IGN:
Dexevara Age:
18 How did you find this server?:
RevolvingOcelot, Kralion and Game_Geek referred it to me. Tuk-Tuk
IC: Name:
Melenas Race:
Human Age:
28
Personality:
He’s reserved and serious. He follows his own code which seems to be led by honor and loyalty. He seems cold and unlikable because of his mistrust of strangers but once you get on his good side he can be extremely warm and friendly. He seem to have been wandering for a long time and always as a lot of stories to tell, which may not always be entirely true once he gets a couple pints. He always stay true to what he believes to be right, he considers order and justice to be some of the most important things in a society. He also seem to have a strange affinity to nature like if he had somekind of connection to it.
Appearance:
He has a strong and imposing stature, standing at 6’3 with broad shoulders he wears a plate armor completed by multiple chainmail accessories amplifying his size.Over his plate armor he wears a dark green tabard with the emblem of some old forgotten house. His face combines a strange mix of severity and delicacy, partially covered by a well-trimmed dark brown beard. He usually wear a chainmail hood that covers his mid-length chestnut hair that make his dark brown eyes look like 2 sphere of obsidian. His strong nose peeks over is bearded lip and his smoothly drawn mouth.
Ambitions:
Melenas doesn’t consider himself a man of ambition, he does what he need to survive and what he needs to help those he swore to protect, further than that he doesn’t think dream of anything in particular. He assumes that if things are to get better, they will.
Likes:
Even if he is mainly a soldier he always had something for nature. As far as he can remember he always enjoyed the company of animals and vegetation. He usually carries plants with him for balms and such, he consider his relation with nature as a blessing. He takes only what he needs and make use of everything he takes. Obviously he is a skilled sword man who enjoys a good fight and the glory of the battle. He likes those who can live for their conviction or at least respect them. He is also someone who isn’t afraid to drink and feast when he can.
Dislikes:
He dislikes those who can’t respect order, those without discipline or moral values. He despises cheats and frauds or any dishonorable beings.
RoleplayExample:
Younger Melenas, clothed of light leather armor, is riding a horse as fast he can through the forest. A horn blow can be heard behind him as he tries to go faster. He turns around to look at his pursuers who seem to be getting closer. Holding his messenger satchel closer to him ducks in an vain attempt to go faster. The rain makes it difficult for him to keep balance on the leather saddle. Suddenly as another horn blow can be heard, his horse slips on the slippery rocky trail. He is then thrown off the back off his horse and falls on the hard ground. All his body is aching but he knows he has no other choice but try to keep going. As he tries to get back up, his pursuers are catching up. On the ground, Melenas only hear the rain beating his ears. A tall man in dark plate armor gets off the back of his horse and starts to walk to the crawling boy. Melena seeing him from the corner of his eyes tries to get up but suddenly get forced back down by a painful kick from the man. The boot that kicked him his now crushing is chest against the ground. As he ripped cut the bag loose from Melenas’s grip the man shouted over the loud weather “Where are you going with these, Courier?” Melenas kept quiet, looking at the man angrily. The boot dug deeper in Melenas’s spine, “You don’t need to die today boy, just tell me where the recipients of these letters are, sooner or later we will find out anyway so be glad I give you the chance to save your life.” Melenas lowered his angry eyes full of tears to the ground as the pain grew stronger and sharper in his back. The young boy with shame on his face started muttering something; the man took him by the shoulders and took the boy’s mouth closer to his ear “What did you say?” Melenas sobbing repeated in the man’s ear “They…they are at the…castle” he took a deep breath and went on “Castle Sparrow’s End”. The man satisfied called one of his men to come and take the kid with them. Melenas, defeated looked at the tall man who had just crushed him as he was taken away. The man pulled out his sword and quickly killed Melenas’s wounded horse. The man gave the horse one last sad look and went back on his horse. Melenas, now riding with one of the enemy riders, was out of strength and finally fell unconscious on the horse.
Hello and thank you for applying to our server. Your application is great, I look forward to having you with us.
How did you find this server?: Revolvingocelot recommended it to me
IC
Name: General J.Hewitt
Race: Human, White
Age: 42
Personality:
A man of his word, he keeps to himself mostly but holds fearless leadership over those who follow him. He has few friends, and when his tough outer shell is destroyed, a soft gooey compassionate man lies inside. Also guts. And human meat. Not to mention, after his wife’s death he’s been trying to get back on the market to suppress the dark feeling of failure with female companionship.
Appearance:
The General is an aged soul, his patchy skin reflects wounds of past battles, scars from swords, arrows, and the flames of his burning home. He stands at an average height of about six feet. His grey hair is pulled back into a tradition colonial style pony tail, common for those of higher status within the Bellitrian Empire. He wears an old navy colored coat made of the finest materials found within the empire's borders. Gold trim lines the edges of the overcoat and the coat tails that hang low. A brown vest lays beneath this coat of authority and white pants beneath that. His shiny black boots are un-mistakable, almost knee high, they have traveled many miles, trekked though treacherous battlefields, and through the polished marble floors of capital. The boots themselves have a story but lets not focus on that. We are describing the General, no? His eyes have seen the horrors of war and thus have lost their once lustrous color of blue, replaced with something a bit more warn down.
Ambitions:
After fleeing the former great nation of Bellitria, he seeks refuge in this new land. He hopes to build a new settlement that may once rival the awesome beauty which was once the Bellitian Empire. The great war destroyed his previous nation. He prays it to never happen again.
Likes:
Pork Chops, Baked Potatoes, Disciplined soldiers, His deceased wife, Gold, Beer, A new sword, Fine reading, and the great Manat.
Dislikes:
The Nation of Tusakne, The death of his family, exile, hangovers, getting stuck in cob webs.
Roleplay Example:
The General exits his home, and takes a deep breath of the cool morning air. He makes his way down a gravel path to a small battered shack. He opens the poorly made door, steps inside, and opens a chest. Inside the chest he picks up a few books, some wood and a few nails. The day starts early for the general. He takes advantage of every second of daylight he can get. He closes the chest but realizes he's not alone. He carefully places the items on the top of the chest before quickly pulling his sword out and pointing the tip of the battered blade at the face of a young woman. He holds his stance for a few seconds before calculating the woman that lays on his shack floor was unconscious and not a current threat.
He gave the girl a slight push with the tip of his boot, startling her and causing her to jump up, dagger in hand.
"What are you planning to do with that Miss?" he sayed with a chuckle.
"Don't touch me!" she screamed.
"Pretty loud for this early in the morning" he replied, again the humor of her disposition claiming the control of his diaphragm and another laugh escapes.
"How about you come inside, have some breakfast, and we can discuss why you were trespassing" he said with a lift of his brow.
"Alright.." she said sheepishly. They exited the shack and he lead her up to his cabin, the day that lay ahead, began simply, however the adventure is simply beginning.
Just a quick thing, you don't have to do this if you don't want to but replacing the quoted text with something like [-snip-] saves space and makes it less of a pain to scroll through the page
Thank you for applying to our server. I'm afraid you need a bit more of a description for your character, you haven't explained how he looks at all. So sorry, but that's all that needs correcting. Give your character a real appearance and you can be accepted.
