About You!
1. What is your Minecraft username?
Sylvan_Jack
2. How old are you?
Old enough. ( >18 )
3. What country are you from?
Germany, living in Canada. Near fluent in English for what it matters.
4. Have you read the King's Law, Tome of Citizenship, Official Lore, and the Survival Guides yet?
Yup.
5. In your own words, how would you define metagaming and powergaming?
Metagaming would be using information one found OOCly to influence their IC actions, such as learning that character is secretly a spy on the forums, or reading someone's character sheet and discovering their weak knee, then immediately going for it in a fight.
Powergaming is CLASSICALLY defined as forcing actions upon others without allowing them a chance to react or respond, such as *Kills you and eats your heart," or *Dennagon laughs, and you laugh too.* I find it also encompasses unfairly bullrushing people into a corner so that they /can't/ react any other way than what you want them to. There's a second "definition" of powergaming that I also see called God-Modding, which is the general concept of making an OP character that can essentially go *Absorbs all the arrows and craps them back out at the attackers, killing 'em all.*
6. Do we allow X-Raying mods or X-Ray texture packs on the server?
Heeeeelll naw.
7. Name one of our current Mentors.
Glados/Centurion!
8. Tell us about yourself!
Sup. I'm Jackleon/Jens/Jensi/about a million other nicknames. I'm an EMT living in Canada, and I've been RPing pretty heavily for a little over 9 years now. I enjoy Star Wars, cats, drawing and a silly pixel game known as Space Station 13. I like to consider myself fairly down to earth and chill. I'm heavily hard-of-hearing, but still love to listen to just about any sort of music. I'm probably not a box full of angry water moccasins, but if you want to check to be certain, go ahead.
9. Do you have any examples of your work?
I'm an amateur/hobbyist artist! Here's a recent commission I did for a friend of mine on SS13:
10. Did anyone refer you? If not, how did you find our server?
HogoShi_Kitsune did!
Character Name:
Moren Greeneyes
Character Age:
156
Character Race:
Silver Elf, trace Moorish ancestry (Shows in his broader shoulders and the slightly paler white-platinum of his hair. Physique is on the upper limit of Silver Elven limits, facilitated more easily through said lineage.)
Appearance:
Moren stands at a respectable 6'4", made somewhat more imposing by the unusually broad shoulders that he bears. His body mass is lean and well-toned, most definitely the physique (and confirming scars) of a battle-worn soldier. His clothes are often heavier than most of his kind prefer; years of bearing heavy armor leave him feeling bare and exposed in light and silky robes. Though of course, a thicker fabric does little for physical protection, it serves its due purpose of comfort and style.
He is mellow in demeanor and expression both, at most times- An angular, sharp face with a slightly wider jaw than average, his lips round and slightly downturned. His nose is neither crooked n'or upturned, a simple, strong and flat line downwards. His eyes are soft-angular, toned a deep pine green with rich streaks of silver interspersed throughout the iris, much like semiprecious stones. Atop them sit sharp brows that hold a natural downwards slant towards the center, often causing him to appear far more serious than he truly is. His hair is platinum, made lighter by almost invisible streaks of premature silver that blend quite gracefully into the short ponytail he keeps the mass gathered into. His face is unscarred, and scarcely tanned, though the faintest of creases have already begun to creep into his visage, hallmarks of the stressful career he has held until now.
(Optional) Picture of the Skin:
I haven't done it yet! When done, it will be roughly based off of this:
Written Test!
The room was dimly lit by candleflame, the sun having long since disappeared over the horizon. The small light danced and glared in the reflection of the windowpane, and occasionally illuminated a fleck of snow that would proceed to join the pile that was quickly mounting at the window's base. Before this window was a desk, and before the desk a man of Elvish descent- Silver, to be precise. He looked up into the reflection of the window, and with a small frown, turned back to the note he had been reading.
"Papa, I can't sleep."
The small voice came from his side, and when Moren looked down, a pair of big green eyes peered back up at him. He chuckled, pushing his chair back and bending down to wrap his arms about the girl, then promptly picked her up to sit on his lap. He couldn’t help but break into a faint, warm smile.
“We can’t have that now, can we? Your mother’s got a surprise for you and your sister tomorrow.”
“Really?”
Moren nodded, giving a sagely hum. “Yes, indeed. But you’ve got to be well-rested.” He wagged a finger.
She pouted quietly and folded her arms. Moren ruffled a hand through her fine hair with a chuckle, murmuring, “alright. You can sit with me while I read this over.”
His daughter seemed to be contented by his proposal. It had hardly been ten minutes before she’d fallen asleep against him. Ten more and he’d begun to drift off himself, though a soft hand on his shoulder prompted him to look up to the source he already recognized by heart.
