-Minecraft IGN: Denivire
-Skype name (Optional, for server chat): blunderbussboom
-Do you have any prior roleplay-related experience, if so could you give an example?: I have been doing Minecraft roleplay for a little more than four years and have created multiple successful servers and played on Lord of the Craft for years.
-Define Power-gaming in your own words: Forcing an action, as subtle as pushing someone out of the way of a tavern entrance or as extreme as cutting their throat while giving them no chance to roleplay or retaliate to said action.
-Define Meta-gaming in your own words: Using information gained OOC in character to you or someone else's (dis)advantage.
-Character name: Saint
-Character race: Human
-Character age: 51
-Character Occupation (optional, note you still must talk to the lord about loaning or purchasing any stall/shop for your character if he/she would have one. Also be sure to give previous applications a glance before deciding your job, we don't need 5 bartenders!): N/A
-Character description(At least one to two paragraphs describing your character’s visual appearance.): Standing at 5'10" with a rugged and unkempt chin strap with no mustache, Saint has gray clumps of hair staining the fading pure brown he once had. His semi-brown hair is slicked back and his discolored left eye begins to appear to be less and less of an eye but... Perhaps an illusory magic spell? You don't know but his chiseled chin draw you down to his dusted and clearly unwashed tinted yellow leather. A strap around his torso leave a sheath for a missing sword.
The strange man of mystery does keep in shape and his muscular and vein-ridden arms are attesting to that notion. His legs are adorned with rusted and dirty metal down to his ankles until you reach his feet, which have classic leather boots on them.
-Character personality and traits (At least one to two paragraphs describing their personality traits and/or quirks.): Saint is, from afar, a man of few words and actions. However, those whom he trusts are treated to a wise man who lived a past life of glory and simply spends his days and nights reflecting on them. He can get lost in thought and is a philosopher at heart in his old age. He refuses to stay out of shape and when he is no longer reminiscing or talking Saint is constantly working to look and feel better.
-Character biography (At least three paragraphs describing your character's history and experiences):
For thirty years, Desmond Graveheart fought the Pact.
The scars have yet to fade. The souls have yet to rest. To what can a single man attest?
Desmond Graveheart, known now as Saint, was born in ruin and rubble. His father was sent off by the Alliance when he was born. His father died before he could see him. The Pact set there eyes on the city. The marching resonated throughout the helpless city. Everyone was meant to evacuate. The pounding of the Pact's bloodstained metal boots was sinking the city itself. There must have been hundreds of thousands of them. A man from the Alliance told everyone to leave. Women and children first. Annabelle, Desmond's mother, perhaps saw Desmond as too much. The Pact had been starving them out for months and she had to feed her son. But perhaps the thought crossed her brain for just long enough... What if I leave him? And so Annabelle left. And her six-month old son Desmond was still sitting in his small cradle in their small cot in this large city, ready to die. That moment, unknowingly to the infant, hardened his heart.
Desmond was eventually evacuated by the men who dared not to even hear the gates being breached, nevermind staring the Pact in the eye. An old man who fled from his ravaged fishing village had taken Desmond under his wing. For years, Desmond was taught the philosophy of the great thinkers over the thousands of years. However, at age thirteen, Desmond's wise adviser was given a peaceful death in his sleep. With no home, Desmond felt a bitterness in his heart.
They left me. They dare not name me.
And so Saint was born. He roamed the war ravaged lands scavenging for supplies. Having lived in an isolated cot in the mountains meant he was left to pick up the pieces. Soon he had to dodge Pact patrols. At age seventeen, Saint could tell he was catching up to the Alliance. He reached one of the last hospitable cities in the world and there he joined the Alliance as a disposable footman. He was sent to attack nearby Pact patrols outside the city. However, the third time he went after a patrol with two other soldiers, they were ambushed and captured. One soldier who went by the name Wolf was brutally tortured in front of Saint and the other unnamed footman. The other footman was crying as he glanced and nodded at Saint. He cut the rope off his hands with a spare knife the footman kept and created a diversion so Saint could run away.
Saint made it back and the entire city was burning. How long had he been gone for? Who had he let down? He saw the army approaching, why didn't he immediately report back? Another failure left Saint disappointed. He quickly made his way to another city and was forced to defend the ramparts. But as usual, the Pact overwhelmed them and even though they fended them off after 5 days of continuous fighting, they came the next day and demolished the exhausted Alliance forces. Saint was left no choice but to run or face death. He eluded it again, but suffered severe injuries that saw him collapse on his nomadic trek across the continent. When death had missed so many times, a cut on his head was infected and death finally appeared to strike Saint. But as much as death pushed him to the brink, life had motivated him to keep moving. After hours upon hours of crawling, he reached a small fishing village, reminiscent of the one his old mentor spoke of. It sparked a fire in him. The beauty of life surrounded by the imminence of death. The Pact was coming, and his gash worsened. He pressed onwards, receiving treatment by a mysterious old lady the town shunned.