Thank you for applying to our server. I'm afraid you need a bit more of a description for your character, you haven't explained how he looks at all. So sorry, but that's all that needs correcting. Give your character a real appearance and you can be accepted.
Denied
Alrighty here you go, a revised version of my player's description:
The General is an aged soul, his patchy skin reflects wounds of past battles, scars from swords, arrows, and the flames of his burning home. He stands at an average height of about six feet. His grey hair is pulled back into a tradition colonial style pony tail, common for those of higher status within the Bellitrian Empire. He wears an old navy colored coat made of the finest materials found within the empire's borders. Gold trim lines the edges of the overcoat and the coat tails that hang low. A brown vest lays beneath this coat of authority and white pants beneath that. His shiny black boots are un-mistakable, almost knee high, they have traveled many miles, trekked though treacherous battlefields, and through the polished marble floors of capital. The boots themselves have a story but lets not focus on that. We are describing the General, no? His eyes have seen the horrors of war and thus have lost their once lustrous color of blue, replaced with something a bit more warn down.
How did you find this server?: A friend of mine told me about it and it seems like it could be great fun to ride around on a Tuk-Tuk.
IC
Name: Draen Thulitas
Race: Human
Age: 26
Personality: A man of few words around strangers, Draen makes an honest living deep within the northern forests as a simple woodsman, leaving his home only to sell his excess wood and visit the local tavern of the people to which he sells his services, sometimes even taking a bottomless flagon as payment. Even though he is untrusting and seemingly uncaring, Draen is a kindred spirit ready to aid those whose souls he deems not yet corrupted by the clink of a heavy coin purse or the deafening roar of a charging army.
In his core, Draen is gentle, cool-tempered and concerned for the well-being of any who draw breath but he very rarely allows anyone inside his home, especially wandering warriors.
Appearance: Standing at a towering 6' 4", Draen is a stocky man with lightly tanned skin, well muscled from tirelessly cutting down and chopping trees into the easily workable raw wood that makes up the bulk of his business. He sports a full head of dark brown hair as well as a matching thick beard that almost completely covers his round face save for his plain nose and his knowing eyes that seem to peirce straight through even the hardiest of social barriers.
When it comes to clothing, Draen retains his simple nature by donning woolen shirts and pants that are kind to him during warm days when he tends to the forest that is so vital to his well-being. On the surface, Draen appears as a normal grumpy woodsman, but if one could manage to out-drink him through a barrel of mead would soon find out the reasons behind his near-constant upset state and his seemingly impassable defense, that is, of course, if they are able to understand the drunken murmers of a sad treecutter.
Ambitions: Coming from a past on the battlefield, Draen has traveled to the northern woods of Hareveth simply to be left alone so he can tend to the forest he lives in as well as the customers he delivers to. He only leaves his home on business and rarely stays gone for longer than a week, unless, of course, he's coaxed into staying away by several barrels of mead or ale, his only other passion aside from woodcutting.
Likes: Draen is a man of simple needs and wants, these things include a warm place to lay his head, a dry place to sleep and an activity to take up his time. He enjoys the smell of freshly chopped wood over many things, as well as the feeling of a light breeze as he delivers the final blow to a crumbling old Oak with his axe. The tell-tale aroma of a recently opened barrel of ale is one of the few things that can utterly relax Draen's uneasy conscious.
Dislikes: Petty squabbles and unnecessary bloodshed are two of Draen's most hated occurances, nothing broils his blood hotter than the death of an innocent, be it someone he knows or a complete stranger. However, where most would draw a sword, Draen takes up an axe and brings down trees until his seething anger subsides.
Roleplay Example: Upon walking into the tavern, Draen was greeted by the crackle of a warm fire, the kind smile of the tavern owner and a foaming flagon of ale.
"Ah'm sa'prised yer back inna town, Draen ma boy. 'asn't e'en been t'ree days!" Exclaimed the rosey-cheeked bartender, pushing the overfilled flagon into the woodcutter's worn hands,"Ah ain't use'ter seein' ye fer weeks atatim'!"
Saying nothing, Draen took the flagon to his lips, past his mangy beard and downed the contents within seconds, foam and all. "Another.." he said through a sigh as he slammed the now empty flagon onto the bar, something troubled him and the bartender knew it, for it was as clear as the night sky after a fresh rain. However, he couldn't outright ask the man to relieve his troubles, it was against his nature... No, he would have to get the man deathly drunk, and that was no easy task but the bartender had a secret weapon, a highly potent ale he concocted from nearly two decades of constant brewing.
"Ar'ye on bu'iness?" Questioned the bartender as he began to pour the man another drink, he'd have to distract him for a few seconds so he could sneak into the back room to retrieve his special brew.
"Nuh.." Grunted the bearded ale fiend as he began to down the fresh flagon, this time much slower than the first; The bartender took these few seconds to stride stealthily away, returning just as the man began to lower his flagon. "Another." Murmered Draen grimly, pushing the cup towards the bartender.
"Ye seem mor' down than normal, frien'.. I di'ne' t'ink tha' ta be poss'ble." Chuckled the bartender through a toothy grin as he began to pour his truth serum,"Wha's troublin' ye ma boy?"
Upon looking up after pouring the woodsman's drink, the bartender's eyes locked with his in the brief moment that the flagon passed between their hands and as Draen began to down the brewer's masterwork, the bartender knew that his night was about to get a lot more depressing.
-There are some facts I haven't really iterated on because I feel like that's more for the RP side, it'd be pretty boring if I just let everything through in just the application-
How did you find this server?: A friend of mine told me about it and it seems like it could be great fun to ride around on a Tuk-Tuk.
IC
Name: Draen Thulitas
Race: Human
Age: 26
Personality: A man of few words around strangers, Draen makes an honest living deep within the northern forests as a simple woodsman, leaving his home only to sell his excess wood and visit the local tavern of the people to which he sells his services, sometimes even taking a bottomless flagon as payment. Even though he is untrusting and seemingly uncaring, Draen is a kindred spirit ready to aid those whose souls he deems not yet corrupted by the clink of a heavy coin purse or the deafening roar of a charging army.
In his core, Draen is gentle, cool-tempered and concerned for the well-being of any who draw breath but he very rarely allows anyone inside his home, especially wandering warriors.
Appearance: Standing at a towering 6' 4", Draen is a stocky man with lightly tanned skin, well muscled from tirelessly cutting down and chopping trees into the easily workable raw wood that makes up the bulk of his business. He sports a full head of dark brown hair as well as a matching thick beard that almost completely covers his round face save for his plain nose and his knowing eyes that seem to peirce straight through even the hardiest of social barriers.
When it comes to clothing, Draen retains his simple nature by donning woolen shirts and pants that are kind to him during warm days when he tends to the forest that is so vital to his well-being. On the surface, Draen appears as a normal grumpy woodsman, but if one could manage to out-drink him through a barrel of mead would soon find out the reasons behind his near-constant upset state and his seemingly impassable defense, that is, of course, if they are able to understand the drunken murmers of a sad treecutter.
Ambitions: Coming from a past on the battlefield, Draen has traveled to the northern woods of Hareveth simply to be left alone so he can tend to the forest he lives in as well as the customers he delivers to. He only leaves his home on business and rarely stays gone for longer than a week, unless, of course, he's coaxed into staying away by several barrels of mead or ale, his only other passion aside from woodcutting.
Likes: Draen is a man of simple needs and wants, these things include a warm place to lay his head, a dry place to sleep and an activity to take up his time. He enjoys the smell of freshly chopped wood over many things, as well as the feeling of a light breeze as he delivers the final blow to a crumbling old Oak with his axe. The tell-tale aroma of a recently opened barrel of ale is one of the few things that can utterly relax Draen's uneasy conscious.
Dislikes: Petty squabbles and unnecessary bloodshed are two of Draen's most hated occurances, nothing broils his blood hotter than the death of an innocent, be it someone he knows or a complete stranger. However, where most would draw a sword, Draen takes up an axe and brings down trees until his seething anger subsides.
Roleplay Example: Upon walking into the tavern, Draen was greeted by the crackle of a warm fire, the kind smile of the tavern owner and a foaming flagon of ale.
"Ah'm sa'prised yer back inna town, Draen ma boy. 'asn't e'en been t'ree days!" Exclaimed the rosey-cheeked bartender, pushing the overfilled flagon into the woodcutter's worn hands,"Ah ain't use'ter seein' ye fer weeks atatim'!"
Saying nothing, Draen took the flagon to his lips, past his mangy beard and downed the contents within seconds, foam and all. "Another.." he said through a sigh as he slammed the now empty flagon onto the bar, something troubled him and the bartender knew it, for it was as clear as the night sky after a fresh rain. However, he couldn't outright ask the man to relieve his troubles, it was against his nature... No, he would have to get the man deathly drunk, and that was no easy task but the bartender had a secret weapon, a highly potent ale he concocted from nearly two decades of constant brewing.
"Ar'ye on bu'iness?" Questioned the bartender as he began to pour the man another drink, he'd have to distract him for a few seconds so he could sneak into the back room to retrieve his special brew.
"Nuh.." Grunted the bearded ale fiend as he began to down the fresh flagon, this time much slower than the first; The bartender took these few seconds to stride stealthily away, returning just as the man began to lower his flagon. "Another." Murmered Draen grimly, pushing the cup towards the bartender.
"Ye seem mor' down than normal, frien'.. I di'ne' t'ink tha' ta be poss'ble." Chuckled the bartender through a toothy grin as he began to pour his truth serum,"Wha's troublin' ye ma boy?"
Upon looking up after pouring the woodsman's drink, the bartender's eyes locked with his in the brief moment that the flagon passed between their hands and as Draen began to down the brewer's masterwork, the bartender knew that his night was about to get a lot more depressing.
-There are some facts I haven't really iterated on because I feel like that's more for the RP side, it'd be pretty boring if I just let everything through in just the application-
The Meaning of Life, the Universe, and Everything.
Join Date:
3/3/2012
Posts:
56
Minecraft:
Jighftw
Xbox:
Hangman99X
Member Details
OOC:
IGN:Jighftw
Age:19
How did you find this server?: Browsing for a Rp server on the Forums.
IC:
Name: Dusker "Bloodcraft" Crafthesus
Race:Human
Age: 64
Personality: Dusker, or "Crafty", is your average nice elderly fellow. Somewhat. Although his ages cripples him some, he would still put up a fight if he needs to. He is protective over what is his, and protective over friends. He is wise in his own way. He has a slight and small hatred of Orcs due to personal history.
Appearance:6'5" feet tall. Blue eyes, grey-ish hair and a beard to match. Although he is old, he as a good build for his age from his long history of battle, and violence. He dresses up in old rags and never wears anything fancy. He has a very strong look on his face
Ambitions: Dusker's ambitions are to relieve his own soul of the sins he committed throughout his life. He wishes to find a purpose in life that would free him of his misery, of his nightmares, and to help purge his very soul. He also wishes to save a life instead of taking one.
Likes: He likes Sunrises, and sunsets. He loves being in the cold and in solitude. But, he also likes the warmth of others that are close to him. He also likes the see a smile every now and then...and the smell of an open fire with a good slice of beef on it.
Dislikes: Orcs (To a point), using a bow, redstone, violent people, or people who are just full of themselves.
Roleplay Example: Dusker rides along his old horse down a long beaten down path. His body sways a bit from left to right, and he can hear his stomach give off a light growl in annoyance of being empty. He sighs quietly in his own personal space and looks up to see how much farther he needs to go. He lightly pulls up his hood to get a better view. He narrows his eyes and sees the unexpected. He sees a small group of Orcs heading down the same path. Great, a small Orc scouting party. Lovely. He minds his own business and urges his horse to go into a slower pace than usual. He pulls down his hood a bit more to avoid being recognized. He can hear the orcs speaking to one another as Dusker got closer to them. Then, he felt his horse stop in it's tracks and he slowly looked up to see the Orcs forming a line that barricades the path.
"What seems to be the problem?" Dusker asks, his mind set on reaching for his sword at the slightest sign of aggression.
One of the Orcs take a step forward and looks up to Dusker. "Our stomachs are the problem...and we can't find anything to eat. But...*smirks* Your horse looks. . . tasty." The Orc said and withdrew his axe and so did his others.
Dusker urges his horse to take a step back and he takes a deep breath. //Damn orcs...always being selfish.// Dusker thought to himself. He pats his horse's neck. "Oh...this old girl? Her meat would be rotten...if it wasn't...I would have eaten her already. We share the same problem...Orc." He says down onto the orcs, but they just chuckle and take a step closer.
"We don't mind a little rot...better than eating one of our own. Am I right boys?" Says the main orc and the others cheer.
Dusker gulps and takes a deep breath. "Then...so be it.." He says aloud and then draws his sword and swings it at the nearest Orc. He narrowly misses the Orc's neck and he urges his horse forward pass the Orcs. The Orcs were a bit surprise at Dusker's sudden action and unknowingly let Dusker through. Dusker forces his horse to ride fast and onward down the road. He looks behind him to see the Orcs becoming a distant dot of green. He chuckles weakly to himself and urges his horse to go a slower pace. "Now now girl, no need to kill ya'self." He whispers to his horse and the horse retorts back with a flick of her mane.
How did you find this server?: revolvingocelot and tuk-tuk
IC:
Name: Draxen
Race: Human
Age: 20
Personality: Draxen is a mellow character, bored easily and dislikes hardwork. Caring to an extent yet the promise of reward always stimulates him if he feels it is worth the risk and loyal to his friends. While being generally quite lazy and lacking determination in most pursuits, he enjoys adventuring and learning the history of various races and societies and willing to defend them against tyrants.
Overall, Draxen is an overly neutral character. He doesn't feel compelled to join any side or conflict and would rather stay out of it unless he was pushed into it. Most of his decisions are based on trust in the other person and is more compelled to do a task if his friends are going into it as well.
Appearance:
Draxen has a bit of a slim frame but most of it is made up of muscle. He is 6'1", with dark brown hair and brown eyes. He has a rather fair face, not overly masculine, and what people would call a 'pretty boy'. He sports light armour under a black hooded cloak along with bracers that fit firmly on each arm. As a fighter, Draxen isn't much of a tank, he is very quick and agile when cornered into a bit of a fight. Strapped on Draxen's back is a claymore that reaches a length of 5'.
The claymore is a weapon handed down to him by his forefathers, forged to be light on his back as he traveled. The sword sports interesting interlacing and intricate designs, and though beautiful, it can cut a man in half if used properly.
