Arnieboon11
Villager
The Whitelist Application Form
About You!
1. What is your Minecraft username?
Arnie_Boon
2. How old are you?
20
3. What country are you from? What is your timezone?
I am from the UK. Timezone is GMT
4. Have you read the King's Law, Code of Conducts, Official Lore, and the Player Guides yet?
Yes and understand the rules fully
5. In your own words, how would you define metagaming and powergaming?
Metagaming is where you know stuff from in real life about the server or players in the server and use this knowledge to your characters advantage. Powergaming is when you try to bend RP against another player in your own advantage and not giving them a chance to respond.
6. Do we allow X-Raying mods or X-Ray texture packs on the server?
no.
7. Tell us about yourself! Do you have any examples of your work?
I like making short films and hanging out with my mates. My music taste is very varied but I’m really getting into punk at the moment. I’m going to university in September. I also enjoy gaming and great tv series.
8. Did anyone refer you? If not, how did you find our server?
My friend knew about this server and showed me.
Character Name: Thorn Lok Vaulm
(Be mindful of the Medieval Fantasy theme when choosing your name.)
Character Age: 107
(Simple enough!)
Character Race: Moor Elf
Appearance:
Shaggy black hair, pale grey skin, strong facial features, 6ft, fin but muscular. A darkness in my eyes. He has a scar from his left eye down his cheek which he covers with a mask.
(Optional) Picture of the Skin:
It’s a rough, grey outfit with short sleeves and a face covering leaving only a gap for eyes and my elf like ears.
Written Test!
At the age of 70 Thorn lies on a cold, pebbly shoreline, sea water and guilt in his chest. A few hundred yards offshore sinks the very vessel that he tried to leave this unforgiving land on. Something is keeping him here. There is no regret in his eyes… But calculation. It is cold, dark and wet. He doesn’t know where he is or how he’s alive… decades before this, Ever since his creation during the great war of Altera, Era of Grief, he’s known he’s different… Thorn has will, ambition, a need to venture. He… is a deserter. Instead of throwing his life away for a war that did not concern him… he ran. He ran as far and as fast as he could. He went into hiding, foraging and scavenging… thieving what little supplies he could to help him get by… living in caves, shadows and lies, until one night he went too far. Leaving his temporary, makeshift home in a cave one dusk many moons ago, he set off in search of supplies, food and the like, through woods he skulked and scoured, stomach rumbling, big bags of blue under his eyes, he saw a light through the woods, not just one but several, his curiosity peaked, he lurked towards the soft amber glow: A small settlement in a valley. He could hear the joy and laughter as they seemed to party in the town square. Perfect, he thought, as he sneaked off to the unattended houses. Creeping through the alleys, sticking to the darkness, hand on dagger he looks for an opening. A window propped open… Thorn slips in unnoticed. A small, humble home softly lit by candles. He sneaks through the corridor, listening intently, not a sound. They must be out. At the end of the corridor, he finds a large oak door with a iron handle. Ear to door… No noise. He gently pushes the door open and ventures in. Before Thorn’s very eyes… more food than he had ever seen in his life. Shelves of bread, baskets of vegetables, hooks of meat. Excitedly he whips open a sack, stuffing as much as he can in. When he’s got all he can fit in, he slips back out the larder door. He turns to head out the way he came when his heart stops dead. His pulse quickens, his hair on end. He freezes. A female halfling stands, petrified staring at Thorn in the soft ambience of the candlelight. Thorn slowly brings his finger to his lips and shakes his head. The halfling edges backwards. A throwing knife, Thorn sends flying, travels so quick she has little time to react. Dodging to the left it clips her ear, blood spouting out, the knife still traveling, she turns, a mutual look of horror crosses both the halfing and Thorn’s face as the knife finds its destination. Four inches of cold steel lies imbedded within the small chest of a halfling child. The halfling child falls down, cold, still. The mother halfling weeps and runs over. Thorn stands still, distraught, paralysed with guilt, regret, sorrow. “Get out!! LEAVE!!” The, now childless, halfling mother wheeps. “GO!”. Through the propped open window into the dark alley, the thick dark woods and the rocky shore, Thorn runs. Runs from his life. Back to the caves. Back to the shadows. For decades and decades Thorn thought about what he did. Surviving on petty thievery and odd jobs, dirty money, he got by. He realises he needs start anew. Start fresh. So he buys supplies, hoards and hoards until one night he steals a boat and sails out into the stormy sea. The waves crashing, the sky raging, he is thrown from the boat into the dark sea. We find ourselves in present day as he washes up on the shore. He pulls his dagger from his belt and holds it above his neck, closes his eyes prepares himself to give into the abyss… when suddenly he is surrounded by a group of humans, but they do not approach him with weapons drawn, but instead curiosity and open arms. They take him into their cave. Thorn and the group of humans share their knowledge, their skills and experience. To this very day he lives with the humans, working with them, hunting, gathering, building, cooking. Thorn does not have friends or family, but the group he lives with in the north east of Altera is a start.
