Rhuse
Villager
1. What is your Minecraft username?
Rhuse.
2. How old are you?
16.
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 have.
5. In your own words, how would you define metagaming and powergaming?
Metagaming: Outside actions or knowledge influencing roleplay in ways that should or would not be achieved or determined in-character.
Powergaming: Completing or forcing an action that is either unachievable or unfair to another player.
6. Do we allow X-Raying mods or X-Ray texture packs on the server?
No.
7. Name one of our current Mentors.
Snerus
8. Tell us about yourself!
I play the acoustic guitar in a sort of "folk" band, with a name I'd prefer not to disclose due to privacy reasons. Among the many pets that have run amok in my home, my family currently has two rescue cats. I'm hoping to take the needed strides in education to pursue a career in astrophysics, and frequently am charting stars at night when I can get out of the city's light pollution. At the moment I work at a Starbucks, but it's not what I'd want to see myself doing in the future. One of my biggest dreams is to send something to space, even myself.
9. Do you have any examples of your work?
I would prefer to keep them for myself, thank you.
10. Did anyone refer you? If not, how did you find our server?
It was on a list of servers and was old. There must be something there.
Character Name:
Dagrun.
Character Age:
50.
Character Race:
Dwarf.
Appearance:
Starting stereotypically, he's like to change over time. Initially he'll be an auburn-haired man, stocky and somewhat stout. The man stands at 4'3, but his weight accounts his race at around 140 pounds. He has a rounded face, but a chiselled jaw. His beard and sideburns are shaved to demonstrate this in a fit of vanity. Dagrun's brown eyes match his informal jerkin, worn over a maroon shirt with the sleeves rolled up. His black trousers slip into his brown, leather boots.
Written Test!
Dagrun sat at an Inn, a map strewn out before him. A talisman, carved into a bird with four wings held one of the corners. Every moment he looked at it sent a flash of memory.
He recalled an old dwarf, Drummond, in the Exodus marking out course for where they would be staying, but their boat fragmented amid the storm. Dagrun swore he felt his arm and leg blasted off by the shrapnel of the wooden craft, but awoke alone on an island not far off the Western Coast of the new land and sure enough, his arm and leg were still there.
Dagrun felt phantom pains of phantom injury.
It wasn't absolute, but the mark he'd charted perfectly reflected the conditions he and Drummond were to settle for what he'd hoped to be a Dwarven city in the new land. They had discussed it at length, even.
He clutched onto the talisman, the fine oak carving not budging under his firm grip. He began to chart course to the East, by the lavaland.
Dagrun noticed the patrons had begun to stare, and subsequently noticed his heavy breathing had taken up the volume of the room. He returned to his map, slipping back from the attention of the public. Drummond's words were still ringing in his head. The old man never seemed to make sense to him, but that man was his closest friend. Abundant with stories and tales of old, despite his shyness. Each night he would pray to see Drummond's eccentric grin again, or to hear him stutter the word "form".
Dagrun grinned to himself, attempting to match Drummond's, but once more had to stall himself as he realized the entire room was still staring. He spat across the map, furrowing his brow. Humans, elves and now even talks of birdpeople were overwhelming him. Had they forgotten of the dwarves? Of King Jaret Ironbrow? He felt like a relic of the past, in spite of his relative youth. A bad feeling, he elected.
Drummond's voice rang once more, a muffled shout in heavy wind.
"You've much more life ahead of you, young one. I need your youth to keep me going. Just until we find one. One who can see into the anim-".
The boat snapped, cutting him off. The words weren't haunting, but they weighed on Dagrun heavily. He felt his boots plant into the ground, the large thud taking attention once more. He didn't care anymore who saw his display, he had too many questions and fears.
"Did he stay alive without me? Is that what he'd meant by youth? Seeing into animals?"
The anxiety of not knowing crept over him. Dagrun spilled his drink on himself as he stood, concluding.