Ambitions:
Draxen has little to no ambitions for himself. He is rather lazy. Though, having a lack of motivation this adds some motivation to what he wants to do in the future. He grows tired of doing nothing unlike his forefathers and family before him. In a sense, Draxen's ambition is to find some ambition that would ultimately motivate him to do something for himself. Being from a family of adventurers and story tellers, he thought he could travel and try to find the easy way to live life.
Through his travels, all he found was plenty of hard work and plenty of danger. He's hoping there's much more to that in life.
Likes:
When he can convince others to do things for him, not doing work, relaxing, having a nice chat in a pub. He likes meeting others and talking to them about their cultures.
Dislikes:
Hard work, arrogant people, judgemental people, people who abuse their power and whatnot.
Roleplay Example:
"Wake up you lazy bum!"
"Wha-"
Draxen stumbled over himself and found himself staring up at a fat barman. The portly man didn't look pleased as his hired hand was not doing his job.
"You said you'd do yer damn job and get my stolen coin from those bandits a couple of days ago!"
"Yeah... About that. How about another day and I'l-"
"I don't think so, I think I got me sum replacements who can do a better job than you."
The barman stepped aside and a couple of big warrior men towered over the awe struck Draxen who was on the floor. The men grunted as one picked up Draxen by the ankle and dangling him in the air like a rag doll. He then proceeded to take him over to the front door, kicking it open as the light started flooding into the dark tavern.
"Look guys, we can be reasonable here." pleaded Draxen, trying to keep his claymore from being picked at by one of the other warriors.
"You had your chance, and it's about time I get my refund." One of the hired hands plucked Draxen's coin bag off the side of his hip and then tossed it over to the short and fat barman. The barman gingerly took the bag and then emptied the contents, finding less that he had paid the adventurer. "Eh.. I guess this'll be all I get for hiring a lazy adventurer.." The fat man muttered.
"Boys. Take take em out."
The hired hands grinned and then threw Draxen out from the tavern, slamming the front door behind them.
Draxen got up and dusted himself off, looking back figuring he couldn't be bothered to go after three coins and turned away hoping to find hire elsewhere.
The Meaning of Life, the Universe, and Everything.
Join Date:
3/3/2012
Posts:
56
Minecraft:
Jighftw
Xbox:
Hangman99X
Member Details
Hello, me again. I am just here to address possibly a few "problems" that I have encountered on the server in the short time that I have been on. I understand that it is a new server, and there are some things to tinker out before the server can be 'decent'. I am trying not to be rude, or to degrade the server, but this is just a few personal things that I had a problem with.
1. No direction. I understand that the players can make their own lore, culture, and all that stuff. But...upon logging in and after I set up my nickname...I was lost. I just ran around the spawn about a few dozen times. I just didn't know what to do. I was not sure if it was just survival or Roleplay? Normally I would have a sense of what to do because a good direction was given to me. But, I just had no idea what to do? I tried /help, but I found nothing of us. I had no idea what plug-ins were being used so I had no idea how to talk to others in OOC. I tried a bunch of commands, but nothing worked. I didn't know rather I just gathered my own materials...made my own house...or what. I was confused, and just...lost overall.
2. (This is more of a personal issue than a server related one.) I couldn't help but notice that umm...there is some ..."Immaturity" among some of the other players. I can understand if their young, or can speak proper English because they don't know it, but...there was some degree of trash talk among the other players. I can't recall who they were, but they were being rather rude to one another, and it seemed like they were disrespecting an Admin...If he/she was an Admin. They had an odd red colored "A" before their name. I can understand if it was all just fun and games...but...it was flooding the chat box. I can also understand that there was no RP going on at the time, or at least to my knowledge because I couldn't find a single player. But I am afraid that the same behavior might continue even when people are Rping, and the chat box is just being filled with illiterate comments.
I am deeply sorry for having to bother you all with this, but I am just simply a human being looking for a Rp server to call home and be with others Role Players that share the same passion for Role Playing as I do.
Thanks Core, I will look into it and hopefully by the next time you are on the server I will have everything sorted and a bit easier to understand and where to start
How did you find this server?: I was browsing the servers list
IC:
Name: Jacob Mcfarrelly
Race: Human
Age: 20
Personality: Serious and hard working. Usually kind and clear minded.
Appearance: Six foot two with black hair and green eyes. Wears his hunters robes. Has a long scar on his right forearm
Ambitions: Wishes to make a good living as a hunter. has a secret wish to become a bodyguard or head ranger for a royal. He wants to make his skills into a job. But can accept living as a village hunter.
Likes: Loves wolves and a good job. he is also fond of bows. Prefers the woods over town.
Dislikes: Completely hates small spaces and dislikes cats. Lastly, he dislikes those who misuse their power.
Roleplay Example: (Jacob walks along the woods bow at hand. His mind is clear and his ear twitches as he hears some leaves russel nearby.)
-He takes a deep breath and whispers- i got you.
(nearby, a deep jumps out and looks wide eyed at jacob)
-He smiles to himself as he lets go of the string and exhales.-
(The deer falls to the forest floor and lets out a small moan of its last breath)
Im sorry. But your necessary for my survival. -he removes the arrow as he begins skinning.-
(A figure appears from behind and growls)
-Turns and lets an arrow fly-
(A green fleshy creature appears and takes an arrow to the face as several more take its place)
-Jacob fires but more and more come. He takes off running as his prize is eaten-
Hello and thank you for applying to our server. I'm afraid I can't accept your application just yet. It could use a lot more in it, just seems a bit lacking in content. Just add more to all the sections and capitalize that which needs to be capitalized.
How did you find this server?: I clicked a couple links. Don't take my word for it, there might be more.
IC:
Name: Skrot
Race: Skaven
Age: 31
Personality: Skrot is a fairly typical Skaven; driven by fear and unparalleled cowardice, Skrot can never seem to shake his feelings of paranoia, thus enabling him to remain secretive and unseeming in the dark corners of the underworld. His frightful nature has caused him to develop the odd case of double-speak, in which he tends to repeat verbiage synonymal or coequal ("Take-steal it all, quick-quick!"). Skrot also has a tendency to refer to himself in the third-person. In his time alone, Skrot is usually found scheming and conspiring over subjects which have a high likelihood of never seeing the light of day. Skrot has a high aversion to creatures which dare encroach upon his 'sanctuary', and as a result is wary of dwarves and anything else that can swing a pickaxe or lift a shovel. Given his idiosyncrasies, Skrot is also highly unlikely to be found doing any work himself. In times of trial, Skrot tends to send in the kinship of his race which he considers his 'underlings' before he decides whether to act or not. To be curt, those not of his race might not even know he existed.
Appearance: Skrot is a patchy, grey-furred, red-eyed male Skaven normally seen wearing a ratty, unwashed dark gray robe with midnight-blue detailing. His stub of a tail is normally covered by the robe he wears, though its presence can often become apparent as Skrot takes greater interest in what is presented to him. Around his shoulders Skrot carries a leather bandolier suited for carrying vials of his strangest concoctions, which, for the most part, seem to do nothing more than create thick clouds of noxious fumes. Skrot is also rarely seen with weapons, though when necessary, he arms himself with a favoured jagged knife. With regards to the person, Skrot weighs little over 110 pounds and skulks around at a mere 4'5". The nails on his body are typically overgrown, cracked, and discoloured by an odd fungus.
Ambitions: In reference to Personality: Skrot is typically surmounting various efforts to increase his own state of livelihood. His dream is perhaps to become the ultimate specimen in Skavendom, and in doing so, subvert even the wiliest of his kind into serving his whims, whether they are cognizant of the fact or not.
Likes: Scheming, experimentation, subservience, well thought-out plans, alchemy, cheese, and the thought of inheriting the overworld.
Dislikes: Cats, dwarves, other Skaven, happiness, wide-open spaces, traps, changes to his decorum, and being reminded of the state of his tail.
Roleplay Example:
It was the middle of the night, or atleast what can be intuited from 5 miles underneath the ground. Frightful squeeking and the tapping of crude tools were all that could be heard from a dimly-lit room that had been forgotten in the many corridors of the underworld. Skrot sat working mechanically as ever before a fireplace and a stone table stacked with parchments, alchemy sets, and cages, all of which had previously held occupance by smaller creatures.
"Another one die-dies, no good!", Skrot murmured before he cast the lifeless corpse of a pustuled mouse into the fireplace, which then proceeded to expand and distort at an unnerving rate.
Skrot's efforts that day were intended to produce a new serum for the Skaven which would increase their resistance to disease and lengthen their lives by atleast a few years- an effort he would share with likely none other than himself and whichever poor subjects he had chosen for experimentation.
Just as Skrot reached over to pick up a new mouse- which, to Skrot's surprise, came up short- a quick series of raps and knocks sounded from the door to his study. Surprised, Skrot leapt out of his chair, sending papers and glassware in every direction. By this time one of the discarded mice had begun to bubble over, and, perhaps goaded by the sudden exposure to chemicals, simultaneously exploded, sending fur and mouse parts everywhere. A skaven slave then poked his head out from behind the door and presented a new cage of mice, smiling weakly. "His most merciful of masters asked for more mice, yes-yes?" Skrot stood, glowering down his snout. "Fool-thing!", Skrot had screamed, "it is your fault-error! Skrot told-instructed to tap-strike the door once, then slow-steadily knock louder each strike-tap! Fool-thing just wail-slammed all of its parts on the door and ruin-destroyed all of Skrot's research-findings! Now the Skaven will never inherit-gain! Clean-fix this mess, slave-thing, or Skrot will test the serum on it next time-time!" And, with a final gesture, Skrot left the room and locked the door behind him in search of a new test chamber and, incidentally, a new slave.
?kuT-kuT
Hello and thank you for applying to our server! Incredible application, this server needs another real Skaven, and you have just provided the perfect model.
How did you find this server?: I was browsing the servers list
IC:
Name: Jacob Mcfarrelly
Race: Human
Age: 20
Personality: Serious and hard working. Usually kind and clear minded.
Appearance: Six foot two with black hair and green eyes. Wears his hunters robes. Has a long scar on his right forearm from a hunting accident.
Ambitions: Not a very ambitious person. Jacob likes the woods and solitude from cities. Although this may change one day.
Likes: Loves wolves and a good job. He is also fond of bows. Prefers the woods over town. His love of wolves comes from the day he saw a wolf being outcasted and attacked. he decided to help and he took the wolf in. Eventually the wolf died. Though they did help each other quite a bit.
Dislikes: Completely hates small spaces and dislikes cats.
Roleplay Example:
*Jacob walks into a hunter store and looks around, seeing very few shoppers and a tired old shopkeep. He looks at a bow and inspects it. It seems the shaft is made of Boar Ivory.*
Jacob: It seems to me that this bow would be strong... but too overpriced.
*The shopkeep takes notice*
Shopkeep: That bow yer holdin' has a story. All the items here have a story and a value to match.
*Jacob Shakes his head*
Jacob: I'd like to hear it but I can't stay much longer. maybe another time sir.
Shopkeep: That's fine. The young must stay on their feet. May the wind be at yer back fella.
*Jacob smiles and walks out with his last words*
Jacob: Farewell sir.
*As he leaves, he sees some men fighting in the streets.*
Jacob: I best leave it be.. It seems like a fair fight.
Hello and thank you for applying to our server.
Your application is great, I look forward to having you with us.
Accepted
IGN: General_Hewitt
Age: 18
How did you find this server?: Revolvingocelot recommended it to me
IC
Name: General J.Hewitt
Race: Human, White
Age: 42
Personality:
A man of his word, he keeps to himself mostly but holds fearless leadership over those who follow him. He has few friends, and when his tough outer shell is destroyed, a soft gooey compassionate man lies inside. Also guts. And human meat. Not to mention, after his wife’s death he’s been trying to get back on the market to suppress the dark feeling of failure with female companionship.
Appearance:
The General is an aged soul, his patchy skin reflects wounds of past battles, scars from swords, arrows, and the flames of his burning home. He stands at an average height of about six feet. His grey hair is pulled back into a tradition colonial style pony tail, common for those of higher status within the Bellitrian Empire. He wears an old navy colored coat made of the finest materials found within the empire's borders. Gold trim lines the edges of the overcoat and the coat tails that hang low. A brown vest lays beneath this coat of authority and white pants beneath that. His shiny black boots are un-mistakable, almost knee high, they have traveled many miles, trekked though treacherous battlefields, and through the polished marble floors of capital. The boots themselves have a story but lets not focus on that. We are describing the General, no? His eyes have seen the horrors of war and thus have lost their once lustrous color of blue, replaced with something a bit more warn down.
Ambitions:
After fleeing the former great nation of Bellitria, he seeks refuge in this new land. He hopes to build a new settlement that may once rival the awesome beauty which was once the Bellitian Empire. The great war destroyed his previous nation. He prays it to never happen again.
Likes:
Pork Chops, Baked Potatoes, Disciplined soldiers, His deceased wife, Gold, Beer, A new sword, Fine reading, and the great Manat.
Dislikes:
The Nation of Tusakne, The death of his family, exile, hangovers, getting stuck in cob webs.
Roleplay Example:
The General exits his home, and takes a deep breath of the cool morning air. He makes his way down a gravel path to a small battered shack. He opens the poorly made door, steps inside, and opens a chest. Inside the chest he picks up a few books, some wood and a few nails. The day starts early for the general. He takes advantage of every second of daylight he can get. He closes the chest but realizes he's not alone. He carefully places the items on the top of the chest before quickly pulling his sword out and pointing the tip of the battered blade at the face of a young woman. He holds his stance for a few seconds before calculating the woman that lays on his shack floor was unconscious and not a current threat.
He gave the girl a slight push with the tip of his boot, startling her and causing her to jump up, dagger in hand.
"What are you planning to do with that Miss?" he sayed with a chuckle.
"Don't touch me!" she screamed.
"Pretty loud for this early in the morning" he replied, again the humor of her disposition claiming the control of his diaphragm and another laugh escapes.
"How about you come inside, have some breakfast, and we can discuss why you were trespassing" he said with a lift of his brow.
"Alright.." she said sheepishly. They exited the shack and he lead her up to his cabin, the day that lay ahead, began simply, however the adventure is simply beginning.
