Snail_Overlord
Villager
| Snail_Overlord's Whitelist App: ________________________________________ {Introduction Section} Minecraft Username: Snail_Overlord Age: 19 Country & Timezone: USA, PNW Read the Kings Law, Code of Conducts, Official Lore, and the Player Guides?: Yes Define Metagaming & Powergaming?: Metagaming refers to using knowledge that you know out of character for in-character purposes. Powergaming refers to specifically roleplaying in an unrealistic method that makes your character unusually strong/powerful. Do we allow Xray mods or X-Ray texture packs?: No Tell us about yourself!: Hello! I'm Snail_Overlord! I like the fantasy genre in books, movies, and gaming. In particular, I like fantasy soundtracks and cinematography. If you have a recommendation for either, I'd love to hear it! I got into roleplaying through my love for fantasy. My favorite part of the roleplaying I've done so far is interacting with other characters and hearing what stories people make for them. Referral: ________________________________________ {Character Section} Character Name: Vél Bolethar Age: 50 Race: Forest Elf Appearance: Vél Bolethar is a tall, well-built elven male. He has tanned skin from days spent laboring outdoors and sun-kissed dark blond hair pulled neatly back into a low-hanging ponytail at the nape of his neck. His face is generally a kind one, with easy smiles and blue eyes framed with crow's feet. He tends to wear lightweight tunics in shades of green and aqua. I based his general design off of the idea of a forest elf that also has a hint of silver elf somewhere in his bloodline, which explains his proclivity to coastal towns and also lighter hair. (Optional) Picture of the Skin:  Written Test (Min: 400 words): It had not been a good harvest for Farmer McCallan. Prized fields of wheat, kept healthy from rotation to ever more fertile soils, had shriveled and died as an early autumn wind carried winter diseases to what should have been a prosperous year. His stable of goats, usually kept on strict diets of the finest grains, had escaped and trampled what little of the remaining fields he could salvage. Now, to top off his grief, his wife’s flowerbed, ever the gem of his ranch and the envy of his neighbors, was slowly but surely withering away, just as his wheat had. Cursing under his breath, the unhappy farmer circled the plot, inspecting it for evidence of foul play. After a cursory inspection, McCallan’s attentions were diverted as a sharp crack was heard echoing in the direction of the forest that lay beyond his property. A quick sprint toward the canopy looming in the distance proved more fruitful as McCallan now stood staring at a muscled elf holding a goat by the horns- one of McCallan’s own goats - with a look of strained amusement. At his approach, the elf grunted and stuck a leather boot out, knocking the goat off balance. This attempt did little to hinder the rampaging ungulate as it skittered out of his grasp before delivering another headbutt to the nether regions of the elf and trotting swiftly out of sight - its cloven hoods more suited to the root-laden part of the forest than the bewildered elf. McCallan stared in confusion for a moment before the dots connected. The woods held a nearby trail that led to the city. While not traversed frequently, the elf was garbed in a heavy traveling cloak, sturdy boots, and a leather tie that pulled the stray blond hairs from his face, all of which indicated his presence as a traveler of the path. In a moment of pity for the elf, McCallan held out a hand, helping to pull him up. “Got ya’ good didn’ ‘et?” He said with a gap-toothed grin. The elf colored red in embarrassment beneath his tanned complexion, still clearly young to the world. After a moment he cleared his throat and responded back in a sonorous, jovial tone. “Yes. Yes, it did. I haven’t fought many things, but I don’t think I should add a goat to that short list - even if I did technically lose.” McCallan raised his eyebrows in surprise at the painfully honest joke before chortling. He slapped a hand on the elf’s muscular back, before beckoning to follow him. “Yer a funny kid. What’s yer name?” He called to the blond figure as he led him back to the garden he was previously inspecting. “Ah…Vél Bolethar…but you can call me Bo”, the newly titled Bo responded, sheepishly trailing behind. “I’m quite sorry about your goat, perhaps when I make it to Storm’s Landing I’ll find money to buy you a new one” “Nae, Bo. Did’ja know that the goat ye lost too was actually one of me best competin’ ones? They say a drop of native roe deer be in their blood” An awkward cough emanated from behind Mccallan as the farmer continued on with a gleam in his eye. “Ye can’t just buy a new one, nae nae. I will consider yer debt paid if ya use your elf tricks on this garden for me wife.” The pair come to a halt and Bo hastily begins to examine the rosebushes. After some muttering under his breath, he treads from one outcropping of flora before heading to another, zig-zagging between plants. Finally, he comes to a stop before Mccallan. “These shrubs here…” He intones, pointing to short, attractive flowering bushes “These will grow to be flowering dogwood. They are a tree brought in from the new world, but their roots are upending the rest of the garden, see?” Mccallan squints, noting indeed the fertile garden floor was uneven as the aforementioned dogwoods stole moisture from his wife’s roses. “By Sallana!” He exclaimed to Bo “That explains why they were so expensive to buy, ay?” The elf nods thoughtfully, adding “Best to not call your future favors ‘elven tricks’ though. I don’t think for instance any Silver Elves would take as kindly to such a thing. You’re lucky you got me.” “‘Cause yeh’re one of the forest one?” Mccallan questioned, now on his knees plucking at the stubborn shrubs attempting to war his garden. “Because I felt bad about your goat” Bo corrects mildly before turning to amble back to the forest path ahead. “Wait.” Mccallan calls gruffly, standing up, a white rose in his calloused hand. He holds it out to Bo. “Can yeh take this to the Landing’s Graveyard when ye get there? My wife loved these best and I cannot get her a’ gift for Candlelight Night this year as I normally would.” Bo ponders his words for a second before nodding and gracefully taking the flower from the mourning farmer. With his free hand, he takes out a fine silk handkerchief and folds the rose into it, preserving its petals for the journey, before tucking it into the recesses of his cloak. “And what is her name?” The elf inquires solemnly as McCallan turns back to his work. “Annie - Annie McCallan. Her stone will be on the northern corner.” He grunts. Bo turned again, preparing to head for the woods “I’ll be sure to find her, Mr. McCallan. May the Grey Lady guide you both.” With a solemn dip of his head, the elven traveler departed from the farm, leaving the mourning farmer to his silence. |