"I need to find him soon."
Rhuse.
2. How old are you?
16.
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 have.
5. In your own words, how would you define metagaming and powergaming?
Metagaming: Outside actions or knowledge influencing roleplay in ways that should or would not be achieved or determined in-character.
Powergaming: Completing or forcing an action that is either unachievable or unfair to another player.
6. Do we allow X-Raying mods or X-Ray texture packs on the server?
No.
7. Name one of our current Mentors.
Snerus
8. Tell us about yourself!
I play the acoustic guitar in a sort of "folk" band, with a name I'd prefer not to disclose due to privacy reasons. Among the many pets that have run amok in my home, my family currently has two rescue cats. I'm hoping to take the needed strides in education to pursue a career in astrophysics, and frequently am charting stars at night when I can get out of the city's light pollution. At the moment I work at a Starbucks, but it's not what I'd want to see myself doing in the future. One of my biggest dreams is to send something to space, even myself.
9. Do you have any examples of your work?
I would prefer to keep them for myself, thank you.
10. Did anyone refer you? If not, how did you find our server?
It was on a list of servers and was old. There must be something there.
Character Name:
Dagrun.
Character Age:
50.
Character Race:
Dwarf.
Appearance:
Starting stereotypically, he's like to change over time. Initially he'll be an auburn-haired man, stocky and somewhat stout. The man stands at 4'3, but his weight accounts his race at around 140 pounds. He has a rounded face, but a chiselled jaw. His beard and sideburns are shaved to demonstrate this in a fit of vanity. Dagrun's brown eyes match his informal jerkin, worn over a maroon shirt with the sleeves rolled up. His black trousers slip into his brown, leather boots.
Written Test!
Dagrun sat at an Inn, a map strewn out before him. A talisman, carved into a bird with four wings held one of the corners. Every moment he looked at it sent a flash of memory.
He recalled an old dwarf, Drummond, in the Exodus marking out course for where they would be staying, but their boat fragmented amid the storm. Dagrun swore he felt his arm and leg blasted off by the shrapnel of the wooden craft, but awoke alone on an island not far off the Western Coast of the new land and sure enough, his arm and leg were still there.
Dagrun felt phantom pains of phantom injury.
It wasn't absolute, but the mark he'd charted perfectly reflected the conditions he and Drummond were to settle for what he'd hoped to be a Dwarven city in the new land. They had discussed it at length, even.
He clutched onto the talisman, the fine oak carving not budging under his firm grip. He began to chart course to the East, by the lavaland.
Dagrun noticed the patrons had begun to stare, and subsequently noticed his heavy breathing had taken up the volume of the room. He returned to his map, slipping back from the attention of the public. Drummond's words were still ringing in his head. The old man never seemed to make sense to him, but that man was his closest friend. Abundant with stories and tales of old, despite his shyness. Each night he would pray to see Drummond's eccentric grin again, or to hear him stutter the word "form".
Dagrun grinned to himself, attempting to match Drummond's, but once more had to stall himself as he realized the entire room was still staring. He spat across the map, furrowing his brow. Humans, elves and now even talks of birdpeople were overwhelming him. Had they forgotten of the dwarves? Of King Jaret Ironbrow? He felt like a relic of the past, in spite of his relative youth. A bad feeling, he elected.
Drummond's voice rang once more, a muffled shout in heavy wind.
"You've much more life ahead of you, young one. I need your youth to keep me going. Just until we find one. One who can see into the anim-".
The boat snapped, cutting him off. The words weren't haunting, but they weighed on Dagrun heavily. He felt his boots plant into the ground, the large thud taking attention once more. He didn't care anymore who saw his display, he had too many questions and fears.
"Did he stay alive without me? Is that what he'd meant by youth? Seeing into animals?"
The anxiety of not knowing crept over him. Dagrun spilled his drink on himself as he stood, concluding.
"I need to find him soon."
Last edited:
