Ashen Wanderer
Lord of Altera
1. What is your Minecraft username?
AshenWanderer
2. How old are you?
18
3. What country are you from?
US
4. Have you read the King's Law, Tome of Citizenship, Official Lore, and the Survival Guides yet?
Yes
5. In your own words, how would you define metagaming and powergaming?
Metagaming: Using knowledge from out of character in character without a suitable reason. Powergaming: Overpowering another character by ignoring their actions or forcing harmful actions on them regardless of whether you’d realistically be able to do so.
6. Do we allow X-Raying mods or X-Ray texture packs on the server?
No
7. Name one of our current Mentors.
223hero7 (223Hero7)
8. Tell us about yourself!
I’m currently beginning the journey into crippling student debt, not entirely sure what to major in but at least want to get basic classes out of the way. I’m big into medieval fantasy and scifi settings. Name most PC games and I probably play/have played/would definitely play them. I enjoy writing but am a bit self conscious about more creative themes. Pretty quiet person overall, tend to get along well enough with most people.
9. Do you have any examples of your work?
No
10. Did anyone refer you? If not, how did you find our server?
No, found the server while searching around the internet/PMC.
Character Name:
Brynhaldt of the Frostpeak
Character Age:
25
Character Race:
Dwarven
Appearance:
Typical of the Frostpeak variety, Brynhaldt carries eyes of deep blue-grey and dark hair, deep brown in color. Of average height and weight for a Frostpeak, 5ft 1in tall, 160lbs. Dressed in dull, unappealing colors consisting of earthy brown leathers, muted grey cloth, and a touch of deep blue tatters to represent his clan. Lightly armored for his travels, the dwarf has padded cloth throughout his outfit to keep both warm and somewhat protected. His skin has paled in the north.
Written Test!
Taking a long inhale from his father’s pipe, Brynhaldt’s eyes reflected a roaring fire before him. He blew the smoke out slowly from his nose, it rose and joined the dark smoke of the fire. His father stepped up from behind, clapping him on the back with a hefty hand. “Suppose you can say you are your own man, now. You’ve done well this day.” Clearly referring to the dwarves’ initiation into adulthood. Brynhaldt hadn’t felt too different, perhaps only in that his axe had finally tasted blood, he had a somber expression posted on his face as the flames crackled before him. “You act as though you’ve not won the day, what is it?” His father questioned, reaching for his pipe. Brynhaldt contemplated the question momentarily after passing the pipe back, “Why do we carry the axe, Father?” Clearly not sure the spoils of war was worth the cost. The question came almost as a surprise to his father, “Honor, no more, no less,” Brynhaldt’s father pointed to a group of dwarves setting up camp, clanking mugs together, passing pipes around small fires, telling tales of the day’s battles, “Look at them. We’re a very proud people, our clan. We are to be the ones holding our axes and hammers to the sky over a bloodied field with the skulls of our enemies crushed underfoot.” Brynhaldt takes his father’s words to mind, looking back to the intimate funeral pyre before him. Reaching down, he grasped his fallen comrade’s axe and tossed it to the center of the flame, uttering a quiet farewell to a passed brother in arms, and moving on to join the others revelling in the day’s victory.
Hours passed and the night had fallen, a multitude of cooking fires lit the small camp of Frostpeak dwarves. “To Brynhaldt’s initiation!” A fellow dwarf hollered, raising his tankard to the moon. A wave of clanking tankards rolled about a single fire. Brynhaldt couldn’t help but smile, quietly raising a tankard himself and drinking with the rest. The stories had no end, many trying to make their story better than the last. Tales of axes stuck in skulls, sounds of bones breaking, and the presentation of battered and bloody weapons. The circle of stories began to make its way towards Brynhaldt, he was quick to make a weak excuse of refilling his tankard to skip out on the monotonous tales. Finally, he heard only murmurs and the slosh of ale pouring out of a small keg. Draining some, Brynhaldt wiped his beard with a thumb and stared off into the darkness of the previous day’s battlefield. A sudden impulse called him to set off and with a brief look back to the camp he did so. The quiet crunch of snow under his boots was silenced by the quiet roar of the camp as he made his leave. As his father had said, he was his own man now, and he would set out on his own quest for honor.
