
7. Name one of our current Mentors.
One of the current listed mentors is Niko (SirNicholas14).
8. Tell us about yourself!
My favorite part!! Hi! My name's Andrew, and I've been roleplaying in medieval minecraft servers for about... seven years now! I've lived all over the world, and have come in contact with countless cultures and adventures. We should trade stories!
Right now, I'm studying Computer Information Systems in College in the United States. Some of my hobbies include gaming (obviously), reading (though I've never the time), and exercising. I've been training in Kickboxing and other striking martial arts for 5/6 years now, but I've not a violent bone in my body! I just think it's great self defense, and an even better workout! I've recently taken up Brazilian Jiu Jitsu, too! I'm all about being a positive, energetic influence to those around me! Too often people don't tell their friends that they're appreciated and valued, so I always like to let people know that I think they're fantastic.
Something that fascinates me is the mind. More specifically, the whole concept of mind over matter. Because of this reason, I adore character arcs/stories of people overcoming great hardship and challenges! Redemption arcs, self-forgiveness, all of it! I usually end up reflecting that love for these inner conflicts in the characters I roleplay as.
9. Do you have any examples of your work?
Sadly, I have the creative talent of a fish. And not a talented fish, either! But a smelly, old fish! My largest, perhaps only claim to creative fame would be the minecraft skins I make for my characters, but even these are gruesome hodge-podges of different parts of other skins that I liked, and pulled together and modified for my character. Hopefully I'll get to show people those skins on the server one of these days.
10. Did anyone refer you? If not, how did you find our server?
I was referred by a long-time friend, the fabulous Golden_Gardener! Round of applause for her! No? Just me? Alright then...
About Your Character!
Character Name:
Kenneth (Ken) Arindas
Character Age:
22 years old.
Character Race:
Human
Appearance:
(( I do acknowledge that Ken's height and weight are outside the given range, but I hope that his lifestyle will allow such to be realistic! (It's my irl height/weight, I want to note! I'm not just making the values up wildly!) Either way, if it is any issue, I am more than happy to make adjustments as staff sees fit! ))
Ken stands at 6 foot 3, 240 pounds. Icy-blue eyes are always alight with joy, and his black hair is most often kept close-shaven, little over a buzz-cut. Ken most regularly can be seen with long pants and dark leather boots, along with a simple tunic and coat. The only strange attachment to his wardrobe is the right sleeve of his coat. Or, rather, the lack thereof. The skin on his right arm is lightly tattoo-ed with swirling text, most of it in the common language describing "Strength" and "Preservation" and "Absolution." Laced around the words, intertwining them, are branches of ivy. Words of reminder and remembrance, connected by nature's beauty. Above his heart, one word lays tattooed, in the same white ink as his arm: Ascilia. Perhaps a moment of teenage-drama, perhaps holding a deeper meaning, the young man also brandishes a tattoo of a wolf's head above his ear. Not a snarling beast, but a calm, patient creature.
Ken's life has been an active one, with some work in both woodcraft and combat. As a result of this and his inability to sit still, Ken holds a toned physique that would be admired by many. That is, if it were not for the burn scarring on the left side of his ribcage. While the area is only a few inches wide, it stretches from his side to his abdomen, and looks very much like a burnt beam, or other object, had fallen upon the boy at a younger age.
Ken's personality is one of duality. He wishes to help the world, simply put. He approaches all he meets with a smiling face, treats any foe or enemy with respect and mercy, and does his best to understand the points of views of others. Insults about him roll off like water on a leaf, and he laughs along to any jokes, even those at his own expense. He is a shoulder to cry on, be those crying stranger or blood-brother. That is not to say that he is without bias, but he does his best to rein in his predeterminations. He believes it is his mission, his task, to spread good in the world...
Yet these motions of joy and the spreading of good are, in Ken's eyes, a farce, a mask. In private, almost always when only he is around, but in very rare moments in the company of his closest friends, Ken is a man plagued by guilt. It eats upon his mind and body ceaselessly, his perceived sins from his actions, and inactions, often waking him in night-terrors. He spreads good in the world because he searches for absolution, for forgiveness, for the transgressions he believes he committed. He is a hypocritical man, an example of true irony. He refuses to believe that anybody in the world is beyond saving, beyond redemption, yet in his darkest hours, his loneliest days, he sees himself as a lost soul, one who can never atone for their sins.
