About You! 1. What is your Minecraft username? Wulfaros (Previously ItsNotVal, Valonyx) 2. How old are you? 19. 3. What country are you from? Canada. 4. Have you read the King's Law, Tome of Citizenship, Official Lore, and the Survival Guides yet? I did 5 years ago. (yes). 5. In your own words, how would you define metagaming and powergaming? Powergaming is the act of using an amount of strength, intellect or agility that far outweights what the character/individual would be realistically able to muster. Simply put, it's using overwhelming power, to prevent failure, loss or such, to an unrealistic degree. Powergaming could also be considered preventing action or reaction from the opposing side by forcing your actions, or making use of NPCs, or other means of acquiring information or superiority that aren't your character and their own personal skill. Metagaming is using knowledge unknown to your character to affect in-character decisions, actions or knowledge. It's mixing up what you as a person and what your character are aware of, and can ruin your own roleplay, as well as the roleplay of others, either because of bias or other reasons. 6. Do we allow X-Raying mods or X-Ray texture packs on the server? No. 7. Name one of our current Mentors. Cukie1. 8. Tell us about yourself! I'm currently going through a political studies major, six-year veteran at roleplay. I've been on Hollowworld for over two years, several years ago, notably fathering Arcturus and it's subsequent branches. I work a full-time job in the food distribution industry, enjoy a wide variety of different settings, strategy games and other sectors of interest. I have a cool car and I'm very proud of it. 9. Do you have any examples of your work? I'll go ahead and assume some of my work is known by reputation, I am a very good builder. I'm too lazy to get considerable visuals tho. 10. Did anyone refer you? If not, how did you find our server? Nobody, and because I'm a veteran of this place. About Your Character! Character Name: Tristan Elkmire Character Age: 31 Character Race: Human Appearance: The disgruntled warrior stands at a tall 6'2, an imposing figure. A distant past of forced warfare has allowed him to retain a mesomorphic, wide-at-the-shoulders build, the body of a seasoned, well-trained fighter sporting past wounds being his form. His facial features are mostly angular, sporting a squarish-look to them, sharp brows lording over emerald-tinted eyes, piercing and stern, yet able to show much deviousness and calm joviality if need be. A dark, brownish and loose mane towers over his head, of mid-length and scruffy locks. His skin is a touch darker then the average, due to plentiful sunlight. His jaw sports a sometimes barely-kept beard, the man rarely entirely shaving himself, only on occasions. His garments and attires are mostly composed of lightweight, versatile outfits and armors, alongside various pieces of equipment and weaponry, that of a polyvalent traveller, adventurer and patron. Written Test! The ringing sounds of coin falling upon the wood of the counter awoke the man from his inebriated slumber. The room was dark, gloomy, yet not in an oppressive way, moreso simply because it didn't have windows and candlelight wasn't known for it's brightness. A few grumpy coughs shook his barrel chest, palm raised to scratch a few days old beard. He'd mutter to himself at the rash touch, eternally disappointed at his own half-assedness. His eyes would raise to aim towards the tavernkeeper, a smaller, kinder-looking man. He himself at first glance mustve seemed quite roguish and unfriendly- To the wiser eye, that would strike out as mostly an appearance that he liked to keep, to at least keep away most annoyances. The man was born in a difficult time and poor background, forcibly conscripted early to fight in the rather disastrous wars that soon followed his youth. Whilst he was taught sternly yet fairly and kindly when he was a child, gore and warfare quickly broke his illusions and made him much more cynical and gruff then before- Yet he still remained as he always was, a good soul shrouded beneath a veil of distance, diamond in the rough. It surprised no one in his humble hometown when he simply packed up a few things and left- most people had grown accustomed to his drunken ways, the man helpful when need arose, yet unable to break free from ghosts of the past. He'd find someplace better, most said- He was, afterall, decently experienced at surviving by himself, and most blood relatives had died by now, giving him no reason to stay. Tristan had been this way since the wars- unable to show much care about most others, for some reason. He'd sigh softly, giving a placid, calm nod to the innkeeper, before raising his gloved palms to the counter, lifting himself up. A simple hand sign would signal his imminent departure, as would the sound of his heavy leather boots against the creaking floor, as he reached for the door. He'd always have been a man of few words, yet not for lack of desire, but moreso because he deemed most to not be worth his saliva. Maybe that's what he needed. New beginnings, new locales and new people. He had to try, at least, lest he'd end up drunk and shameful of his own sorry state for the coming years.