Hatanu
Lord of Altera
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Hatanu
{Introduction Section}
Minecraft Username: Hatanu
Age: 24
Country & Timezone: United States GMT-4
Read the Kings Law, Code of Conducts, Official Lore, and the Player Guides?: Yes
Define Metagaming & Powergaming?: Metagaming: Making decisions using information obtained from outside the bounds of the game or roleplay. Powergaming: Making character decisions, often unfairly, that shift power dynamics to your own favor at the detriment of the overall roleplay experience, as well as sometimes denying or undermining the RP autonomy of others (i.e. Attacking someone and deciding for them that it fells them, or being an instant master of a skill others have taken time to practice within the RP narrative).
Do we allow Xray mods or X-Ray texture packs?: No
Tell us about yourself!: I played on this server for a bit a while back. Life got ahead of me, and I ended up dropping off. Graduated college a couple of years ago at the start of this plagued era. Been working at a new job since, and figuring out what on earth I am doing. When I can I like to read books, play RPGs (jRPGs but I'm branching out to western ones, too), sometimes draw, and struggling to align schedules with friends to run a regular tabletop campaign. Had been a lover and habitual hopper between online games/MMOs, but I'm winding that down. Looking for a long-term world and community to stick around with. I enjoy listening to New Age/fantasy/RPG soundtracks. Getting back into piano and gradually picking up guitar.
Last Approved Whitelist Application:
Hatanu's Whitelist Application (Approved-Lannis)
Referral:
________________________________________
{Character Section}
Character Name: Reigirn Sonbrim
Age: 25
Race: Dwarf
Appearance: Ashen pale-grey skin, black hair and a trimmed beard that is still growing out. Grey eyes.
(Optional) Picture of the Skin:
Written Test (Min: 400 words):
In a nondescript town, near the sea and by the mountains was a small workshop whose chimney puffed smoke through day and whose forge glowed through night. As hammer clashed against molten metal, sparks fly to illuminate an ashen pale face, with eyes as grey as a misty day and a beard the color of charcoal. The work continues, without so much as a pause. A client’s precious time is not to be wasted.
Before long, it is complete, with sweat and sore arms. A new tool, pot, kettle… all of it blending in through the weeks and days, through all the requests. It is almost enough to make him forget the workshop isn’t his. He’s still an apprentice or, more rather, just a simple worker. One known for his ardent diligence. Wiping his brow, he presents his work for approval and retires for the night.
Every so often, on his off-days, he’d go down to the docks, to a tavern to treat himself to a decent meal and booze. In the streets, the markets, and docks he would spot several like him, though living lives of their own. But to him it feels strange, to live under and to drink to a banner and king, whose colors and face he found familiar, but stirred not a ripple in him. He wasn’t always here, but wherever else he’d been, he certainly did not remember. Where he should be, he certainly did not know.
Sitting atop a barrel, he watched the first light of dawn shining from the far mountains. Taking a swig to finish off the tankard, he eyes are lost in the hills and peaks. Was there something for him there, whether beyond or deep underneath? Putting the tankard down with a soft thud, he hops down to the pave-stones and makes his way back up to the workshop.
He had taken on a side-job, the material and expenses for which he had personally covered. Having double-checked the notes as well as the mold, he set himself to work. Melting and molding. Striking and shaping. Cooling then chiseling carefully. Taking a small chain, and looping it through, he examines his handiwork: a small icon of a bronze hammer hitting against an anvil below. It looked rough, getting the idea across but certainly could not compare to the work of a learned jeweler. But it’s a start, and so he clasps it around his neck. Ensuring his birthday present was secured, he grabs his pack and tidies his clothes before heading out the door. The breeze from the door lightly brushes against a note left atop the work bench. Its writer having just hit the road.
Minecraft Username: Hatanu
Age: 24
Country & Timezone: United States GMT-4
Read the Kings Law, Code of Conducts, Official Lore, and the Player Guides?: Yes
Define Metagaming & Powergaming?: Metagaming: Making decisions using information obtained from outside the bounds of the game or roleplay. Powergaming: Making character decisions, often unfairly, that shift power dynamics to your own favor at the detriment of the overall roleplay experience, as well as sometimes denying or undermining the RP autonomy of others (i.e. Attacking someone and deciding for them that it fells them, or being an instant master of a skill others have taken time to practice within the RP narrative).
Do we allow Xray mods or X-Ray texture packs?: No
Tell us about yourself!: I played on this server for a bit a while back. Life got ahead of me, and I ended up dropping off. Graduated college a couple of years ago at the start of this plagued era. Been working at a new job since, and figuring out what on earth I am doing. When I can I like to read books, play RPGs (jRPGs but I'm branching out to western ones, too), sometimes draw, and struggling to align schedules with friends to run a regular tabletop campaign. Had been a lover and habitual hopper between online games/MMOs, but I'm winding that down. Looking for a long-term world and community to stick around with. I enjoy listening to New Age/fantasy/RPG soundtracks. Getting back into piano and gradually picking up guitar.
Last Approved Whitelist Application:
Hatanu's Whitelist Application (Approved-Lannis)
Referral:
________________________________________
{Character Section}
Character Name: Reigirn Sonbrim
Age: 25
Race: Dwarf
Appearance: Ashen pale-grey skin, black hair and a trimmed beard that is still growing out. Grey eyes.
(Optional) Picture of the Skin:
Written Test (Min: 400 words):
In a nondescript town, near the sea and by the mountains was a small workshop whose chimney puffed smoke through day and whose forge glowed through night. As hammer clashed against molten metal, sparks fly to illuminate an ashen pale face, with eyes as grey as a misty day and a beard the color of charcoal. The work continues, without so much as a pause. A client’s precious time is not to be wasted.
Before long, it is complete, with sweat and sore arms. A new tool, pot, kettle… all of it blending in through the weeks and days, through all the requests. It is almost enough to make him forget the workshop isn’t his. He’s still an apprentice or, more rather, just a simple worker. One known for his ardent diligence. Wiping his brow, he presents his work for approval and retires for the night.
Every so often, on his off-days, he’d go down to the docks, to a tavern to treat himself to a decent meal and booze. In the streets, the markets, and docks he would spot several like him, though living lives of their own. But to him it feels strange, to live under and to drink to a banner and king, whose colors and face he found familiar, but stirred not a ripple in him. He wasn’t always here, but wherever else he’d been, he certainly did not remember. Where he should be, he certainly did not know.
Sitting atop a barrel, he watched the first light of dawn shining from the far mountains. Taking a swig to finish off the tankard, he eyes are lost in the hills and peaks. Was there something for him there, whether beyond or deep underneath? Putting the tankard down with a soft thud, he hops down to the pave-stones and makes his way back up to the workshop.
He had taken on a side-job, the material and expenses for which he had personally covered. Having double-checked the notes as well as the mold, he set himself to work. Melting and molding. Striking and shaping. Cooling then chiseling carefully. Taking a small chain, and looping it through, he examines his handiwork: a small icon of a bronze hammer hitting against an anvil below. It looked rough, getting the idea across but certainly could not compare to the work of a learned jeweler. But it’s a start, and so he clasps it around his neck. Ensuring his birthday present was secured, he grabs his pack and tidies his clothes before heading out the door. The breeze from the door lightly brushes against a note left atop the work bench. Its writer having just hit the road.
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