“You’ve been traveling for days to come home, Moren… You should get some rest.” Her blue eyes softened with a gentle and kind concern, pale blonde hair swept up into an elegant, but simple tie behind her head. The only woman Moren could ever even think to look at.
He spoke softly in return, not wishing to stir the child sleeping against his chest. His tone was none the less laced with a quiet stress and worry to it. “We’re on the brink of war, Thyra… It’s hard to rest easy with unopened letters on my table.”
“Let me draft a response, love. I’ll make sure you’ve a chance to look it over in the morning when you’ve rested your eyes.”
He sighed softly, unable to help but smile. “I don’t know what I’d do without you some days.”
Fifteen years later
Moren stood before the mirror, pointed brows furrowed into a harsh frown of disapproval as he tugged at the stiff uniform collar. A slender hand reached up around his side, and Thyra popped up on tip-toe over his shoulder as she fussed to attach a small insignia to the breast lapel of his dress uniform.
“You’re going to look half-Moorish if you don’t stop stressing over everything, Moren,” she chided with a fond chuckle. “Relax…”
He thought of something witty to say in response and opened his mouth. Thyra quickly rose a brow, as if daring him to continue. He thought better of it, and bit his cheek, to which she lightly batted his shoulder. “How are her lessons going?” He asked instead.
“They could be going better if she didn’t take so much after you,” she said with a fond smile. “She’s got a lot of potential, but she’s more focused on her blades lessons.”
“That so…?” He rose a brow. “She’s still young… She’ll settle down in the coming months.”
“Like our oldest, mm?” Thyra quirked the corner of her mouth with an amused air.
Moren flattened his brows, deadpanning, “You’re hardly a paragon of Silver virtues either, mind.” He couldn’t maintain the poker face for long- Especially when Thyra broke into an over-theatrical pout. He turned from the mirror to draw her close for a moment, and they both laughed.
Eight years later
Thyra and Moren stood at the head of the table. A map was strewn across it, with flags and markers throughout. The friendly blue markings were scarce, and nearly everyone at the table, save Thyra, bore a grim and funeral-esque expression. The three men, Moren included, were armed and armored. To the left of the table was a surprisingly short Silver, with pale blonde hair and blueish-green eyes. To the right, another Silver, though his features were obscured behind his lowered visor. He spoke first.
“They have a blockade through this pass. There’s no way for us to divert our troops through the region, I’m telling you they’re planning to assault the Capitol.”
The short man shook his head. “That would be suicide. We still have Moranth to the south- We could flank them easily.”
“With what troops?” Moren frowned heavily.
Thyra spoke up now, her tone certain and decisive. “Einethal has a point. They don’t know how thin we’re stretched, but they know we’re on the defensive. The last thing we would be prepared for now, in any case, is an assault on the Capitol, and they know it.”
For a time, all was silent. They knew it to be true. After the last of their plans had been made, their final strategies and orders to be carried out, the men departed from the room. After stripping from his armor, left in his robes, Moren walked out to the balcony, resting his forearms heavily onto the guardrail. His hair was untied, and the breeze ran fingers through it as he glared in defeated silence out at the valley below him.
“...We’ve already lost the war.”
Moren rarely sounded so hopeless, so desolated. Thyra reached a hand up, linking one of her arms around his and resting her head upon his forearm. They remained quiet for what felt like hours before he turned, wordless yet, and wrapped his arms around her. He hugged her as if to let go would be to lose her, forever. When he finally spoke, it was with an utter, grave seriousness, turning his head down in the slightest towards her.
“You’ve got to take the girls and flee the city before the enemy forces block you off.”
“Moren, I’m not leaving you to fight alone.”
“I can’t lose you, Thyra…”
“And I can’t lose you!” She replied, perhaps too forceful than she intended. She took a deep breath, leaning back with furrowed, worried brows. Moren grasped her hands in response, crouching down with her. He looked back into her eyes, silent for a moment before speaking with a quiet, somber sincerity.
“Thyra Greeneyes, I am not going to, n’or could I ever, die and abandon you. I will come after you and find you if I must walk to every corner of this world and fight through an army of Skraag’s abominations.” He squeezed her hands slightly, searching her eyes in a pause of silence before finishing, “...do you hear me?”
Thyra nodded quietly before throwing her arms back around him for a moment. “...You’d better, Moren.”
By the dawn of the next day, Thyra and both of their daughters had departed from the Capitol, and Moren looked out from the castle ramparts in grim silence. At the edge of the horizon, barely kissed by the lazy-rising sun, figures appeared upon the ridge, scarcely visible through the morning fog and chill.
The final hour had come.
