Geo

((I've had trouble finding you online. What is your timezone Dom?))

MC Name:Geoboy66

RP Name:Khyraela_Oakenmar

Why the Dawnsworn? What appeals to you from us?: Khyraela was born to the trinity of the Hearthmother Anbella and has sworn her whole life in service to the pure goddess, practicing druidic arts and advanced healing procedures are all in a days work for her, a culture such as the Dawnsworn that accept children of the Hearthmother and infact enforce her ways is exceptionally exciting for Khyraela and would be dissapointed to be deprived of such a culture.

What can you offer us?:Khyraela can offer cheer to the down, spirit to the empty, laughter to the hearty and good company in the pub. In seriousness, she can offer sanctuary to those mounded both majorly and minorly, good morale enhancement and spiritual guidance for her fellow clansmen. She has a natural knack for archery but doesn't like to expand upon it too much as she really dislikes death and injuring others. Saying this she can also perform funeral rites for the dead of the clan, allowing their souls to be at rest as well as tending to the local gardens in means of her own interest.

Where do your allegiances lie?: Her alliegiance lies primarily with the Hearth Mother and the druidic culture although she has a fiery passion for kinship and would not hesitate to jump to arms in defense of her bretheren.

Do you feel you possess blood of the ancient clan, Levli-Kansaaz? Can you prove it?: Althought Khyraela is unsure whether or not she possesses true Levli-Kansaaz blood she is fully induced in her studies of the clan and their history, she reveres highly and would have loved to be born with this blood inside of her.

Professions and Talents?: Khyraela is a healer, raising the wounded from hospise beds and laying them to rest come their wounds too great. Her lack of courage has stopped her from becoming a battle-healer as she fears the battlefield yet her protective nature for life would cause her to jump to safety of any close kin. She is very wise and offers spiritual guidance to those who seek it, she is a naturally quaint marksman yet always hesitates to knock an arrow at anything threatening. She is good at tending gardens and keeping the flora maintained.

VA (May be needed for later ranks):Khyraela is very pure and possesses no vilanous characteristics yet I am perfectly capable of attaining a VA, although this character doesn't plan to rank as far as villanous activities.

((Now now, we all know those are NPC with armour a GM spawned for them! You thought you tricked me Syrio :D))

((NPC's my arse. I can see Tyber. HAI BUDDEH!))

Jynx is its' name yet very, very, very few know this ICly. I am known to 'aqquaintances' as lucky as Jtheo called me that to his colleagues. I am most frequently known as 'that freak'.

I apologise, I'll up the font!

((Upon many a request I'm making a topic telling the story of how events have unfolded for Jynx in Asulon, some people get confused by my roleplay and perhaps want some more in-depth lore. Here it is.))

It stands on the arctic summit of Maant Xyr high above Hyernohk's valleys with it's eyes channeling an impenetrable focus into the Wul-ak-lihr. It's slowly presses the tip of the quill into the ancient tablet, in a trance from the beauty of the quill's soft, gorgeous ebon feathers. The tip slowly begins it's journey, undergoing the trial of endurance as the glacial rock struggles to co-operate with it's attempts of inscription. It's fine, ebon lips begin stretching to a thin sealed grin as it begins to churn the stone to it's will. embroidering text into the stome tablet with an artisanry perfection.

((This is still a work in progress. Any criticism, good or bad, is one hundred percent welcome. I'm only adding small parts at a time as I'm very eager to get back ingame and play my character ^^))

*The Perfectionist begins to shriek with a deaphening hysteria of laughter as it stands over the Skravian slavemaster, tangled in a web of vines. Waving the hooked blade in the air it continues to exhaust verbal torture from its' hanging, tongueless maw. "He will be sold... If there's enough of him left to sell." It thinks to itself.*

For those long tiring days of fighting pigmen in the nether.

GOLDEN NUGGETS; THEY TASTE YEEEEEEEHAAA

You're going to need a Epic Hero spoon for an Epic Hero such as yourself.

(Epic Villain editions coming soon)

((Not if I beat you too it *Psychopathic laughter*))

*The Perfectionist's head drops to an insane angle, reaching out the palm of its' hand and extruding its' bony white fingers, It clacks its' jaw back and forth silently. The famished flame searing within its' amethyst slits exhausts a wild roar as its' eyes come to a focal point on a small white envelope, peaked high on the reaches of a large mound of thick gravel. Jynx's feet slowly patternise with caution as it begins to ascend up the heights of the gritty hill, making each step a intense effort to keep its' balance. The expectedly uneven gravel gives way, scuttling and scratching through itself into a flatter shape on the ground, emerging swiftly from the suffocating bile of the ocean of gravel, its' fingers neatly hold the burden of the pure, white envelope. It stands up, looking around to see if anything is watching and dusting itself down with the bulk of its' palms; it's pale, painted face remains unsmeared and unsmudged. With a fury of impatience it savagely tears the skin of the envelope, eager to reveal its' contents and with success, retrieves the letter within in once peace. Reading the letter, It is shocked and disgusted at the quality of the handwriting in comparison to its' own produce of literate artisanry. Suprised by the origin and authors of the invitation being quite familiar, it begins to make the return journey back to For Rin.*

((When you do repost the entire thread Jon, please have me called by The Perfectionist rather than Jynx. Thank you.))

"Jynx likeses the looks of this, yes it does - It does! It does get reminded none otherwise or it twitches, it sighs! This primitive 'house' rises above others, perfect - no! Good.. yeses!"