He has determined that his mission is to let others use him as a step to reach a lighter, brighter place, and has made peace with the perceived truth that as they use him as a willing step, he will be pushed to eventual demise.
Ken is a setting sun, in short. Warm, comforting, truly a wonderful experience, but one that is waiting to fade away.
(Optional) Picture of the Skin:
Written Test!
=====================================================================
The story that might best describe this guilt-plagued man will likely be the actions, and inactions, that spurred his quest for absolution.
Kenneth Arindas was born to a mercenary pair: Ascilia and Kormon Arindas. Where Ascilia was the cool ocean spray, Kormon was a raging forest fire. Where Ascilia was the patient hunter and tracker, Kormon was the blood-raged, battle-axe-wielding warrior. And yet, they made it work. Kormon's love for his wife and son was a gruff, terse one, but it did exist. There were many a time, growing up, that Ken was sent by his mother to "Find walnuts to roast over the fire" or "Catch toads by the stream". Anything to get him away from camp, when his father was in a rage over some minor transgressions the day had laid at his feet. Yet, to the man's credit, he never struck his wife or child. Ascilia would cool the rampaging bear that was her husband, while their son was exploring the wilds and taverns they inhabited.
And explore he did. Travelling as mercenaries, most often the trio were on the road, making camp in forest glades. Ken was always, always exploring wherever they rested. When in town on business, Ken was left in taverns, watched over by the innkeeps as a result of significant "Inconvenience" payments from his parents. In this way, the boy gained the best of both worlds. Socialization and a love of the city life, as well as the well of intrigue that was the forests to fuel his growing curiosity. As he grew older, his mother taught him woodcraft, helping him carve his first bow at the tender age of ten. Little more than a bent stick, it was, but the bow was HIS bow, and he held it with pride. His father taught him combat. Where Pa was all brute strength and hurricane-force attacks, Ken was liquid quicksilver and dodges. He came to favor wielding a sword in one hand and light battle-pick in the other, perfect for working through chinks in heavier opponent's armor. As a result, he took to cutting the right sleeve off of his coats, to give his pick-wielding arm more flexibility. He was also taught the basics of hand-to-hand combat, in case he was ever disarmed, but this progressed little past learning how to create space so he could regain his weapons. His father's teaching methods were difficult, but never cruel, a conciliatory pat on the shoulder and word of advice offered to his son whenever the growing boy was inevitably flattened by a swing of Kormon's practice staff.
Kenneth's childhood was one of lessons, wonder, and joy. He grew from curious young boy to excitable teen, and was beginning to transition from this stage to whatever came when life changed, as it inevitably does.
As their family had never settled in one place, their traditions and celebrations were often their own, and not from any set culture/city. Ken's coming-of-age at eighteen was celebrated by him first joining his parents on a mercenary job. A merchant wished his estate to be guarded, as he feared possible bandits due to the new shipment of merchandise that had been delivered. A quaint little home on the shore of a lake. Yet, that night, the lake came alight with flames and tragedy. The merchant's fears were realized, a troop of enemies coming to "free" the merchandise from the home. Curiously, Ken's study of their garb in the moments before battle began painted them as mercenaries themselves, not bandits. Perhaps a rival merchant was undertaking some discreet 'adjustment' to his competitors' stores? Either way, the result was the same. Fear and carnage roiled through the young boy as he and his father backed toward the house, fighting off advances as Ken's mother shot with her bow for openings.
The retreat to the merchant's home was a difficult one, with Ken and his father both receiving injuries. Once the front doors were barricaded, they looked to their wounds. The process of bandaging was halted by the smell of smoke, however. Their foes had decided to burn the house down around them, rather than lose more men coming down close-quartered hallways in the home. The trio could not leave out the front door, lest they be cut down by archers, so they took up the stairs to get onto the roof.
Small fires were fed by oil pots and other flammable liquids by the enemy, and soon the house was thick with smoke and blazing with heat. The Arindas family, a respectable, if humble mercenary group was reduced to coughing, crawling figures as they looked to flee. On the second floor, the floor collapsed beneath the young, terrified Ken, sending him crashing back to the lower landing. Without a moment's hesitation, Ken's mother, the kind, empathetic woman she was, leapt down to help her son, despite her husband's insistence that he be the one to do it. He was too heavy to climb back up, she had told him. She was probably right. Either way, the result was that Ascilia Arindas was left to fend flames and fallen beams as she uncovered her son beneath flaming rubble. His tunic was charred, his leg broken, but he was alive. The woman was able to lift her son up to her husband before she rushed off, looking for an exit on the lower landing, the walls too weak to support her climb upward.
