FreddiFry
Villager
- Pronouns
- She/Her, They/Them
I used the generator to help put stuff together!
{Introduction Section}
________________________________________
Minecraft Username:
fairytears
Age:
20
Country & Timezone:
CST
Read the Kings Law, Code of Conducts, Official Lore, and the Player Guides?:
Yes
________________________________________
Define Metagaming & Powergaming?:
Metagaming is generally discouraged because it undermines the integrity of the roleplay world—it is the act of ising outside or previous knowledge from scenarios to gain and advantage, and can diminish the fun and challenge for everyone involved. They’re a bannable offense because it is a form of cheating—hearing about secret events that aren’t marked as public knowledge and reacting to it in character is also metagaming as it realistically shouldn’t be known to your character unless they’re told. Powergaming can be the act of ignoring other players’ consent to the scene or actions. Powergamers seek to create characters that are as strong, efficient, or effective as possible within the game's rules and mechanics, which is generally frowned upon and referred to as minmaxing. Often this breaks many rules including the fairness rule, and players consenting (PTK, RTK) to the scene, but the reason this is a bannable offense is because powergaming directly uses “Power” phrases—taking over somebody elses intiative that they did not consent to, and also roleplaying imaginary guards/friends/followers that were originally not in the scene to convey “more power” isn’t something that is allowed in any scene.
Do we allow Xray mods or X-Ray texture packs?:
No
Tell us about yourself!:
Hi there!! My name is Freddi or fairytears for my online persona. I am a Psychology major with an emphasis on Human Services and GFX side hustles such as Minecraft renders, builds, skins, keyarts and even logos! I also do art as a love interest and write my own worldbuilding and stories.
Referral:
Book & Passencore
________________________________________
{Character Section}
Character Name:
Finch Jeunesse des Héroux | “Finch, Youth of Wulves”
Age:
45
________________________________________
Race:
Halfling | Ex-Roaver
________________________________________
Appearance:
Finch Jeunesse des Héroux, also known as "Finch, Youth of Wulves," has a striking and enigmatic appearance. Finch has a rugged and charismatic presence. He has a height of around 3’5” feet and a solid, muscular build. Some more insulting people would say he’s in contrast to a scary dog breed but with a birth defect, but that same contrast means he is kind at heart. He has a square-shaped face with strong features. His most striking facial characteristic was his prominent nose, which had a slightly bulbous tip. Finch has a head full of thick, wavy salt-and-pepper hair, which he often styles in a neat manner including a lengthened braided beard that reaches chest length to match, parted into two sides.
His eyes are dark and expressive like two billowing empty forest logs, with a deep gaze that could convey a wide range of emotions. He has bushy eyebrows that add character to his face. Finch often sports on top of his braided beard a well-groomed curled mustache.
In terms of style, Finch typically dresses in a classic and polished manner, befitting his roles and public appearances. He often wears tailored suits, shirts, and ties, projecting an air of elegance and sophistication and yet at the same time like an ex-militant man who one could contract for a job well-done.
Danny Aiello is his faceclaim, and he has a risky and dangerous relationship with his voice: Sounding as if he has been through too many clouds of dust in his lifetime, but at the same time as if he hasn’t been through enough. (Newt Scamander voiceclaim & tone)
________________________________________
Written Test (Min: 400 words):
The petrichor wafted, singing and dancing illusively into the leather of his boots; addressing what makes a storm, rain begins to fall from the soft clouds, their angry faces are a strange grey and they stink of misery when he looks up to them from the cold ground of the university's worn and torn garden. His eyes beset on their temperament, shaken by the inevitable glare as he crouches into a curled form and holds the languishing paper between his hands. Raindrops sidle off its curves and melts like sour cheese, painting the pavement below with the words he could not remember. Scrunching his lips and eyes he weeps as his body shivers in his soaked uniform, not one tear is distinct from the rain. His admiration for the elites shakes in his body from his head to his toes, and to have a dream shattered by one of them immerses a deep break in his heart. When he looks up on his knees ahead to shelter, he swallows back and cries into his hands, the paper squishing between his fingers into paste and he can only mourn.
