OOC
Minecraft Username: Zsolmoth
Are you at least 18 years old?: Yes
Have you read the rules? (Link): Yes
(Optional) How did you hear about Avalore?: N/A
(Max. 1) Were you referred by someone? If so, please provide their in-game username:
(Optional) Introduce yourself if you’d like, as well as any creations you want to share (e.g. art, builds, skins): Hi, I'm an aspiring writer and lover of collaborative storytelling. I'm also a forever DM and my most recent dnd campaign has been running online for over a year now. I've sacrificed my love for creating and playing pc's so that my friends have their dm, so I've decided to try this out to scratch that itch and do something fun in my freetime. Big fan of fiction novels with Joe Abercrombie being a recent favorite, check him out if you like grim-dark low magic fantasy =)
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In-Character
Read the following prompt:
The rhythmic lull of hoofbeats are a marching drum to the small group of pioneers and variety of folk you have found yourself amongst, packed into a wobbling wagon. The rolling plains of the Southern Reach and a clear sky stretch out all around you, the buzz of excited chatter a dull wash in your ears as your mind strays to your former life and what has led you here to new lands.
“Nervous?”
You blink, returning to the present moment. A kindly older woman sat near you is smiling warmly with a crinkle to her eyes.
“I can tell it’s your first time. Still remember mine,” she flashes a grin and leans in.
“Tell me my dear, why have you come to the Reach?”
How do you respond (in character)? (250 word minimum - please make sure to include at least three references to our lore in your response, with two coming from different pages in the Compendium. Two of the three selected should also be in-depth, avoid simply name-dropping lore terms. Tie the terms into your character's backstory. Why are they important to them?)
Vang reeled back from his near-sleep state as the kindly woman regarded him. He had been trying, in vain apparently, to find a moment's rest during the day. As last night he had volunteered to join the nightwatch of the caravan as the rest had slept. Vang hadn’t been able to sleep then and thought he’d best be useful. But now had a hard enough time finding peace from his buzzing mind through the carriage’s lurches and the near incessant squealing of an infant near its feeding time. He did not need the prattle of an elder. In his head he sighed and turned to face the woman.
“To find some good work,” He answered noncommittally, “I am a tradesman.”
He didn’t sound terribly convincing and the woman looked Vang over and harrumphed. His rucksack had split over during his drowse, revealing the hem of some well oiled chainmail and the haft of his quarryman’s hammer, which admittedly looked like it had been used for more than just stone.
“Took you for a proper soldier I did,” The woman said and looked at him expectantly. The crease of her brow revealed a slight distrust. Vang should’ve prepared something more detailed and believable to share with those on the trail. He sighed internally again. He didn’t blame her for seeing through him. His size, larger build and scarring across the bridge of his nose pointed towards an obvious conclusion, and it wasn’t entirely unfounded.
“But all of us have our pasts ourselves, and many don’t wish to share, I won’t pry.” She finished.
As she began to turn away Vang’s gravelly throat clearing set her to looking at him again. “I was an assistant to a mason banker in Rulan near The Wall. My mentor passed and I couldn’t continue his business, and so I turned to other work.” He glanced down at the mail shirt and she followed his eyes with hers. “Now I travel south, in search of a new life. A more peaceful one perhaps.” At least he spoke half-lies now, as opposed to full ones.
Vang’s own words brought memories back to the forefront of his mind. His adoptive father, as true a father as any, ferrying him down from the Northern Kingdoms where Vang had been born to a parentage unknown to himself. His first memories were of that trip, though fuzzy at best.
His father adapted a past as a mercenary captain, using his business acumen and an ability to read and write to start a life for them as merchant masons. And as Vang had grown he and his father had found satisfaction and revelry in their work. It was afterall useful to have a big lad around to haul deliveries and youthful hands to chisel stone into the desired shapes. But Vang had also wished for a different life. In his youth what he did read, outside of accounts and banking notes, were tales of chivalrous heroes. Warrior poets and noble knights.
He remembered practicing with his fishing rod turned mock blade down by the stream near home. Just as he remembered the boys who’d come to tease him. The first thrill of combat as he smashed his reel into a wall guard’s son’s nose. The salt-iron taste of blood in his mouth as the others crashed down on him with kicks and blows only for him to toss them all into the stream, one by one. The thrill was addicting, and after too many fights his father had sat him down to admonish violence and share with Vang the horror he himself had beheld while fighting. And to Vang’s shame, when his father passed to the saltblood, he’d left the mason trade behind and joined a more unscrupulous crowd. Freebooters and bandits who’d bust kneecaps and steal away with valuables if their victims didn’t pay for the protection racket they had sold.
Vang shook his head and let the old wounds of time fade away, he didn’t want to face them, not now anyway. His right hand unconsciously traced up towards the curve of his head and met the nub of a horn, of which two grew on either side of his temples. Only then he’d just remembered he’d been speaking with someone and turned to look at the old woman, who awkwardly turned away. Vang had ponderously drifted through his thoughts in what must’ve been a minute in silence. Or maybe the elder woman had responded to him and he’d not even noticed. He sighed outwardly this time and stood, grabbing his rucksack and bundling himself out of the carriage, away from the noise.
He stood in the open air and stretched. Then shielded his eyes from the noonday sun and looked towards the southern horizon.
“Who knows what awaits me, maybe I’ll make a warrior poet yet.” He said to no one as he shifted down the trail with the rest of the caravan.
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Character Name: Vang
Character Race: 50/50 Human Greatling
Character Age: 30
Brief Physical Description: Vang is a tall and well-built individual whose body reflects a genetic predetermination of a half-greatling and many hours spent at physical work and toil. Shoulder length wavy dark hair with a messy middle part hides two nub like horns that sprout from either side of his head. Vang's eyes are a deep mossy green with a steel gray ring in the center. Dark rings around his eyes are the outlier, as the rest of his skin is naturally pale, tanned slightly by time spent on the road. He has a slightly unkempt dark beard with strands of iron gray hairs beginning to sprout. He wears tradesman's clothes for the most part but doesn't mind armor when he needs it.
Image of Skin and Figura Model: 
