Medieval & Fantasy Minecraft Roleplaying

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Gibbles98 - (Re-application) [Accepted - Jase]

Gib

Lady
Mystic
catadellic
catadellic
Mystic
1. What is your Minecraft username?
Gibbles98

2. How old are you?
I'm 19.

3. What country are you from?
UK

4. Have you read the King's Law, Code of Conducts, Official Lore, and the Player Guides yet?
I have read them and familiarised myself with the lore.

5. In your own words, how would you define metagaming and powergaming?
Metagaming is using your own knowledge in a way that benefits you ingame; as in using what you know in order to manipulate your characters decisions. Powergaming is using foul play and writing unbalanced roleplay. i.e in your own action, writing the other characters response to it.

6. Do we allow X-Raying mods or X-Ray texture packs on the server?
No.

7. Name one of our current Mentors.
Jase

8. Tell us about yourself!
I'm Gibbles98, also known as Gib many years ago. I joined this forum and the server in late 2011 and had many fun years playing on here. I was originally in the bandit town Protaras, run by DeadPress, later joining Heaven's Reach, then Pirate Cove, and Tauredal later on when I tried to make a comeback in 2015 I believe. I stopped playing Minecraft for a long time (I had a problem with someone on here that I knew in real life) and knew I'd never find another server with as much magic as this one did for me. I've always lurked around on the forums but it was late last night I decided to have another go here, so here I am. My hobbies include art (fine art and illustrative artwork), reading, writing and playing my ukelele. I don't play too many games, however the ones I do I play a lot. I've always been very much into Skyrim and Fallout, more notably Fallout: New Vegas as I love the idea of chaotic good characters- which is perhaps something I will explore as a character here if I am accepted.

9. Do you have any examples of your work?
I might post some artwork later on when I get back into the groove of this community, but for now I'll post a segment of a short story I wrote for my A level English coursework, focusing on a man in a gulag in Stalinist Russia, titled Kolyma:

It was yet another frosty day in January, 1938, and the morning sirens were preparing to howl that would awake the workers. Vasily, however, was already up, watching the frost seep up the window pane, occasionally glancing up to the thermometer hanging from a rusty nail on the window frame outside.
Come on, he sighed. He stared a bit more; nothing. A bit longer; nothing. I see how it is. He knelt on the hardwood floor, clasping his hands together and bowing his head in a brisk prayer. He did not believe in a God; it was against the party, but it did not hurt to try anymore.
“Vasily!”
Vasily jumped forward despite the hands grasping his shoulders, and hit his forehead on the window pane, cracking it. He hid his head beneath his hands in anticipation of a beating. He did not dare look up, but uttered, “Please- I was looking at the frost closer- nothing more!”
“Vasily,” a deep voice rumbled, holding his name on his tongue.
Vasily let out the air he didn’t realise he had been holding in. “Ah, Alexei. Do not scare me like that, comrade.”
“I did not mean to scare you.”
“Yes, you did,” replied Vasily, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand, examining the blood. “Now you will have to give me your doctor’s ration ticket, since you caused this injury.”
“You are right, I did mean to scare you,” Alexei chuckled heartily, “and I believe I have outdone myself, this time.” He raised his eyebrows in amusement, and reached into his worn jacket pocket to pull out a filthy rag. He brought Vasily’s hands up to his, and enclosed his own around them, along with the rag. “Wipe your forehead with this, comrade. And there is no way I am giving you my ticket, it was your fault, after all. Say it is a work injury, they will clean it up for you without a ticket.”
Vasily nodded in appreciation, bringing the rag up to his forehead and wiping clean the cut.
“I simply came to bring you the latest Pravda,” said Alexei, smiling.
“Joyous times, comrade. I cannot wait for more information on the Soviet Union’s extraordinary grain production!” Vasily smiled back, and took the filthy newspaper in his free hand, the other still holding the rag to his head.
“Yes, Vasily…” Alexei replied, awkwardly.
“Spit it out comrade, I don’t have the time to wait anymore,” replied Vasily, jokily.
“Vasily, friend, comrade-“
Vasily scanned Alexei, the hearty, hefty Russian stumbled and fumbled in his words. His weathered face creased like a worn map as he knitted his brows together. It was unlike the brash, straightforward man Vasily knew so well; the one who welcomed him into Kolyma, the one who took him through the first day of labour digging beneath the ice lakes, the strongest man he knew.
“I have heard your news, and I am sorry.”
The morning call began. It was officially five AM, the beginning of the work day. The broken men stirred in their cots. Alexei stepped forward.
“I had forgotten why you were here, comrade. I had forgotten your fate. I should not have let myself get attached to you-“
The sirens stopped their incessant blaring after a minute, as they always did. Vasily brought the rag down from his forehead and pocketed it. He waited.
“But you made it too easy, comrade! And now I will never have a friend as great as you. I will keep you in my mind, forever. I might even pray for a chill below minus 40, so you can have your final day off work.” Alexei winked, morphing back to his usual self. Vasily knew well that Alexei could not comprehend his emotions well, so he often stayed joyful as default. His light hearted ways often got him rewards with the guards.
“It is a shame the greats are going,” he continued. “Lenin first, then Kirov, Trotsky, Kamenev and Zinoviev, and now you. No doubt Bukharin next, hey, comrade?” He chuckled that hearty bellow he so often did; one of genuine joy in the hard times. This time, it trailed off. Hearty enough, but lower. Sadder.
Unbeknownst to him, Alexei was right. Vasily stared at him for a while, taking in his friend’s features. His bright blue eyes glinted among the dead ones, his cheeks red with warmth while the others blue from the cold. His bushy black brows and moustache stood out among the bare faced. Alexei swung his arm up to grasp his shoulder once more, pulling Vasily out of his thoughts. He was stronger than he thought, as his ten long years in the Kolyma, coupled with his extra food intake for good work built him up to be a giant of man. Strong as an oak, brave as a bull. He was the oldest out of all the prisoners at Kolyma. Though weathered, he was only fifty. The old and the young could not survive the cold or work digging at the ice lakes, and he lost both his father and adolescent son to the blight.
“Are you listening to me, comrade?”
“Yes,” replied Vasily. He wasn’t.
Alexei simply pointed at the poster next to Vasily’s cot, an eyebrow raised.
UNDER GREAT STALIN’S LEADERSHIP – ONWARD TO COMMUNISM!
Vasily couldn’t help but roll his tired eyes. He came to Kolyma tired. He stayed in Kolyma tired. And he will die in Kolyma, tired. Alexei turned around and made his way through the crumbling men who put on their ragged clothes as if in slow motion.
Vasily stood in thought. He stared into the middle distance, envisioning his confession. The one they would tell you that if you admitted, they would leave your family. It was not true. It was all a lie; everyone in the gulags knew it. Everyone outside the gulags knew it, too, but none could confess it.
"Let's head to work comrade. It's not below minus 40 degrees. Maybe Koba was right about to believe Marx: 'Religion is the opiate of the masses,' after all." He mocked.
Vasily simply nodded.
And so, the two men headed out, between the shades of men that once were, that take the form of skeletons forcing their lives to continue. The hope was lost among the men of bones, their eyes hollow and dim. The outline of their skull was clear through the translucent skin that hung from their faces in a sad frown, covered by thin, pale lips; that eerie grin of the bare skull, seen always in death, but rarely in life. Their breath clung to the cold air and sank. There was no warmth here; only cold bones and old souls.
The cold bit at their faces; Vasily's smooth face instantly shrunk into his scarf, Alexei's bushy beard braving the snowflakes. What little heat retention they had gained from the wooden huts that served as barracks for the masses they stayed in was now dissipated among the falling blizzard. Their breath instantly sunk down to their valenki that crunched into the crisp snow.
Koba’s voice rang from the loud speakers: ‘WORK, SO COMRADE STALIN MAY THANK YOU!’
They all remained silent.
The guards lined up above the huts on the top of the concrete stairs that led up to the cafeteria, plump, warm and wealthy. The prisoners lined up adjacent to them, at the bottom of the staircase, skeletal, cold, and miserable.