Ken, now unconscious, was carried by his father to a second-floor bedroom, from which the man tosses his son out onto the lake, before leaping after him. It was a desperate, dangerous escape attempt, but one that saw them safe. Under the slish of arrows falling around them, Kormon Arindas pulled his unconscious son across the surface of the lake, swimming until they were far enough away that he could make shore safely.
Kormon dragged his son to their family's current camp, and dressed both of their wounds. Here, they waited for Ascilia's return. She would return, Kormon knew. She had to. She simply... had to. Night passed, and yet the Arindas party grew no larger. The sun rose to wake an injured, disoriented Ken, who himself was met with an enraged Kormon. Laid prostrate, there was little Ken could do but listen as his father berated him for having fallen, for having killed his mother. A son's grief at the loss of his mother, and the possible guilt over the circumstances, was not met with a father's somber re-assurance, but was instead hammered home; deep as an iron nail to the heart, and no less cutting. Ken was worthless, he had gotten his mother killed. This was a perceived truth that set upon his being, a weighty burden that a father could not hold, and so was pushed to others.
Without the calming influence of his wife, Kormon gave in to his flaring temper. As his son healed his leg, the man would often leave for days, returning with bags of loot whose origin he would not divulge. The world had taken his joy, so he would take joy from the world, was all Ken's father would tell him. While he was never left to starve, Ken was left to tear at his own mind over grief and guilt. Not only had he killed his mother, this he knew... but his father had taken to banditry, and he did nothing. As he healed, Ken regained his strength. He could have stopped his father's rage-fueled crusade on the innocent as the man came back with blood-stained jewelry and bags of coin, but he didn't. This was his father. So, Ken did nothing. He did nothing for weeks, months, content to stay in the immediate vicinity of their camp. If he did not WITNESS the crimes, a part of him could believe his father was still a good man.
Eventually, Ken could take it no more. He could not sit idly by while his father spread evil. This was not how his mother, gods preserve her soul, had raised him. And yet, even in this decision, Ken did... nothing. He simply wordlessly packed his things one night, and walked. He left his father behind to his self-destructive ways, acknowledging that he likely only made the situation worse by leaving his father after the man had lost his wife. But nothing was all Ken could do. He could not fight his father, would not fight him. So he walked. He walked and walked until he could walk no more.
This went on for a few days. An endless shambling on auto-pilot. Eventually, the man came a few miles distant of a small village. Here, by the riverbank, he saw a small boy crying. When questioned, the boy admitted that he had hurt his ankle, and was unable to get home in time before night, and all its dangers, fell on the land. Still numb, still on auto-pilot, Ken wordlessly hefted the boy and carried him to his village. Though the boy wasn't exactly as light as a feather, Ken's soul hadn't felt less heavy in months. The joy on the worried parent's faces when their son was returned at dusk only further alleviated the chains of guilt Ken wore. At their insistence, Ken was their guest that evening. Here, he was allowed to once more enjoy kindness, humor, joy. Though he could never wipe the grief from his mind, it helped him to make others laugh, to help the boy's mother clean the pots.
In the morning, Ken was bid goodbye by warm hugs and travelling food. For a few years, Ken traveled this way. Alone in his thoughts on the road, but a source of comfort and help to others as he came through towns. And yet, his mind could never stray far from what he had and hadn't done. He had been the reason his mother had died. He hadn't stopped his father. He had failed their family. He hadn't stood up for what was right. This ceaseless back and forth drove him further to despair, and he could only find salvation in the helping of others.
Perhaps it was only natural that his quest for salvation put him to follow The Grey Lady. Ken was on a quest for salvation, repentance. He wished to pass from this world and not be sent to the darkest recesses of what came next for his actions. Whether he was truly guilty of any perceived sins was a matter of opinion, but he believed he was.
Yet, as it does, time began to heal wounds. Like the burn scars on his body, his mind never healed back the same way, but it did heal. He began to have friends, interests, once more. He rediscovered his fascination with the wilds, and instead of plodding through them like a mindless pack-horse, he explored once again. This exploration eventually led to him coming across a caravan.