Tuk-Tuk
Just a quick thing, you don't have to do this if you don't want to but replacing the quoted text with something like [-snip-] saves space and makes it less of a pain to scroll through the page
Thank you for applying to our server.
I'm afraid you need a bit more of a description for your character, you haven't explained how he looks at all.
So sorry, but that's all that needs correcting. Give your character a real appearance and you can be accepted.
Denied
Alrighty here you go, a revised version of my player's description:
The General is an aged soul, his patchy skin reflects wounds of past battles, scars from swords, arrows, and the flames of his burning home. He stands at an average height of about six feet. His grey hair is pulled back into a tradition colonial style pony tail, common for those of higher status within the Bellitrian Empire. He wears an old navy colored coat made of the finest materials found within the empire's borders. Gold trim lines the edges of the overcoat and the coat tails that hang low. A brown vest lays beneath this coat of authority and white pants beneath that. His shiny black boots are un-mistakable, almost knee high, they have traveled many miles, trekked though treacherous battlefields, and through the polished marble floors of capital. The boots themselves have a story but lets not focus on that. We are describing the General, no? His eyes have seen the horrors of war and thus have lost their once lustrous color of blue, replaced with something a bit more warn down.
Once the server is up you will get on.
Accepted
IGN: AdmiralSandwich
Age: 22
How did you find this server?: A friend of mine told me about it and it seems like it could be great fun to ride around on a Tuk-Tuk.
IC
Name: Draen Thulitas
Race: Human
Age: 26
Personality: A man of few words around strangers, Draen makes an honest living deep within the northern forests as a simple woodsman, leaving his home only to sell his excess wood and visit the local tavern of the people to which he sells his services, sometimes even taking a bottomless flagon as payment. Even though he is untrusting and seemingly uncaring, Draen is a kindred spirit ready to aid those whose souls he deems not yet corrupted by the clink of a heavy coin purse or the deafening roar of a charging army.
In his core, Draen is gentle, cool-tempered and concerned for the well-being of any who draw breath but he very rarely allows anyone inside his home, especially wandering warriors.
Appearance: Standing at a towering 6' 4", Draen is a stocky man with lightly tanned skin, well muscled from tirelessly cutting down and chopping trees into the easily workable raw wood that makes up the bulk of his business. He sports a full head of dark brown hair as well as a matching thick beard that almost completely covers his round face save for his plain nose and his knowing eyes that seem to peirce straight through even the hardiest of social barriers.
When it comes to clothing, Draen retains his simple nature by donning woolen shirts and pants that are kind to him during warm days when he tends to the forest that is so vital to his well-being. On the surface, Draen appears as a normal grumpy woodsman, but if one could manage to out-drink him through a barrel of mead would soon find out the reasons behind his near-constant upset state and his seemingly impassable defense, that is, of course, if they are able to understand the drunken murmers of a sad treecutter.
Ambitions: Coming from a past on the battlefield, Draen has traveled to the northern woods of Hareveth simply to be left alone so he can tend to the forest he lives in as well as the customers he delivers to. He only leaves his home on business and rarely stays gone for longer than a week, unless, of course, he's coaxed into staying away by several barrels of mead or ale, his only other passion aside from woodcutting.
Likes: Draen is a man of simple needs and wants, these things include a warm place to lay his head, a dry place to sleep and an activity to take up his time. He enjoys the smell of freshly chopped wood over many things, as well as the feeling of a light breeze as he delivers the final blow to a crumbling old Oak with his axe. The tell-tale aroma of a recently opened barrel of ale is one of the few things that can utterly relax Draen's uneasy conscious.
Dislikes: Petty squabbles and unnecessary bloodshed are two of Draen's most hated occurances, nothing broils his blood hotter than the death of an innocent, be it someone he knows or a complete stranger. However, where most would draw a sword, Draen takes up an axe and brings down trees until his seething anger subsides.
Roleplay Example: Upon walking into the tavern, Draen was greeted by the crackle of a warm fire, the kind smile of the tavern owner and a foaming flagon of ale.
"Ah'm sa'prised yer back inna town, Draen ma boy. 'asn't e'en been t'ree days!" Exclaimed the rosey-cheeked bartender, pushing the overfilled flagon into the woodcutter's worn hands,"Ah ain't use'ter seein' ye fer weeks atatim'!"
Saying nothing, Draen took the flagon to his lips, past his mangy beard and downed the contents within seconds, foam and all. "Another.." he said through a sigh as he slammed the now empty flagon onto the bar, something troubled him and the bartender knew it, for it was as clear as the night sky after a fresh rain. However, he couldn't outright ask the man to relieve his troubles, it was against his nature... No, he would have to get the man deathly drunk, and that was no easy task but the bartender had a secret weapon, a highly potent ale he concocted from nearly two decades of constant brewing.
"Ar'ye on bu'iness?" Questioned the bartender as he began to pour the man another drink, he'd have to distract him for a few seconds so he could sneak into the back room to retrieve his special brew.
"Nuh.." Grunted the bearded ale fiend as he began to down the fresh flagon, this time much slower than the first; The bartender took these few seconds to stride stealthily away, returning just as the man began to lower his flagon. "Another." Murmered Draen grimly, pushing the cup towards the bartender.
"Ye seem mor' down than normal, frien'.. I di'ne' t'ink tha' ta be poss'ble." Chuckled the bartender through a toothy grin as he began to pour his truth serum,"Wha's troublin' ye ma boy?"
Upon looking up after pouring the woodsman's drink, the bartender's eyes locked with his in the brief moment that the flagon passed between their hands and as Draen began to down the brewer's masterwork, the bartender knew that his night was about to get a lot more depressing.
-There are some facts I haven't really iterated on because I feel like that's more for the RP side, it'd be pretty boring if I just let everything through in just the application-
That is true.
You are
ACCEPTED.
IGN:Jighftw
Age:19
How did you find this server?: Browsing for a Rp server on the Forums.
IC:
Name: Dusker "Bloodcraft" Crafthesus
Race:Human
Age: 64
Personality: Dusker, or "Crafty", is your average nice elderly fellow. Somewhat. Although his ages cripples him some, he would still put up a fight if he needs to. He is protective over what is his, and protective over friends. He is wise in his own way. He has a slight and small hatred of Orcs due to personal history.
Appearance:6'5" feet tall. Blue eyes, grey-ish hair and a beard to match. Although he is old, he as a good build for his age from his long history of battle, and violence. He dresses up in old rags and never wears anything fancy. He has a very strong look on his face
Ambitions: Dusker's ambitions are to relieve his own soul of the sins he committed throughout his life. He wishes to find a purpose in life that would free him of his misery, of his nightmares, and to help purge his very soul. He also wishes to save a life instead of taking one.
Likes: He likes Sunrises, and sunsets. He loves being in the cold and in solitude. But, he also likes the warmth of others that are close to him. He also likes the see a smile every now and then...and the smell of an open fire with a good slice of beef on it.
Dislikes: Orcs (To a point), using a bow, redstone, violent people, or people who are just full of themselves.
