PRECURS0R
Legend
The RE-Whitelist Application Form
About You!
1. What is your Minecraft username?
PRECURS0R, Formerly zXzEnderzXz (thankgodichangedthat)
2. Where is your last approved Whitelist Application?
Here
3. Have you re-read the King's Law, Code of Conducts, Official Lore, and the Player Guides again?
Yessir
4. Tell us about yourself!
Now a 22 year old weirdo just feeling nostalgic for some fun times had roleplaying. Really into Dnd with about 6 campaigns under my belt not including one-shots. Love to write characters and settings and am currently working on a campaign I can run for some friends one day. I dip myself in and out of illustration from time to time also with now 4 years of technical school behind me for art and illustration. (am garbage still but its fun at least.) My current partner who's really into Dream smp got me kinda hooked on it because of the improvisational roleplay and that's what sparked my interest in giving this another good ol' college try.
Video game interests also include: Kingdom hearts, Monster hunter, Dark souls, Dragons dogma, maybe a lil apex i guess please play with me i hate playing with randos haha.
now a pc friend.
And I've got a cat. His name is Sketchy.
About Your Character!
Character Name:
Ginnian Isaac Fritch
Character Age:
19
Character Race:
Halfling
Appearance:
Ginnian stands 3'7''. The shortest of his brothers. Lithe in build. His skin ashen, pale. Perhaps the weakest link in his family physically but behind his gray eyes, under his dark brown curly hair, may be the brightest of minds.
He wears a dark leather suit with linen wraps around his arms and wrists and one thicker piece of linen wrapped around his neck like a loose shawl. Brown tattered clothing resembling a sort of robe made of material close to burlap. Some may confuse him for homeless but he would claim he's just into the aesthetic.
(Optional) Picture of the Skin:
Ginnian doesn't believe in pictures.
Written Test!
Its a restless night across The Sorrows. Much like any other. Wind howls along a field where a lone shack stands, barely standing its own against the forces of nature but still it does against such odds.
A zombie, one of many strewn through the grass, a dwarf of a long forgotten lineage, beard lathered in mud, incapacitated but not relieved of its undeath, lies legless in the swaying grass, groaning into the dark. A skeleton, an amalgam of bones, much like a scarecrow, an idol, now sentinel of this valley. Shaking as air rips through its exposed ribcage. Slack jawed and motionless, standing dumbfounded in a perpetual scream.
Its a clever ward. To set up dispatched undead over the night in such a way to make the still living, hunters, bandits, un-favorables, and the like steer clear of the area; less they risk being ambushed by whatever lays lazily in the tall grass.
"Very clever indeed."
An unknown human man, hooded in brown leather and camouflaged in various foliage scoffs quietly to himself, looking on at dim light leaking from various cracks in the shack.
"...Feh! For a novice."
He looks for shelter from the cold night, not confrontation, but nevertheless he unslings his crossbow from his shoulder and carefully makes his approach on the shack expecting whoever could be inside would be at least a competent survivalist and thus a potential risk.
The rotten old door opens easily.
The man enters to see sitting against the far wall of the shack: Ginnian. A young Halfling man. Wrapped in blankets of linens and torn scraps bearing the faded designs of what may have been old carpets.
He looks up only for a brief moment then back down to a book he has in his small cracked and dry hands.
He speaks in a confident yet dry voice.
"If you're here for scraps, rations, or treasure you best be on your way." Ginnian's cold fingers fumble slightly as he turns the page in his book. "Nothing to be found here but mold."
The weary old man aim's his crossbow for the strangers head for a moment, only lowering it after he assesses the host of this house is no threat to be dealt with, easy pickings but judging from his character he wouldn't have much of worth on him.
"...What's a scrawny lil' scribe doin in the depths of The Sorrows?"
"Finalizing the drafts for my report. 48 hours worth of watching these hills, I finally can start putting it together. Though it still makes such little sense."
"Hah, what could you possibly be writing a report on in these forsaken valleys? The daily habits of the walking dead?"
Ginnian Shakes his head with closed eyes in some disappointment.
"You think the only thing that haunts these fields are the undead?"
Foreboding, Ginnian's gaze raises to meet the old hunters.
"Something else lurks here. And I'm writing about my findings."
The hunter, now having taken a seat on the ground against an adjacent wall to Ginnian, rubs his chin, stubbled with hair
"...heheheee you sounds like you've been out in the wilderness way too long boy. You should run on back home to the continent once day breaks."