In exchange for helping them bring in food with his woodcraft, and offering some basic protection with his combat skills, Ken took to travelling with this caravan. In the company of the same people over time, he slowly began to trust. One elf in the caravan, Akir, became his close friend. This is where we find Ken now. A grief-wielding young man who wants to save the world, but doesn't think he can be saved. His perceived sins only known to him and his caravan friend.
=====================================================================
((This mention of a caravan and an elf known as Akir are a reference to my friend Golden_Gardener's character that she is applying with/has applied with. I am told by her that the specific caravan aspect of that character is still being discussed, and as a result I fully understand and accept if this portion of my character needs to be put on pending until the details of that are resolved. Nevertheless, I have gotten Golden_Gardener's approval to link our characters in this way, and hope it doesn't cause any issue!
Additionally... sorry for the long story! It's one I fell into easily, and I sort of got... carried away, I suppose! Apologies in advance for any spelling/grammatical errors, I seem to have stayed up until 2:30 AM writing this all out. I hope to be playing with you all soon!))
Current Setting of the Server:
As the last galleys pull into port from the Northern Kingdoms, so too do they mark the end of the Exodus. A dark and desperate chapter in Altera's history.
The undead swarms had battered us, and the Sea of Storms had bruised us, yet here we were, alive. Alive in a brave new frontier to the east, and the flickering embers of our dying lands were now kindling the fires of new civilization, in a land of opportunity, vast and boundless.
Now, for the first time in a long time, there is hope. Hope of a new chapter, a new beginning and a clean slate. Yet there is also fear. Fear of the land unknown, and the danger untold. There is fear that, in spreading the light, we draw the ire of what lies in the shadows. In this new land, it even seems as if demons and the explainable come out to play.
But no matter the opinions on the subject, there is one thing that may be said for certain.
Life on Altera was about to change
1. What is your Minecraft username?
ThechiliCheese
2. How old are you?
20 years old!
3. What country are you from?
That's a tough question! I've lived everywhere! Half Bosnian, half American, but I grew up in Croatia, then Indonesia, then Thailand, then Macedonia, and now I'm studying at College in the US!
4. Have you read the King's Law, Code of Conducts, Official Lore, and the Player Guides yet?
Yes I have!
5. In your own words, how would you define metagaming and powergaming?
Metagaming: Simply put, Metagaming is using OOC information ICLY. An example would be seeing the player name above a disguised character, and having your character suddenly, inexplicably identify the disguised figure as whatever the name of the player's character is.
Powergaming: Powergaming is emoting/writing actions in a way that leave no room for response from whoever you're RPing with. The most common cases are in combat situations. An example of this would be:
*Khor swung the battleaxe with a dull whirr, burying it into his enemy and killing them instantly.*
These sort of emotes are unfair because they don't give the opponent any space or chance to react in some way.
6. Do we allow X-Raying mods or X-Ray texture packs on the server?
Not at all, in any way, shape, or form.
7. Name one of our current Mentors.
One of the current listed mentors is Niko (SirNicholas14).
8. Tell us about yourself!
My favorite part!! Hi! My name's Andrew, and I've been roleplaying in medieval minecraft servers for about... seven years now! I've lived all over the world, and have come in contact with countless cultures and adventures. We should trade stories!
Right now, I'm studying Computer Information Systems in College in the United States. Some of my hobbies include gaming (obviously), reading (though I've never the time), and exercising. I've been training in Kickboxing and other striking martial arts for 5/6 years now, but I've not a violent bone in my body! I just think it's great self defense, and an even better workout! I've recently taken up Brazilian Jiu Jitsu, too! I'm all about being a positive, energetic influence to those around me! Too often people don't tell their friends that they're appreciated and valued, so I always like to let people know that I think they're fantastic.
Something that fascinates me is the mind. More specifically, the whole concept of mind over matter. Because of this reason, I adore character arcs/stories of people overcoming great hardship and challenges! Redemption arcs, self-forgiveness, all of it! I usually end up reflecting that love for these inner conflicts in the characters I roleplay as.
9. Do you have any examples of your work?
Sadly, I have the creative talent of a fish. And not a talented fish, either! But a smelly, old fish! My largest, perhaps only claim to creative fame would be the minecraft skins I make for my characters, but even these are gruesome hodge-podges of different parts of other skins that I liked, and pulled together and modified for my character. Hopefully I'll get to show people those skins on the server one of these days.
10. Did anyone refer you? If not, how did you find our server?
I was referred by a long-time friend, the fabulous Golden_Gardener! Round of applause for her! No? Just me? Alright then...