AshenWanderer
2. How old are you?
18
3. What country are you from?
US
4. Have you read the King's Law, Tome of Citizenship, Official Lore, and the Survival Guides yet?
Yes
5. In your own words, how would you define metagaming and powergaming?
Metagaming: Using knowledge from out of character in character without a suitable reason. Powergaming: Overpowering another character by ignoring their actions or forcing harmful actions on them regardless of whether you’d realistically be able to do so.
6. Do we allow X-Raying mods or X-Ray texture packs on the server?
No
7. Name one of our current Mentors.
223hero7 (223Hero7)
8. Tell us about yourself!
I’m currently beginning the journey into crippling student debt, not entirely sure what to major in but at least want to get basic classes out of the way. I’m big into medieval fantasy and scifi settings. Name most PC games and I probably play/have played/would definitely play them. I enjoy writing but am a bit self conscious about more creative themes. Pretty quiet person overall, tend to get along well enough with most people.
9. Do you have any examples of your work?
No
10. Did anyone refer you? If not, how did you find our server?
No, found the server while searching around the internet/PMC.
Character Name:
Brynhaldt of the Frostpeak
Character Age:
25
Character Race:
Dwarven
Appearance:
Typical of the Frostpeak variety, Brynhaldt carries eyes of deep blue-grey and dark hair, deep brown in color. Of average height and weight for a Frostpeak, 5ft 1in tall, 160lbs. Dressed in dull, unappealing colors consisting of earthy brown leathers, muted grey cloth, and a touch of deep blue tatters to represent his clan. Lightly armored for his travels, the dwarf has padded cloth throughout his outfit to keep both warm and somewhat protected. His skin has paled in the north.
Written Test!
Taking a long inhale from his father’s pipe, Brynhaldt’s eyes reflected a roaring fire before him. He blew the smoke out slowly from his nose, it rose and joined the dark smoke of the fire. His father stepped up from behind, clapping him on the back with a hefty hand. “Suppose you can say you are your own man, now. You’ve done well this day.” Clearly referring to the dwarves’ initiation into adulthood. Brynhaldt hadn’t felt too different, perhaps only in that his axe had finally tasted blood, he had a somber expression posted on his face as the flames crackled before him. “You act as though you’ve not won the day, what is it?” His father questioned, reaching for his pipe. Brynhaldt contemplated the question momentarily after passing the pipe back, “Why do we carry the axe, Father?” Clearly not sure the spoils of war was worth the cost. The question came almost as a surprise to his father, “Honor, no more, no less,” Brynhaldt’s father pointed to a group of dwarves setting up camp, clanking mugs together, passing pipes around small fires, telling tales of the day’s battles, “Look at them. We’re a very proud people, our clan. We are to be the ones holding our axes and hammers to the sky over a bloodied field with the skulls of our enemies crushed underfoot.” Brynhaldt takes his father’s words to mind, looking back to the intimate funeral pyre before him. Reaching down, he grasped his fallen comrade’s axe and tossed it to the center of the flame, uttering a quiet farewell to a passed brother in arms, and moving on to join the others revelling in the day’s victory.
Hours passed and the night had fallen, a multitude of cooking fires lit the small camp of Frostpeak dwarves. “To Brynhaldt’s initiation!” A fellow dwarf hollered, raising his tankard to the moon. A wave of clanking tankards rolled about a single fire. Brynhaldt couldn’t help but smile, quietly raising a tankard himself and drinking with the rest. The stories had no end, many trying to make their story better than the last. Tales of axes stuck in skulls, sounds of bones breaking, and the presentation of battered and bloody weapons. The circle of stories began to make its way towards Brynhaldt, he was quick to make a weak excuse of refilling his tankard to skip out on the monotonous tales. Finally, he heard only murmurs and the slosh of ale pouring out of a small keg. Draining some, Brynhaldt wiped his beard with a thumb and stared off into the darkness of the previous day’s battlefield. A sudden impulse called him to set off and with a brief look back to the camp he did so. The quiet crunch of snow under his boots was silenced by the quiet roar of the camp as he made his leave. As his father had said, he was his own man now, and he would set out on his own quest for honor.
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