The eye. It has to go. But all will be well.
And with a few whispered words, Saint fainted on the old lady's bed. He awoke nervous and sweaty. He was alive, but what of his cut? The lady told him the infection rooted into his left eye and the only way for him to live was for her to remove it. However, she did place a very powerful illusory spell that made Saint appear to have retained his eye. Saint felt a warm feeling run through his body. Is this finally home? The lady, as if she read his mind replied immediately. For a while, boy. Now live.
All good things come to an end. A man from the town's militia ran into town bellowing that the Pact is coming. Saint felt a similar sensation occurring in his chest. He was ready to give up everything for his home. The Pact dictated his life, but it would not do so this time. He would fend off the assault. That night, the rain poured as lightning lit up the serene night sky. It ran down the soldier's faces harder than the nerves they felt under their skin. It was now or never. The horn sounded from the trees. The Pact was coming. The orcs charged the town as goblins equipped with bows hugged the trees on the outskirts and took shots at anyone in sight. A large platoon of men were sent into the woods to stop the goblins. They were never heard of again.
There are lots of nerves. It all goes away when the swords clash.
Saint and the rest of the soldiers were sent to the center of town to fight off the Orcs. When they charged in, they had a ferocity that could not be matched. But it could. Saint bellowed and charged, leading the rest of the militia to join in the defense. The Orcs bled as easily as humans but they lacked the willpower that someone like Saint had. The thunder crackled as the rain ended, but blood was coming from everywhere and at every angle so it never appeared to stop raining. As Saint dug his sword into a fleeing Orc. He dropped to his knees and wept. He felt something. Triumph. For that in which he cared for. The Pact kept coming every now and then. Saint and the militia killed them all. He left their heads on pikes hanging from the fortified town which evolved from the fishing village it once was. It was a hub for refugees. It thrived. And that which thrives is hunted by the Pact.
There were thousands of them. They stood no chance. Saint had turned forty-seven three days before they arrived. Then the Pact's horns shook the air. You could see the vibrations disrupt the peaceful sunlight that lit up the sky. It was over. The Pact were unstoppable as they ransacked the town and killed hundreds of innocents and soldiers. Saint ran from the imminent disaster. As the head of town militia, he fled. It is something Saint will never be proud of, and he will never forget it. As the flames of the town roared throughout, he could almost feel the flames touching his back. As though he was destined to burn with the rest of them. That he escaped fate itself.
After aiding the Alliance as best he could before it's destruction, Saint now finds himself as an old man with an abundant amount of stories and an even more abundant amount of knowledge.
-Please give us a short RP response to these two scenarios. (At least one paragraph for each.)
You’re walking around the markets at around noon. There’s a lot of people around you, still gathering their items as they prepare to shut down their many stands. Suddenly you feel a gentle lifting of your coin purse as a child graces you and soon after they take off sprinting. You have been robbed.
Saint cracks a smirk as he begins to sprint towards the child. He chases the child down a few alleyways and feels his ankle tumble on him as he takes a sharp turn. Saint grimaces as he presses forward and hears the child's exacerbated breathing. Saint limps over to an old rundown house on the slums of the city and finds the child under the porch terrified. He glares down and sits directly in front of the child, glaring at his ribs showing through the child's skin every time he takes a breath. Saint sighs and gets up, limping away.
You’re heading back to the city through the woods when you hear a whining coming from nearby. Upon further investigation you come across a grey-coloured wolf that appears to have its leg caught in a bear trap. Around it is three smaller lumps of fur, obviously puppies belonging to the trapped mother. Without help, they’ll all die, but wolf skins are quite valuable too, not to mention that the nearby farms suffer quite a bit from the wolf population.
Saint kneels down a bit and glares at the wolf and its puppies. He begins to pet the wolf's back as he looks for a way to open the trap. As the wolf continues to whimper despite the comfort it is receiving from Saint's hand, he removes it and unlatches the bear trap and the wolf goes to stand on its leg but collapses and lies down on the ground to rest. The three puppies surround the wolf as its leg is left to get better and begin to whimper. As Saint walks away, the wolf begins to get up very slowly and howls at the setting sun while Saint makes his way back to the city.