Roleplay Example: Dusker rides along his old horse down a long beaten down path. His body sways a bit from left to right, and he can hear his stomach give off a light growl in annoyance of being empty. He sighs quietly in his own personal space and looks up to see how much farther he needs to go. He lightly pulls up his hood to get a better view. He narrows his eyes and sees the unexpected. He sees a small group of Orcs heading down the same path. Great, a small Orc scouting party. Lovely. He minds his own business and urges his horse to go into a slower pace than usual. He pulls down his hood a bit more to avoid being recognized. He can hear the orcs speaking to one another as Dusker got closer to them. Then, he felt his horse stop in it's tracks and he slowly looked up to see the Orcs forming a line that barricades the path.
"What seems to be the problem?" Dusker asks, his mind set on reaching for his sword at the slightest sign of aggression.
One of the Orcs take a step forward and looks up to Dusker. "Our stomachs are the problem...and we can't find anything to eat. But...*smirks* Your horse looks. . . tasty." The Orc said and withdrew his axe and so did his others.
Dusker urges his horse to take a step back and he takes a deep breath. //Damn orcs...always being selfish.// Dusker thought to himself. He pats his horse's neck. "Oh...this old girl? Her meat would be rotten...if it wasn't...I would have eaten her already. We share the same problem...Orc." He says down onto the orcs, but they just chuckle and take a step closer.
"We don't mind a little rot...better than eating one of our own. Am I right boys?" Says the main orc and the others cheer.
Dusker gulps and takes a deep breath. "Then...so be it.." He says aloud and then draws his sword and swings it at the nearest Orc. He narrowly misses the Orc's neck and he urges his horse forward pass the Orcs. The Orcs were a bit surprise at Dusker's sudden action and unknowingly let Dusker through. Dusker forces his horse to ride fast and onward down the road. He looks behind him to see the Orcs becoming a distant dot of green. He chuckles weakly to himself and urges his horse to go a slower pace. "Now now girl, no need to kill ya'self." He whispers to his horse and the horse retorts back with a flick of her mane.
"Tuk-Tuk"
Hello and thank you for applying to our server!
Very nice app, simple and yet it displays your more then competent abilities.
Accepted
OOC:
IGN: Draxen_
Age: 20
How did you find this server?: revolvingocelot and tuk-tuk
IC:
Name: Draxen
Race: Human
Age: 20
Personality: Draxen is a mellow character, bored easily and dislikes hardwork. Caring to an extent yet the promise of reward always stimulates him if he feels it is worth the risk and loyal to his friends. While being generally quite lazy and lacking determination in most pursuits, he enjoys adventuring and learning the history of various races and societies and willing to defend them against tyrants.
Overall, Draxen is an overly neutral character. He doesn't feel compelled to join any side or conflict and would rather stay out of it unless he was pushed into it. Most of his decisions are based on trust in the other person and is more compelled to do a task if his friends are going into it as well.
Appearance:
Draxen has a bit of a slim frame but most of it is made up of muscle. He is 6'1", with dark brown hair and brown eyes. He has a rather fair face, not overly masculine, and what people would call a 'pretty boy'. He sports light armour under a black hooded cloak along with bracers that fit firmly on each arm. As a fighter, Draxen isn't much of a tank, he is very quick and agile when cornered into a bit of a fight. Strapped on Draxen's back is a claymore that reaches a length of 5'.
The claymore is a weapon handed down to him by his forefathers, forged to be light on his back as he traveled. The sword sports interesting interlacing and intricate designs, and though beautiful, it can cut a man in half if used properly.
Ambitions:
Draxen has little to no ambitions for himself. He is rather lazy. Though, having a lack of motivation this adds some motivation to what he wants to do in the future. He grows tired of doing nothing unlike his forefathers and family before him. In a sense, Draxen's ambition is to find some ambition that would ultimately motivate him to do something for himself. Being from a family of adventurers and story tellers, he thought he could travel and try to find the easy way to live life.
Through his travels, all he found was plenty of hard work and plenty of danger. He's hoping there's much more to that in life.
Likes:
When he can convince others to do things for him, not doing work, relaxing, having a nice chat in a pub. He likes meeting others and talking to them about their cultures.
Dislikes:
Hard work, arrogant people, judgemental people, people who abuse their power and whatnot.
Roleplay Example:
"Wake up you lazy bum!"
"Wha-"
Draxen stumbled over himself and found himself staring up at a fat barman. The portly man didn't look pleased as his hired hand was not doing his job.
"You said you'd do yer damn job and get my stolen coin from those bandits a couple of days ago!"
"Yeah... About that. How about another day and I'l-"
"I don't think so, I think I got me sum replacements who can do a better job than you."
The barman stepped aside and a couple of big warrior men towered over the awe struck Draxen who was on the floor. The men grunted as one picked up Draxen by the ankle and dangling him in the air like a rag doll. He then proceeded to take him over to the front door, kicking it open as the light started flooding into the dark tavern.
"Look guys, we can be reasonable here." pleaded Draxen, trying to keep his claymore from being picked at by one of the other warriors.
"You had your chance, and it's about time I get my refund." One of the hired hands plucked Draxen's coin bag off the side of his hip and then tossed it over to the short and fat barman. The barman gingerly took the bag and then emptied the contents, finding less that he had paid the adventurer. "Eh.. I guess this'll be all I get for hiring a lazy adventurer.." The fat man muttered.
"Boys. Take take em out."
The hired hands grinned and then threw Draxen out from the tavern, slamming the front door behind them.
Draxen got up and dusted himself off, looking back figuring he couldn't be bothered to go after three coins and turned away hoping to find hire elsewhere.
Hello and thank you for applying to our server!
Very nice app, it was a good read and I found nothing wrong with it.
Accepted
1. No direction. I understand that the players can make their own lore, culture, and all that stuff. But...upon logging in and after I set up my nickname...I was lost. I just ran around the spawn about a few dozen times. I just didn't know what to do. I was not sure if it was just survival or Roleplay? Normally I would have a sense of what to do because a good direction was given to me. But, I just had no idea what to do? I tried /help, but I found nothing of us. I had no idea what plug-ins were being used so I had no idea how to talk to others in OOC. I tried a bunch of commands, but nothing worked. I didn't know rather I just gathered my own materials...made my own house...or what. I was confused, and just...lost overall.
2. (This is more of a personal issue than a server related one.) I couldn't help but notice that umm...there is some ..."Immaturity" among some of the other players. I can understand if their young, or can speak proper English because they don't know it, but...there was some degree of trash talk among the other players. I can't recall who they were, but they were being rather rude to one another, and it seemed like they were disrespecting an Admin...If he/she was an Admin. They had an odd red colored "A" before their name. I can understand if it was all just fun and games...but...it was flooding the chat box. I can also understand that there was no RP going on at the time, or at least to my knowledge because I couldn't find a single player. But I am afraid that the same behavior might continue even when people are Rping, and the chat box is just being filled with illiterate comments.
I am deeply sorry for having to bother you all with this, but I am just simply a human being looking for a Rp server to call home and be with others Role Players that share the same passion for Role Playing as I do.
IGN: Nochyotaco
Age: 14
How did you find this server?: I was browsing the servers list
IC:
Name: Jacob Mcfarrelly
Race: Human
Age: 20
Personality: Serious and hard working. Usually kind and clear minded.
Appearance: Six foot two with black hair and green eyes. Wears his hunters robes. Has a long scar on his right forearm
Ambitions: Wishes to make a good living as a hunter. has a secret wish to become a bodyguard or head ranger for a royal. He wants to make his skills into a job. But can accept living as a village hunter.