About Your Character!
Character Name:
Kenneth (Ken) Arindas
Character Age:
22 years old.
Character Race:
Human
Appearance:
(( I do acknowledge that Ken's height and weight are outside the given range, but I hope that his lifestyle will allow such to be realistic! (It's my irl height/weight, I want to note! I'm not just making the values up wildly!) Either way, if it is any issue, I am more than happy to make adjustments as staff sees fit! ))
Ken stands at 6 foot 3, 240 pounds. Icy-blue eyes are always alight with joy, and his black hair is most often kept close-shaven, little over a buzz-cut. Ken most regularly can be seen with long pants and dark leather boots, along with a simple tunic and coat. The only strange attachment to his wardrobe is the right sleeve of his coat. Or, rather, the lack thereof. The skin on his right arm is lightly tattoo-ed with swirling text, most of it in the common language describing "Strength" and "Preservation" and "Absolution." Laced around the words, intertwining them, are branches of ivy. Words of reminder and remembrance, connected by nature's beauty. Above his heart, one word lays tattooed, in the same white ink as his arm: Ascilia. Perhaps a moment of teenage-drama, perhaps holding a deeper meaning, the young man also brandishes a tattoo of a wolf's head above his ear. Not a snarling beast, but a calm, patient creature.
Ken's life has been an active one, with some work in both woodcraft and combat. As a result of this and his inability to sit still, Ken holds a toned physique that would be admired by many. That is, if it were not for the burn scarring on the left side of his ribcage. While the area is only a few inches wide, it stretches from his side to his abdomen, and looks very much like a burnt beam, or other object, had fallen upon the boy at a younger age.
Ken's personality is one of duality. He wishes to help the world, simply put. He approaches all he meets with a smiling face, treats any foe or enemy with respect and mercy, and does his best to understand the points of views of others. Insults about him roll off like water on a leaf, and he laughs along to any jokes, even those at his own expense. He is a shoulder to cry on, be those crying stranger or blood-brother. That is not to say that he is without bias, but he does his best to rein in his predeterminations. He believes it is his mission, his task, to spread good in the world...
Yet these motions of joy and the spreading of good are, in Ken's eyes, a farce, a mask. In private, almost always when only he is around, but in very rare moments in the company of his closest friends, Ken is a man plagued by guilt. It eats upon his mind and body ceaselessly, his perceived sins from his actions, and inactions, often waking him in night-terrors. He spreads good in the world because he searches for absolution, for forgiveness, for the transgressions he believes he committed. He is a hypocritical man, an example of true irony. He refuses to believe that anybody in the world is beyond saving, beyond redemption, yet in his darkest hours, his loneliest days, he sees himself as a lost soul, one who can never atone for their sins.
He has determined that his mission is to let others use him as a step to reach a lighter, brighter place, and has made peace with the perceived truth that as they use him as a willing step, he will be pushed to eventual demise.
Ken is a setting sun, in short. Warm, comforting, truly a wonderful experience, but one that is waiting to fade away.
(Optional) Picture of the Skin:
Written Test!
=====================================================================
The story that might best describe this guilt-plagued man will likely be the actions, and inactions, that spurred his quest for absolution.
Kenneth Arindas was born to a mercenary pair: Ascilia and Kormon Arindas. Where Ascilia was the cool ocean spray, Kormon was a raging forest fire. Where Ascilia was the patient hunter and tracker, Kormon was the blood-raged, battle-axe-wielding warrior. And yet, they made it work. Kormon's love for his wife and son was a gruff, terse one, but it did exist. There were many a time, growing up, that Ken was sent by his mother to "Find walnuts to roast over the fire" or "Catch toads by the stream". Anything to get him away from camp, when his father was in a rage over some minor transgressions the day had laid at his feet. Yet, to the man's credit, he never struck his wife or child. Ascilia would cool the rampaging bear that was her husband, while their son was exploring the wilds and taverns they inhabited.