"And you feel like you know more than I would? How long do you reside in these lands? Do you truly scrutinize these surroundings? These are ancient, uninhabitable, uncharted lands. Who are you to say there's not something else here hiding just out of your perceptions." Ginnian pauses to catch himself and establish his composure once more. The old man looking at him with an intense stare, the tension in the room is as thick as the smell of the rotted oak that holds the walls together. "The undead outside lying in the fields around naught able to do but moan. The lone skeleton standing at the hill stood upright. Did you give it a closer look? The way its arranged? An amalgam of parts taken from the bodies around us, stripped clean of flesh from the bones. It was made with more purpose than just to drive the living away. Its a totem. A claim on this land."
"And you made it so didn't you?"
Says the old hunter with a glint of concern.
Ginnians stare narrows and intensifies as to express a most passionate of fear yet his mind marred by the need for knowledge seen through those glassy gray eyes.
"Tell me sir, by your own judgement, do I look like a man that could hold his own against even a small hoard of the dead? I'm but a scholar, not a warrior. I would take no such care and time to erect one of those skeletal idols. And I'll have you know in my time here iv seen many, many of them around the valley. I have naught even a weapon."
Ginnian moved the cloth surrounding him to show he carries no weapons openly.
"I survive by hiding, with patience, and faith in The Watcher, as the dark of night protects me. Their protection, their eyes watch me as I watch for the things that you don't dare to look for."
"Y-You speak tales.. there's nothing that call's these lands home but-"
The man staggers to rise to his feet, he falls against the walls of the building having been startled as the wind slams against the exterior, a broken window nearby letting a severe cold into the room not truly felt until now as the candles lit next to Ginnian flicker and die. And just as it happens a choir of unholy sounds ring through the night. A concoction of piercing whistles from the bones of the skeletal totem mixed with the harrowing cries of the dead in the weeds. The house groans mightily and somewhere in the night a wild animal cries out from the dark completing a horrifying symphony.
The man shakes, wide eyed and in a fever of fear.
"-I will not die here to some unfathomable horror! Leave here its not safe!"
The man holds his crossbow close to his chest as he barrels out the door and into the night leaving Ginnian alone to the house.
Moments pass. Giggles are heard in the dark.
A flash of light. A flame sparks. And a candle is lit once again. Ginnian sat alone, once again grinning to himself, and in a whisper:
"Tales indeed..."
He shimmy's in his seat, moving the sword sheathed, still slightly stained with blood from a rushed cleaning and hidden behind his back pressed against the wall.
He thinks to himself in bliss finally able to enjoy his time alone once again. He closes the book he was reading through.
"A fitting one for the archives. Someday. Perhaps I'll call this one The Wendigo."
About You!
1. What is your Minecraft username?
PRECURS0R, Formerly zXzEnderzXz (thankgodichangedthat)
2. Where is your last approved Whitelist Application?
Here
3. Have you re-read the King's Law, Code of Conducts, Official Lore, and the Player Guides again?
Yessir
4. Tell us about yourself!
Now a 22 year old weirdo just feeling nostalgic for some fun times had roleplaying. Really into Dnd with about 6 campaigns under my belt not including one-shots. Love to write characters and settings and am currently working on a campaign I can run for some friends one day. I dip myself in and out of illustration from time to time also with now 4 years of technical school behind me for art and illustration. (am garbage still but its fun at least.) My current partner who's really into Dream smp got me kinda hooked on it because of the improvisational roleplay and that's what sparked my interest in giving this another good ol' college try.
Video game interests also include: Kingdom hearts, Monster hunter, Dark souls, Dragons dogma, maybe a lil apex i guess please play with me i hate playing with randos haha.
now a pc friend.
And I've got a cat. His name is Sketchy.
About Your Character!
Character Name:
Ginnian Isaac Fritch
Character Age:
19
Character Race:
Halfling
Appearance:
Ginnian stands 3'7''. The shortest of his brothers. Lithe in build. His skin ashen, pale. Perhaps the weakest link in his family physically but behind his gray eyes, under his dark brown curly hair, may be the brightest of minds.
He wears a dark leather suit with linen wraps around his arms and wrists and one thicker piece of linen wrapped around his neck like a loose shawl. Brown tattered clothing resembling a sort of robe made of material close to burlap. Some may confuse him for homeless but he would claim he's just into the aesthetic.
(Optional) Picture of the Skin:
Ginnian doesn't believe in pictures.
Written Test!
Its a restless night across The Sorrows. Much like any other. Wind howls along a field where a lone shack stands, barely standing its own against the forces of nature but still it does against such odds.
A zombie, one of many strewn through the grass, a dwarf of a long forgotten lineage, beard lathered in mud, incapacitated but not relieved of its undeath, lies legless in the swaying grass, groaning into the dark. A skeleton, an amalgam of bones, much like a scarecrow, an idol, now sentinel of this valley. Shaking as air rips through its exposed ribcage. Slack jawed and motionless, standing dumbfounded in a perpetual scream.