1. What is your Minecraft username?
Sylvan_Jack
2. How old are you?
Old enough. ( >18 )
3. What country are you from?
Germany, living in Canada. Near fluent in English for what it matters.
4. Have you read the King's Law, Tome of Citizenship, Official Lore, and the Survival Guides yet?
Yup.
5. In your own words, how would you define metagaming and powergaming?
Metagaming would be using information one found OOCly to influence their IC actions, such as learning that character is secretly a spy on the forums, or reading someone's character sheet and discovering their weak knee, then immediately going for it in a fight.
Powergaming is CLASSICALLY defined as forcing actions upon others without allowing them a chance to react or respond, such as *Kills you and eats your heart," or *Dennagon laughs, and you laugh too.* I find it also encompasses unfairly bullrushing people into a corner so that they /can't/ react any other way than what you want them to. There's a second "definition" of powergaming that I also see called God-Modding, which is the general concept of making an OP character that can essentially go *Absorbs all the arrows and craps them back out at the attackers, killing 'em all.*
6. Do we allow X-Raying mods or X-Ray texture packs on the server?
Heeeeelll naw.
7. Name one of our current Mentors.
Glados/Centurion!
8. Tell us about yourself!
Sup. I'm Jackleon/Jens/Jensi/about a million other nicknames. I'm an EMT living in Canada, and I've been RPing pretty heavily for a little over 9 years now. I enjoy Star Wars, cats, drawing and a silly pixel game known as Space Station 13. I like to consider myself fairly down to earth and chill. I'm heavily hard-of-hearing, but still love to listen to just about any sort of music. I'm probably not a box full of angry water moccasins, but if you want to check to be certain, go ahead.
9. Do you have any examples of your work?
I'm an amateur/hobbyist artist! Here's a recent commission I did for a friend of mine on SS13:
10. Did anyone refer you? If not, how did you find our server?
HogoShi_Kitsune did!
Character Name:
Moren Greeneyes
Character Age:
156
Character Race:
Silver Elf, trace Moorish ancestry (Shows in his broader shoulders and the slightly paler white-platinum of his hair. Physique is on the upper limit of Silver Elven limits, facilitated more easily through said lineage.)
Appearance:
Moren stands at a respectable 6'4", made somewhat more imposing by the unusually broad shoulders that he bears. His body mass is lean and well-toned, most definitely the physique (and confirming scars) of a battle-worn soldier. His clothes are often heavier than most of his kind prefer; years of bearing heavy armor leave him feeling bare and exposed in light and silky robes. Though of course, a thicker fabric does little for physical protection, it serves its due purpose of comfort and style.
He is mellow in demeanor and expression both, at most times- An angular, sharp face with a slightly wider jaw than average, his lips round and slightly downturned. His nose is neither crooked n'or upturned, a simple, strong and flat line downwards. His eyes are soft-angular, toned a deep pine green with rich streaks of silver interspersed throughout the iris, much like semiprecious stones. Atop them sit sharp brows that hold a natural downwards slant towards the center, often causing him to appear far more serious than he truly is. His hair is platinum, made lighter by almost invisible streaks of premature silver that blend quite gracefully into the short ponytail he keeps the mass gathered into. His face is unscarred, and scarcely tanned, though the faintest of creases have already begun to creep into his visage, hallmarks of the stressful career he has held until now.
(Optional) Picture of the Skin:
I haven't done it yet! When done, it will be roughly based off of this:
Written Test!
The room was dimly lit by candleflame, the sun having long since disappeared over the horizon. The small light danced and glared in the reflection of the windowpane, and occasionally illuminated a fleck of snow that would proceed to join the pile that was quickly mounting at the window's base. Before this window was a desk, and before the desk a man of Elvish descent- Silver, to be precise. He looked up into the reflection of the window, and with a small frown, turned back to the note he had been reading.
"Papa, I can't sleep."
The small voice came from his side, and when Moren looked down, a pair of big green eyes peered back up at him. He chuckled, pushing his chair back and bending down to wrap his arms about the girl, then promptly picked her up to sit on his lap. He couldn’t help but break into a faint, warm smile.
“We can’t have that now, can we? Your mother’s got a surprise for you and your sister tomorrow.”
“Really?”
Moren nodded, giving a sagely hum. “Yes, indeed. But you’ve got to be well-rested.” He wagged a finger.
She pouted quietly and folded her arms. Moren ruffled a hand through her fine hair with a chuckle, murmuring, “alright. You can sit with me while I read this over.”
His daughter seemed to be contented by his proposal. It had hardly been ten minutes before she’d fallen asleep against him. Ten more and he’d begun to drift off himself, though a soft hand on his shoulder prompted him to look up to the source he already recognized by heart.