And explore he did. Travelling as mercenaries, most often the trio were on the road, making camp in forest glades. Ken was always, always exploring wherever they rested. When in town on business, Ken was left in taverns, watched over by the innkeeps as a result of significant "Inconvenience" payments from his parents. In this way, the boy gained the best of both worlds. Socialization and a love of the city life, as well as the well of intrigue that was the forests to fuel his growing curiosity. As he grew older, his mother taught him woodcraft, helping him carve his first bow at the tender age of ten. Little more than a bent stick, it was, but the bow was HIS bow, and he held it with pride. His father taught him combat. Where Pa was all brute strength and hurricane-force attacks, Ken was liquid quicksilver and dodges. He came to favor wielding a sword in one hand and light battle-pick in the other, perfect for working through chinks in heavier opponent's armor. As a result, he took to cutting the right sleeve off of his coats, to give his pick-wielding arm more flexibility. He was also taught the basics of hand-to-hand combat, in case he was ever disarmed, but this progressed little past learning how to create space so he could regain his weapons. His father's teaching methods were difficult, but never cruel, a conciliatory pat on the shoulder and word of advice offered to his son whenever the growing boy was inevitably flattened by a swing of Kormon's practice staff.
Kenneth's childhood was one of lessons, wonder, and joy. He grew from curious young boy to excitable teen, and was beginning to transition from this stage to whatever came when life changed, as it inevitably does.
As their family had never settled in one place, their traditions and celebrations were often their own, and not from any set culture/city. Ken's coming-of-age at eighteen was celebrated by him first joining his parents on a mercenary job. A merchant wished his estate to be guarded, as he feared possible bandits due to the new shipment of merchandise that had been delivered. A quaint little home on the shore of a lake. Yet, that night, the lake came alight with flames and tragedy. The merchant's fears were realized, a troop of enemies coming to "free" the merchandise from the home. Curiously, Ken's study of their garb in the moments before battle began painted them as mercenaries themselves, not bandits. Perhaps a rival merchant was undertaking some discreet 'adjustment' to his competitors' stores? Either way, the result was the same. Fear and carnage roiled through the young boy as he and his father backed toward the house, fighting off advances as Ken's mother shot with her bow for openings.
The retreat to the merchant's home was a difficult one, with Ken and his father both receiving injuries. Once the front doors were barricaded, they looked to their wounds. The process of bandaging was halted by the smell of smoke, however. Their foes had decided to burn the house down around them, rather than lose more men coming down close-quartered hallways in the home. The trio could not leave out the front door, lest they be cut down by archers, so they took up the stairs to get onto the roof.
Small fires were fed by oil pots and other flammable liquids by the enemy, and soon the house was thick with smoke and blazing with heat. The Arindas family, a respectable, if humble mercenary group was reduced to coughing, crawling figures as they looked to flee. On the second floor, the floor collapsed beneath the young, terrified Ken, sending him crashing back to the lower landing. Without a moment's hesitation, Ken's mother, the kind, empathetic woman she was, leapt down to help her son, despite her husband's insistence that he be the one to do it. He was too heavy to climb back up, she had told him. She was probably right. Either way, the result was that Ascilia Arindas was left to fend flames and fallen beams as she uncovered her son beneath flaming rubble. His tunic was charred, his leg broken, but he was alive. The woman was able to lift her son up to her husband before she rushed off, looking for an exit on the lower landing, the walls too weak to support her climb upward.
Ken, now unconscious, was carried by his father to a second-floor bedroom, from which the man tosses his son out onto the lake, before leaping after him. It was a desperate, dangerous escape attempt, but one that saw them safe. Under the slish of arrows falling around them, Kormon Arindas pulled his unconscious son across the surface of the lake, swimming until they were far enough away that he could make shore safely.
Kormon dragged his son to their family's current camp, and dressed both of their wounds. Here, they waited for Ascilia's return. She would return, Kormon knew. She had to. She simply... had to. Night passed, and yet the Arindas party grew no larger. The sun rose to wake an injured, disoriented Ken, who himself was met with an enraged Kormon. Laid prostrate, there was little Ken could do but listen as his father berated him for having fallen, for having killed his mother. A son's grief at the loss of his mother, and the possible guilt over the circumstances, was not met with a father's somber re-assurance, but was instead hammered home; deep as an iron nail to the heart, and no less cutting. Ken was worthless, he had gotten his mother killed. This was a perceived truth that set upon his being, a weighty burden that a father could not hold, and so was pushed to others.
Without the calming influence of his wife, Kormon gave in to his flaring temper. As his son healed his leg, the man would often leave for days, returning with bags of loot whose origin he would not divulge. The world had taken his joy, so he would take joy from the world, was all Ken's father would tell him. While he was never left to starve, Ken was left to tear at his own mind over grief and guilt. Not only had he killed his mother, this he knew... but his father had taken to banditry, and he did nothing. As he healed, Ken regained his strength. He could have stopped his father's rage-fueled crusade on the innocent as the man came back with blood-stained jewelry and bags of coin, but he didn't. This was his father. So, Ken did nothing. He did nothing for weeks, months, content to stay in the immediate vicinity of their camp. If he did not WITNESS the crimes, a part of him could believe his father was still a good man.