Its a clever ward. To set up dispatched undead over the night in such a way to make the still living, hunters, bandits, un-favorables, and the like steer clear of the area; less they risk being ambushed by whatever lays lazily in the tall grass.
"Very clever indeed."
An unknown human man, hooded in brown leather and camouflaged in various foliage scoffs quietly to himself, looking on at dim light leaking from various cracks in the shack.
"...Feh! For a novice."
He looks for shelter from the cold night, not confrontation, but nevertheless he unslings his crossbow from his shoulder and carefully makes his approach on the shack expecting whoever could be inside would be at least a competent survivalist and thus a potential risk.
The rotten old door opens easily.
The man enters to see sitting against the far wall of the shack: Ginnian. A young Halfling man. Wrapped in blankets of linens and torn scraps bearing the faded designs of what may have been old carpets.
He looks up only for a brief moment then back down to a book he has in his small cracked and dry hands.
He speaks in a confident yet dry voice.
"If you're here for scraps, rations, or treasure you best be on your way." Ginnian's cold fingers fumble slightly as he turns the page in his book. "Nothing to be found here but mold."
The weary old man aim's his crossbow for the strangers head for a moment, only lowering it after he assesses the host of this house is no threat to be dealt with, easy pickings but judging from his character he wouldn't have much of worth on him.
"...What's a scrawny lil' scribe doin in the depths of The Sorrows?"
"Finalizing the drafts for my report. 48 hours worth of watching these hills, I finally can start putting it together. Though it still makes such little sense."
"Hah, what could you possibly be writing a report on in these forsaken valleys? The daily habits of the walking dead?"
Ginnian Shakes his head with closed eyes in some disappointment.
"You think the only thing that haunts these fields are the undead?"
Foreboding, Ginnian's gaze raises to meet the old hunters.
"Something else lurks here. And I'm writing about my findings."
The hunter, now having taken a seat on the ground against an adjacent wall to Ginnian, rubs his chin, stubbled with hair
"...heheheee you sounds like you've been out in the wilderness way too long boy. You should run on back home to the continent once day breaks."
"And you feel like you know more than I would? How long do you reside in these lands? Do you truly scrutinize these surroundings? These are ancient, uninhabitable, uncharted lands. Who are you to say there's not something else here hiding just out of your perceptions." Ginnian pauses to catch himself and establish his composure once more. The old man looking at him with an intense stare, the tension in the room is as thick as the smell of the rotted oak that holds the walls together. "The undead outside lying in the fields around naught able to do but moan. The lone skeleton standing at the hill stood upright. Did you give it a closer look? The way its arranged? An amalgam of parts taken from the bodies around us, stripped clean of flesh from the bones. It was made with more purpose than just to drive the living away. Its a totem. A claim on this land."
"And you made it so didn't you?"
Says the old hunter with a glint of concern.
Ginnians stare narrows and intensifies as to express a most passionate of fear yet his mind marred by the need for knowledge seen through those glassy gray eyes.
"Tell me sir, by your own judgement, do I look like a man that could hold his own against even a small hoard of the dead? I'm but a scholar, not a warrior. I would take no such care and time to erect one of those skeletal idols. And I'll have you know in my time here iv seen many, many of them around the valley. I have naught even a weapon."
Ginnian moved the cloth surrounding him to show he carries no weapons openly.
"I survive by hiding, with patience, and faith in The Watcher, as the dark of night protects me. Their protection, their eyes watch me as I watch for the things that you don't dare to look for."
"Y-You speak tales.. there's nothing that call's these lands home but-"
The man staggers to rise to his feet, he falls against the walls of the building having been startled as the wind slams against the exterior, a broken window nearby letting a severe cold into the room not truly felt until now as the candles lit next to Ginnian flicker and die. And just as it happens a choir of unholy sounds ring through the night. A concoction of piercing whistles from the bones of the skeletal totem mixed with the harrowing cries of the dead in the weeds. The house groans mightily and somewhere in the night a wild animal cries out from the dark completing a horrifying symphony.
The man shakes, wide eyed and in a fever of fear.
"-I will not die here to some unfathomable horror! Leave here its not safe!"
The man holds his crossbow close to his chest as he barrels out the door and into the night leaving Ginnian alone to the house.
Moments pass. Giggles are heard in the dark.
A flash of light. A flame sparks. And a candle is lit once again. Ginnian sat alone, once again grinning to himself, and in a whisper:
"Tales indeed..."
He shimmy's in his seat, moving the sword sheathed, still slightly stained with blood from a rushed cleaning and hidden behind his back pressed against the wall.
He thinks to himself in bliss finally able to enjoy his time alone once again. He closes the book he was reading through.
"A fitting one for the archives. Someday. Perhaps I'll call this one The Wendigo."
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