Likes: Loves wolves and a good job. he is also fond of bows. Prefers the woods over town.
Dislikes: Completely hates small spaces and dislikes cats. Lastly, he dislikes those who misuse their power.
Roleplay Example:
(Jacob walks along the woods bow at hand. His mind is clear and his ear twitches as he hears some leaves russel nearby.)
-He takes a deep breath and whispers- i got you.
(nearby, a deep jumps out and looks wide eyed at jacob)
-He smiles to himself as he lets go of the string and exhales.-
(The deer falls to the forest floor and lets out a small moan of its last breath)
Im sorry. But your necessary for my survival. -he removes the arrow as he begins skinning.-
(A figure appears from behind and growls)
-Turns and lets an arrow fly-
(A green fleshy creature appears and takes an arrow to the face as several more take its place)
-Jacob fires but more and more come. He takes off running as his prize is eaten-
Hello and thank you for applying to our server!Great application, nice to get something outside the norm. Hope to see you on soon.
Accepted
Hello and thank you for applying to our server.
I'm afraid I can't accept your application just yet. It could use a lot more in it, just seems a bit lacking in content. Just add more to all the sections and capitalize that which needs to be capitalized.
Denied
IGN: Arganihm
Age: Early 20s
How did you find this server?: I clicked a couple links. Don't take my word for it, there might be more.
IC:
Name: Skrot
Race: Skaven
Age: 31
Personality: Skrot is a fairly typical Skaven; driven by fear and unparalleled cowardice, Skrot can never seem to shake his feelings of paranoia, thus enabling him to remain secretive and unseeming in the dark corners of the underworld. His frightful nature has caused him to develop the odd case of double-speak, in which he tends to repeat verbiage synonymal or coequal ("Take-steal it all, quick-quick!"). Skrot also has a tendency to refer to himself in the third-person. In his time alone, Skrot is usually found scheming and conspiring over subjects which have a high likelihood of never seeing the light of day. Skrot has a high aversion to creatures which dare encroach upon his 'sanctuary', and as a result is wary of dwarves and anything else that can swing a pickaxe or lift a shovel. Given his idiosyncrasies, Skrot is also highly unlikely to be found doing any work himself. In times of trial, Skrot tends to send in the kinship of his race which he considers his 'underlings' before he decides whether to act or not. To be curt, those not of his race might not even know he existed.
Appearance: Skrot is a patchy, grey-furred, red-eyed male Skaven normally seen wearing a ratty, unwashed dark gray robe with midnight-blue detailing. His stub of a tail is normally covered by the robe he wears, though its presence can often become apparent as Skrot takes greater interest in what is presented to him. Around his shoulders Skrot carries a leather bandolier suited for carrying vials of his strangest concoctions, which, for the most part, seem to do nothing more than create thick clouds of noxious fumes. Skrot is also rarely seen with weapons, though when necessary, he arms himself with a favoured jagged knife. With regards to the person, Skrot weighs little over 110 pounds and skulks around at a mere 4'5". The nails on his body are typically overgrown, cracked, and discoloured by an odd fungus.
Ambitions: In reference to Personality: Skrot is typically surmounting various efforts to increase his own state of livelihood. His dream is perhaps to become the ultimate specimen in Skavendom, and in doing so, subvert even the wiliest of his kind into serving his whims, whether they are cognizant of the fact or not.
Likes: Scheming, experimentation, subservience, well thought-out plans, alchemy, cheese, and the thought of inheriting the overworld.
Dislikes: Cats, dwarves, other Skaven, happiness, wide-open spaces, traps, changes to his decorum, and being reminded of the state of his tail.
Roleplay Example:
It was the middle of the night, or atleast what can be intuited from 5 miles underneath the ground. Frightful squeeking and the tapping of crude tools were all that could be heard from a dimly-lit room that had been forgotten in the many corridors of the underworld. Skrot sat working mechanically as ever before a fireplace and a stone table stacked with parchments, alchemy sets, and cages, all of which had previously held occupance by smaller creatures.
"Another one die-dies, no good!", Skrot murmured before he cast the lifeless corpse of a pustuled mouse into the fireplace, which then proceeded to expand and distort at an unnerving rate.
Skrot's efforts that day were intended to produce a new serum for the Skaven which would increase their resistance to disease and lengthen their lives by atleast a few years- an effort he would share with likely none other than himself and whichever poor subjects he had chosen for experimentation.
Just as Skrot reached over to pick up a new mouse- which, to Skrot's surprise, came up short- a quick series of raps and knocks sounded from the door to his study. Surprised, Skrot leapt out of his chair, sending papers and glassware in every direction. By this time one of the discarded mice had begun to bubble over, and, perhaps goaded by the sudden exposure to chemicals, simultaneously exploded, sending fur and mouse parts everywhere. A skaven slave then poked his head out from behind the door and presented a new cage of mice, smiling weakly. "His most merciful of masters asked for more mice, yes-yes?" Skrot stood, glowering down his snout. "Fool-thing!", Skrot had screamed, "it is your fault-error! Skrot told-instructed to tap-strike the door once, then slow-steadily knock louder each strike-tap! Fool-thing just wail-slammed all of its parts on the door and ruin-destroyed all of Skrot's research-findings! Now the Skaven will never inherit-gain! Clean-fix this mess, slave-thing, or Skrot will test the serum on it next time-time!" And, with a final gesture, Skrot left the room and locked the door behind him in search of a new test chamber and, incidentally, a new slave.
?kuT-kuT
Hello and thank you for applying to our server!
Incredible application, this server needs another real Skaven, and you have just provided the perfect model.
Accepted
IGN: Nochyotaco
Age: 14
How did you find this server?: I was browsing the servers list
IC:
Name: Jacob Mcfarrelly
Race: Human
Age: 20
Personality: Serious and hard working. Usually kind and clear minded.
Appearance: Six foot two with black hair and green eyes. Wears his hunters robes. Has a long scar on his right forearm from a hunting accident.
Ambitions: Not a very ambitious person. Jacob likes the woods and solitude from cities. Although this may change one day.
Likes: Loves wolves and a good job. He is also fond of bows. Prefers the woods over town. His love of wolves comes from the day he saw a wolf being outcasted and attacked. he decided to help and he took the wolf in. Eventually the wolf died. Though they did help each other quite a bit.
Dislikes: Completely hates small spaces and dislikes cats.
Roleplay Example:
*Jacob walks into a hunter store and looks around, seeing very few shoppers and a tired old shopkeep. He looks at a bow and inspects it. It seems the shaft is made of Boar Ivory.*
Jacob: It seems to me that this bow would be strong... but too overpriced.
*The shopkeep takes notice*
Shopkeep: That bow yer holdin' has a story. All the items here have a story and a value to match.
*Jacob Shakes his head*
Jacob: I'd like to hear it but I can't stay much longer. maybe another time sir.
Shopkeep: That's fine. The young must stay on their feet. May the wind be at yer back fella.
*Jacob smiles and walks out with his last words*
Jacob: Farewell sir.
*As he leaves, he sees some men fighting in the streets.*
Jacob: I best leave it be.. It seems like a fair fight.
*He walks away to his cottage in the woods*