His lips pull apart and open to let out a wail from his core and he curls deeper against the ground, betrayed by ideas. He forfeits his ideals and yearns for comfort, the cold of the rain and gloomy clouds do nothing to help him. When he is done, he shambles to his feet, low and young and with plenty to lose, immersing himself in misery and defeat.
“What is it you desire?”
Deadly, he casts a glare to the desk in front of him, nose overstimulated with the smell of ancient books, papyrus and stain. A pointer finger takes the grey hay-like strands between its grasp and pulls away, desperate dark eyes accompanying his pale lips in notion, focus scooting; the man burns his retinas when he looks up from where he is staring, as the sun's rays pierce through the pane. He inhales through his nose and exhales as he pulls his lips apart to answer the inquiry, ".. Greater than people who dismissed me." His voice... it's soft, silky like velvet. Yet his vocabulary is large, strong and sharp as if to attack anybody's ears. "... They have made me enervated, weak. I cannot comprehend how.. One could truly look at another and speak of power when in doubt, they have only pulled the first gentle branch from a copse. The forest yields many more opportunities, and I have yet to discover my potential in the shivering roots." He pulls his head aside, body drooping lethargically; shoulders bowing, he leans and melts into the chair, comforted by the idea of a quill in his grasp as he strokes it's top feathers. "That is my aspiration. I wish to tell them what-of, not who I am.. But what capabilities I have gained…" He bites the end of the quill, ink slicking down his tongue and he ejects it from his mouth in utter distaste, shoulders keeling up as his palms face into the table and push him to his feet. "I can explain the unexplainable. I will not mourn the death of my ideas, nor will I traumatize my individuality with corrupt ineptitude of others here." He looks to you. And he shuffles to the books, pale skinny fingers caressing the bindings, and when he wraps his fingers around it he jests a little, "Might I inquire if you have ever touched a book, and felt the author's sorrow?" And he looks away, distant in thought as he stares at the window pane. A slight frown besets on his face, and he falls quiet.
________________________________________
{Introduction Section}
________________________________________
Minecraft Username:
fairytears
Age:
20
Country & Timezone:
CST
Read the Kings Law, Code of Conducts, Official Lore, and the Player Guides?:
Yes
________________________________________
Define Metagaming & Powergaming?:
Metagaming is generally discouraged because it undermines the integrity of the roleplay world—it is the act of ising outside or previous knowledge from scenarios to gain and advantage, and can diminish the fun and challenge for everyone involved. They’re a bannable offense because it is a form of cheating—hearing about secret events that aren’t marked as public knowledge and reacting to it in character is also metagaming as it realistically shouldn’t be known to your character unless they’re told. Powergaming can be the act of ignoring other players’ consent to the scene or actions. Powergamers seek to create characters that are as strong, efficient, or effective as possible within the game's rules and mechanics, which is generally frowned upon and referred to as minmaxing. Often this breaks many rules including the fairness rule, and players consenting (PTK, RTK) to the scene, but the reason this is a bannable offense is because powergaming directly uses “Power” phrases—taking over somebody elses intiative that they did not consent to, and also roleplaying imaginary guards/friends/followers that were originally not in the scene to convey “more power” isn’t something that is allowed in any scene.
Do we allow Xray mods or X-Ray texture packs?:
No
Tell us about yourself!:
Hi there!! My name is Freddi or fairytears for my online persona. I am a Psychology major with an emphasis on Human Services and GFX side hustles such as Minecraft renders, builds, skins, keyarts and even logos! I also do art as a love interest and write my own worldbuilding and stories.