“You’ve been traveling for days to come home, Moren… You should get some rest.” Her blue eyes softened with a gentle and kind concern, pale blonde hair swept up into an elegant, but simple tie behind her head. The only woman Moren could ever even think to look at.
He spoke softly in return, not wishing to stir the child sleeping against his chest. His tone was none the less laced with a quiet stress and worry to it. “We’re on the brink of war, Thyra… It’s hard to rest easy with unopened letters on my table.”
“Let me draft a response, love. I’ll make sure you’ve a chance to look it over in the morning when you’ve rested your eyes.”
He sighed softly, unable to help but smile. “I don’t know what I’d do without you some days.”
Fifteen years later
Moren stood before the mirror, pointed brows furrowed into a harsh frown of disapproval as he tugged at the stiff uniform collar. A slender hand reached up around his side, and Thyra popped up on tip-toe over his shoulder as she fussed to attach a small insignia to the breast lapel of his dress uniform.
“You’re going to look half-Moorish if you don’t stop stressing over everything, Moren,” she chided with a fond chuckle. “Relax…”
He thought of something witty to say in response and opened his mouth. Thyra quickly rose a brow, as if daring him to continue. He thought better of it, and bit his cheek, to which she lightly batted his shoulder. “How are her lessons going?” He asked instead.
“They could be going better if she didn’t take so much after you,” she said with a fond smile. “She’s got a lot of potential, but she’s more focused on her blades lessons.”
“That so…?” He rose a brow. “She’s still young… She’ll settle down in the coming months.”
“Like our oldest, mm?” Thyra quirked the corner of her mouth with an amused air.
Moren flattened his brows, deadpanning, “You’re hardly a paragon of Silver virtues either, mind.” He couldn’t maintain the poker face for long- Especially when Thyra broke into an over-theatrical pout. He turned from the mirror to draw her close for a moment, and they both laughed.
Eight years later
Thyra and Moren stood at the head of the table. A map was strewn across it, with flags and markers throughout. The friendly blue markings were scarce, and nearly everyone at the table, save Thyra, bore a grim and funeral-esque expression. The three men, Moren included, were armed and armored. To the left of the table was a surprisingly short Silver, with pale blonde hair and blueish-green eyes. To the right, another Silver, though his features were obscured behind his lowered visor. He spoke first.
“They have a blockade through this pass. There’s no way for us to divert our troops through the region, I’m telling you they’re planning to assault the Capitol.”
The short man shook his head. “That would be suicide. We still have Moranth to the south- We could flank them easily.”
“With what troops?” Moren frowned heavily.
Thyra spoke up now, her tone certain and decisive. “Einethal has a point. They don’t know how thin we’re stretched, but they know we’re on the defensive. The last thing we would be prepared for now, in any case, is an assault on the Capitol, and they know it.”
For a time, all was silent. They knew it to be true. After the last of their plans had been made, their final strategies and orders to be carried out, the men departed from the room. After stripping from his armor, left in his robes, Moren walked out to the balcony, resting his forearms heavily onto the guardrail. His hair was untied, and the breeze ran fingers through it as he glared in defeated silence out at the valley below him.
“...We’ve already lost the war.”
Moren rarely sounded so hopeless, so desolated. Thyra reached a hand up, linking one of her arms around his and resting her head upon his forearm. They remained quiet for what felt like hours before he turned, wordless yet, and wrapped his arms around her. He hugged her as if to let go would be to lose her, forever. When he finally spoke, it was with an utter, grave seriousness, turning his head down in the slightest towards her.
“You’ve got to take the girls and flee the city before the enemy forces block you off.”
“Moren, I’m not leaving you to fight alone.”
“I can’t lose you, Thyra…”
“And I can’t lose you!” She replied, perhaps too forceful than she intended. She took a deep breath, leaning back with furrowed, worried brows. Moren grasped her hands in response, crouching down with her. He looked back into her eyes, silent for a moment before speaking with a quiet, somber sincerity.
“Thyra Greeneyes, I am not going to, n’or could I ever, die and abandon you. I will come after you and find you if I must walk to every corner of this world and fight through an army of Skraag’s abominations.” He squeezed her hands slightly, searching her eyes in a pause of silence before finishing, “...do you hear me?”
Thyra nodded quietly before throwing her arms back around him for a moment. “...You’d better, Moren.”
By the dawn of the next day, Thyra and both of their daughters had departed from the Capitol, and Moren looked out from the castle ramparts in grim silence. At the edge of the horizon, barely kissed by the lazy-rising sun, figures appeared upon the ridge, scarcely visible through the morning fog and chill.
The final hour had come.