Eventually, Ken could take it no more. He could not sit idly by while his father spread evil. This was not how his mother, gods preserve her soul, had raised him. And yet, even in this decision, Ken did... nothing. He simply wordlessly packed his things one night, and walked. He left his father behind to his self-destructive ways, acknowledging that he likely only made the situation worse by leaving his father after the man had lost his wife. But nothing was all Ken could do. He could not fight his father, would not fight him. So he walked. He walked and walked until he could walk no more.
This went on for a few days. An endless shambling on auto-pilot. Eventually, the man came a few miles distant of a small village. Here, by the riverbank, he saw a small boy crying. When questioned, the boy admitted that he had hurt his ankle, and was unable to get home in time before night, and all its dangers, fell on the land. Still numb, still on auto-pilot, Ken wordlessly hefted the boy and carried him to his village. Though the boy wasn't exactly as light as a feather, Ken's soul hadn't felt less heavy in months. The joy on the worried parent's faces when their son was returned at dusk only further alleviated the chains of guilt Ken wore. At their insistence, Ken was their guest that evening. Here, he was allowed to once more enjoy kindness, humor, joy. Though he could never wipe the grief from his mind, it helped him to make others laugh, to help the boy's mother clean the pots.
In the morning, Ken was bid goodbye by warm hugs and travelling food. For a few years, Ken traveled this way. Alone in his thoughts on the road, but a source of comfort and help to others as he came through towns. And yet, his mind could never stray far from what he had and hadn't done. He had been the reason his mother had died. He hadn't stopped his father. He had failed their family. He hadn't stood up for what was right. This ceaseless back and forth drove him further to despair, and he could only find salvation in the helping of others.
Perhaps it was only natural that his quest for salvation put him to follow The Grey Lady. Ken was on a quest for salvation, repentance. He wished to pass from this world and not be sent to the darkest recesses of what came next for his actions. Whether he was truly guilty of any perceived sins was a matter of opinion, but he believed he was.
Yet, as it does, time began to heal wounds. Like the burn scars on his body, his mind never healed back the same way, but it did heal. He began to have friends, interests, once more. He rediscovered his fascination with the wilds, and instead of plodding through them like a mindless pack-horse, he explored once again. This exploration eventually led to him coming across a caravan.
In exchange for helping them bring in food with his woodcraft, and offering some basic protection with his combat skills, Ken took to travelling with this caravan. In the company of the same people over time, he slowly began to trust. One elf in the caravan, Akir, became his close friend. This is where we find Ken now. A grief-wielding young man who wants to save the world, but doesn't think he can be saved. His perceived sins only known to him and his caravan friend.
=====================================================================
((This mention of a caravan and an elf known as Akir are a reference to my friend Golden_Gardener's character that she is applying with/has applied with. I am told by her that the specific caravan aspect of that character is still being discussed, and as a result I fully understand and accept if this portion of my character needs to be put on pending until the details of that are resolved. Nevertheless, I have gotten Golden_Gardener's approval to link our characters in this way, and hope it doesn't cause any issue!
Additionally... sorry for the long story! It's one I fell into easily, and I sort of got... carried away, I suppose! Apologies in advance for any spelling/grammatical errors, I seem to have stayed up until 2:30 AM writing this all out. I hope to be playing with you all soon!))
Current Setting of the Server:
As the last galleys pull into port from the Northern Kingdoms, so too do they mark the end of the Exodus. A dark and desperate chapter in Altera's history.
The undead swarms had battered us, and the Sea of Storms had bruised us, yet here we were, alive. Alive in a brave new frontier to the east, and the flickering embers of our dying lands were now kindling the fires of new civilization, in a land of opportunity, vast and boundless.
Now, for the first time in a long time, there is hope. Hope of a new chapter, a new beginning and a clean slate. Yet there is also fear. Fear of the land unknown, and the danger untold. There is fear that, in spreading the light, we draw the ire of what lies in the shadows. In this new land, it even seems as if demons and the explainable come out to play.
But no matter the opinions on the subject, there is one thing that may be said for certain.
Life on Altera was about to change