About You!
1. What is your Minecraft username?
Arnie_Boon
2. How old are you?
20
3. What country are you from? What is your timezone?
I am from the UK. Timezone is GMT
4. Have you read the King's Law, Code of Conducts, Official Lore, and the Player Guides yet?
Yes and understand the rules fully
5. In your own words, how would you define metagaming and powergaming?
Metagaming is where you know stuff from in real life about the server or players in the server and use this knowledge to your characters advantage. Powergaming is when you try to bend RP against another player in your own advantage and not giving them a chance to respond.
6. Do we allow X-Raying mods or X-Ray texture packs on the server?
no.
7. Tell us about yourself! Do you have any examples of your work?
I like making short films and hanging out with my mates. My music taste is very varied but I’m really getting into punk at the moment. I’m going to university in September. I also enjoy gaming and great tv series.
8. Did anyone refer you? If not, how did you find our server?
My friend knew about this server and showed me.
▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬
Character Name: Thorn Lok Vaulm
(Be mindful of the Medieval Fantasy theme when choosing your name.)
Character Age: 107
(Simple enough!)
Character Race: Moor Elf
Appearance:
Shaggy black hair, pale grey skin, strong facial features, 6ft, fin but muscular. A darkness in my eyes. He has a scar from his left eye down his cheek which he covers with a mask.
(Optional) Picture of the Skin:
It’s a rough, grey outfit with short sleeves and a face covering leaving only a gap for eyes and my elf like ears.
Written Test!
At the age of 70 Thorn lies on a cold, pebbly shoreline, sea water and guilt in his chest. A few hundred yards offshore sinks the very vessel that he tried to leave this unforgiving land on. Something is keeping him here. There is no regret in his eyes… But calculation. It is cold, dark and wet. He doesn’t know where he is or how he’s alive… decades before this, Ever since his creation during the great war of Altera, Era of Grief, he’s known he’s different… Thorn has will, ambition, a need to venture. He… is a deserter. Instead of throwing his life away for a war that did not concern him… he ran. He ran as far and as fast as he could. He went into hiding, foraging and scavenging… thieving what little supplies he could to help him get by… living in caves, shadows and lies, until one night he went too far. Leaving his temporary, makeshift home in a cave one dusk many moons ago, he set off in search of supplies, food and the like, through woods he skulked and scoured, stomach rumbling, big bags of blue under his eyes, he saw a light through the woods, not just one but several, his curiosity peaked, he lurked towards the soft amber glow: A small settlement in a valley. He could hear the joy and laughter as they seemed to party in the town square. Perfect, he thought, as he sneaked off to the unattended houses. Creeping through the alleys, sticking to the darkness, hand on dagger he looks for an opening. A window propped open… Thorn slips in unnoticed. A small, humble home softly lit by candles. He sneaks through the corridor, listening intently, not a sound. They must be out. At the end of the corridor, he finds a large oak door with a iron handle. Ear to door… No noise. He gently pushes the door open and ventures in. Before Thorn’s very eyes… more food than he had ever seen in his life. Shelves of bread, baskets of vegetables, hooks of meat. Excitedly he whips open a sack, stuffing as much as he can in. When he’s got all he can fit in, he slips back out the larder door. He turns to head out the way he came when his heart stops dead. His pulse quickens, his hair on end. He freezes. A female halfling stands, petrified staring at Thorn in the soft ambience of the candlelight. Thorn slowly brings his finger to his lips and shakes his head. The halfling edges backwards. A throwing knife, Thorn sends flying, travels so quick she has little time to react. Dodging to the left it clips her ear, blood spouting out, the knife still traveling, she turns, a mutual look of horror crosses both the halfing and Thorn’s face as the knife finds its destination. Four inches of cold steel lies imbedded within the small chest of a halfling child. The halfling child falls down, cold, still. The mother halfling weeps and runs over. Thorn stands still, distraught, paralysed with guilt, regret, sorrow. “Get out!! LEAVE!!” The, now childless, halfling mother wheeps. “GO!”. Through the propped open window into the dark alley, the thick dark woods and the rocky shore, Thorn runs. Runs from his life. Back to the caves. Back to the shadows. For decades and decades Thorn thought about what he did. Surviving on petty thievery and odd jobs, dirty money, he got by. He realises he needs start anew. Start fresh. So he buys supplies, hoards and hoards until one night he steals a boat and sails out into the stormy sea. The waves crashing, the sky raging, he is thrown from the boat into the dark sea. We find ourselves in present day as he washes up on the shore. He pulls his dagger from his belt and holds it above his neck, closes his eyes prepares himself to give into the abyss… when suddenly he is surrounded by a group of humans, but they do not approach him with weapons drawn, but instead curiosity and open arms. They take him into their cave. Thorn and the group of humans share their knowledge, their skills and experience. To this very day he lives with the humans, working with them, hunting, gathering, building, cooking. Thorn does not have friends or family, but the group he lives with in the north east of Altera is a start.