10. Did anyone refer you? If not, how did you find our server?
I don't remember who told me about it but I came to the server in 2011. A group of us moved over from a larger, more chaotic server to this one.

About Your Character!

Character Name:
Achilles Major

Character Age:
20

Character Race:
Forest Elf.

Appearance:
A young traveler; bright blue eyes contrast to her olive skin. A loose fitting off-white shirt hangs off a lean body, cloaked with a short, hooded woollen cloak. (This will perhaps change as my skin is outdated, but I am happy to rewrite/post a character template if this is a problem c: )


(Optional) Picture of the Skin:
n/a

Written Test!

She sat on the edge of the docks, the tips of her boots just grazing the gentle ripples fleeting underneath the wooden boardwalk. Whether she was doing anything particularly interesting with her time was not at the interest of the locals. However, to her interest, she definitely wasn't.
--
'Stop getting yourself in trouble.'

'It's a one time thing.' Achilles mused, looking at her seated father, 'It never happens with hands and wits as fast as these. Either way, we've always known I've got Jax's blessing.'

'Empty your pockets.'

Laces of pearls followed by strings of gold and copious shining rings that were spotted with emeralds, rubies, and diamonds flowed from her pockets. She placed her satchel on the table too, where silver coronets, medallions and golden goblets spilled out of it.

And so she sat down, opposing her father. Though a reserved man - and a well respected one at that - he often snapped at the actions his disorderly children.

'You know what happened to your brother.'

Achilles remained silent and slumped into her chair. He continued;

'The same will happen to you, love. I tell you this because I care for your well being. I cannot protect you anymore; in the real world you will realise this. The only reason why you get away with your thieving is because you are from a respectable family.'

'I'm good at what I do. That's why I get away with it.' She corrected, flippantly.

'Perhaps. But I've been told to reign you in. I've begged you to learn new skills. Respectable ones. Please, love.'

And so time slowed when she locked eyes with her father. What is she now to her own father? An animal to be reigned? Those piercing blue eyes that both of his children inherited held so many curses and blessings. Her father had somewhat mastered how to use them though, and had mastered wriggling out of prison sentence after court hailing after bar fight, something that Achilles' brother didn't inherit. She knew what her father meant by reigning it in, and it included being sent from home. The silence became shrill. The streets outside were empty of people, there were no birds in the rafters, no cats scratching at the door posts.

Achilles began to spin her stolen silver ring around her finger in anxiety turned anger.

'Ballard was a drunkard. This isn't fair! Theft and social climbing is how we became wealthy- my first words were 'fake it 'til you make it!''

'Achilles,' he hushed, 'It's already arranged. You're going to Storm's Landing, to learn how to not act like the bandit you seem to have become. You have to adapt. No. More. Stealing.'
--
Achilles winced at the memory, turning her head to the side. She looked down the bustling pier towards the small boat with white and blue sails that swished in the gentle wind.

'Guess this is where I start.'
 
Last edited:

Jase

"Something need doing?"
Legend
Congratulations!

I'm pleased to announce your application has been approved. I hope you enjoy your stay in Altera. Before logging on make sure you read the Survival Guide. It will help you on your way to get established in our World. If you need to know any additional information, everything can be found in our King's Law. Make sure you consult either of these two before asking a question ingame.

If you're stuck unable to interact with anything or chat, try using /warp whitelist, if this doesn't work then please message a staff member with the problem.

+You are probably eager to jump into the game, so there is no need to read all the links. Just use these as a reference for later.+

Discord & Server IP
Survival Guide - Read this to help when you login!
The King's Law
How to Create a Character
Roleplay
The Official Lore & The Lore Book
Town Census
Plugins Command Guide
In-Game Character Cards
Donate to the Server!

Lastly, please make sure you understand the following points:

+ Do not powergame, metagame or use x-ray texturepacks on the server! Our moderation team makes sure to deal with severe reports.
+ Anyone found to be griefing our server and subsequently blaming their sibling, friend, dog or any other person other than themselves will be banned irrespective of their innocence.

+If you'd like to provide any feedback, concerns, suggestions, or otherwise on our application process, please feel free to contact me here on the forums.+
 
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