Referral:
Book & Passencore
________________________________________
{Character Section}
Character Name:
Finch Jeunesse des Héroux | “Finch, Youth of Wulves”
Age:
45
________________________________________
Race:
Halfling | Ex-Roaver
________________________________________
Appearance:
Finch Jeunesse des Héroux, also known as "Finch, Youth of Wulves," has a striking and enigmatic appearance. Finch has a rugged and charismatic presence. He has a height of around 3’5” feet and a solid, muscular build. Some more insulting people would say he’s in contrast to a scary dog breed but with a birth defect, but that same contrast means he is kind at heart. He has a square-shaped face with strong features. His most striking facial characteristic was his prominent nose, which had a slightly bulbous tip. Finch has a head full of thick, wavy salt-and-pepper hair, which he often styles in a neat manner including a lengthened braided beard that reaches chest length to match, parted into two sides.
His eyes are dark and expressive like two billowing empty forest logs, with a deep gaze that could convey a wide range of emotions. He has bushy eyebrows that add character to his face. Finch often sports on top of his braided beard a well-groomed curled mustache.
In terms of style, Finch typically dresses in a classic and polished manner, befitting his roles and public appearances. He often wears tailored suits, shirts, and ties, projecting an air of elegance and sophistication and yet at the same time like an ex-militant man who one could contract for a job well-done.
Danny Aiello is his faceclaim, and he has a risky and dangerous relationship with his voice: Sounding as if he has been through too many clouds of dust in his lifetime, but at the same time as if he hasn’t been through enough. (Newt Scamander voiceclaim & tone)
________________________________________
Written Test (Min: 400 words):
The petrichor wafted, singing and dancing illusively into the leather of his boots; addressing what makes a storm, rain begins to fall from the soft clouds, their angry faces are a strange grey and they stink of misery when he looks up to them from the cold ground of the university's worn and torn garden. His eyes beset on their temperament, shaken by the inevitable glare as he crouches into a curled form and holds the languishing paper between his hands. Raindrops sidle off its curves and melts like sour cheese, painting the pavement below with the words he could not remember. Scrunching his lips and eyes he weeps as his body shivers in his soaked uniform, not one tear is distinct from the rain. His admiration for the elites shakes in his body from his head to his toes, and to have a dream shattered by one of them immerses a deep break in his heart. When he looks up on his knees ahead to shelter, he swallows back and cries into his hands, the paper squishing between his fingers into paste and he can only mourn.
His lips pull apart and open to let out a wail from his core and he curls deeper against the ground, betrayed by ideas. He forfeits his ideals and yearns for comfort, the cold of the rain and gloomy clouds do nothing to help him. When he is done, he shambles to his feet, low and young and with plenty to lose, immersing himself in misery and defeat.
“What is it you desire?”
Deadly, he casts a glare to the desk in front of him, nose overstimulated with the smell of ancient books, papyrus and stain. A pointer finger takes the grey hay-like strands between its grasp and pulls away, desperate dark eyes accompanying his pale lips in notion, focus scooting; the man burns his retinas when he looks up from where he is staring, as the sun's rays pierce through the pane. He inhales through his nose and exhales as he pulls his lips apart to answer the inquiry, ".. Greater than people who dismissed me." His voice... it's soft, silky like velvet. Yet his vocabulary is large, strong and sharp as if to attack anybody's ears. "... They have made me enervated, weak. I cannot comprehend how.. One could truly look at another and speak of power when in doubt, they have only pulled the first gentle branch from a copse. The forest yields many more opportunities, and I have yet to discover my potential in the shivering roots." He pulls his head aside, body drooping lethargically; shoulders bowing, he leans and melts into the chair, comforted by the idea of a quill in his grasp as he strokes it's top feathers. "That is my aspiration. I wish to tell them what-of, not who I am.. But what capabilities I have gained…" He bites the end of the quill, ink slicking down his tongue and he ejects it from his mouth in utter distaste, shoulders keeling up as his palms face into the table and push him to his feet. "I can explain the unexplainable. I will not mourn the death of my ideas, nor will I traumatize my individuality with corrupt ineptitude of others here." He looks to you. And he shuffles to the books, pale skinny fingers caressing the bindings, and when he wraps his fingers around it he jests a little, "Might I inquire if you have ever touched a book, and felt the author's sorrow?" And he looks away, distant in thought as he stares at the window pane. A slight frown besets on his face, and he falls quiet.
________________________________________
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