*The Perfectionists' thoughts course through its' mind rapidly, shuddering in excitement it clacks its' jaw back and forth. It tilts its' head, dropping its' jaw obtusely and emitting an aura of silent, hysterical laughter.*

*The Perfectionist tilts its' head to an acute angle, its' amethyst slits glaring curiously at the bulletin. Thoughts race through its' clouded mind, recognising the name and trying to visualise certain characters within its' mind. Its' memory sets on Salvus and remembers an aged being, grey with old. Its' jaws clack back and forth menacingly as it loses all regard for the bulletin and trying to steady its' shuddering twitch, it makes its' way into the depths of anti-publicity.*

I must admit I've been shockingly inactive, sorry about that. I've not been able to get on too much due to some OOC things. I should appear more frequently from now on however.

-Irin Starbreaker.

*As the rain batters down on his armor, not helping the fact it already weighs a burden, he tries not to lose his foot. The 'left, right, left' pattern slowly unpacked itself into a neat monotonal tune in his clouded mind, being cautious as not to go skidding across the muddy plains as he kept a steady pace. The sweat bore up inside his metal suit like a deranged panther waiting to strike, so filled with hurling rage yet sitting idle in anxiety as it waited to meet the cool nights' breeze. The inscence it emitted wasn't exactly charming but infact offputting, the last thing he needed was a boiling stench of sweat reeking from places his stumpy arms could hardly reach. His breaths puffed heavy and his breast jolted back and forth, pounding heavily against the interior of the steel breastplate. His ears now occupied by the rain had lost all trails of the pack pursuing him, as his heart rate came to a steady ease so did his legs, faltering into a soft jog. The wolves were gone.*

"Bloddy fockin' hell." *His voice blistered.* "Eh'm turnin' intae' a wee bowl o' Irin soup." *Irin jested in heartship.*

*His knees retrieving there place a few inches off the ground, Irin set off from his small break, the mountains were in view now and that he was sure of. Hurrying down the path his stumpy feet tore into the ground with swift force, causing a loud fixed tapping to resonate underfoot. Irin made his way across the bridge, not being able to resist looking down into the bottomless crevice below as usual, this brief stop wasting even more more. Scoffing, he began trecking again, the axe held high above his own head swerved side to side in the wind, coating Irin's sweat seared skin with a delightful breeze. Announcing in mind that this was the last corner until the crossroad, he felt a little more secure, and thus his muscles relaxed a little. Approaching the crossroads his eyes struck him with deception, they focused on an injured wolf yelping on the grass. Irin approached it slowly, retrieving a latch of meat from his backpack, he tried to seduce it. Irin blood boiled with fury and embarrassment as the wolf snatched it from his grip, dropping the act and kicking up to speed in the opposite direction.*

"Ye' cheeky wee bastard! Get yer' arse back here ye' mangy mongrel!" *Lashed Irin's tongue in sheer fury.*

*Building a hasteful pace, Irin in best attempt tried to follow the wolf, it headed up the stairs directly opposite him. Seeing the soft charcoal fur fading into the distance his anger worsened, he started to charge, the armor almost forcing him over his own feet - this little dwarf had some fight in him yet. Turning the corner he entered the vale, surrounded by large cliff faces, he felt so homely. The wolf wasn't anywhere to be seen, he turned behind him to see if the wolf had gotten itself cornered, but he froze in disbelief.*

"The doors, th-th-the doors? They-they're, open?" *Irin questioned in astonishment.* "I knew petty beasts couldnae' keep ye' oot. Yer a Starbreaker... after all." *He laughed, quite egotistically.*

This is a treat to my eyes to see many nations alike this kicking up, this has a great possibility of greatness ahead of it, given the chance. It'd be more than justice to see this plan set into play.

Jynx has never had a more fun death than from gid' ald Arbrek Starbreaker. Keep up yer' roleplayin' lad.

*Irin nods to Bruin acknowledging the look. He shifts his axe onto his shoulder and starts to stride along the stone walkway of Kal'Karrik assuming Bruin is close behind he erupts strictly.*

"One single word oot o' ye' about blasted ale and I'll scelp yer' lug lad, yer' never serious enough tae even dream about the field o' battle. Grab yer' axe and let's find this banter, eh've got some homework fer' ye'."

*Irin's voice booms strong and prideful, Bruin knows that he's not joking around.*

*Irin squints his wee eyes, slowly wading over to the poster he puts one heavy hand on it, securing it to the wall. He briefly skims over it noticing some keywords, he bares his teeth gritting them back and forth carelessly, his breathe growing deeper, thicker he grips the idle fist into a sturdy ball of vile hatred. He flares his eyes malevolently at the poster, turning to Bruin he points to the poster, moving out of the way so he too can read it.*

"Oi, Bruin. Tak' a wee look at that, wha' the fock does he think he is, eh? If ye' threaten one Starbreaker, ye' threaten 'em all. An ye' ken' best o' all that I, dunnae like tae' be threatened."

*Irin sticks his stumpy wee arms behind his back, gripping the long handle of his steel-gorged battleaxe, forth bringing it in a furious sweep that clashes against the stone, chipping some into his face. Brushing the debris from his face, Irin heaves the battleaxe up into a stance position, sweating anger from his eyes.*

MC-name: geoboy66

Roleplay Name: Irin Starbreaker

General Area/Timezone: Scotland, United Kingdom. GMT+ 00

Screenshot of Skin:

Character Bio (Must be at least 5+ sentences): Irin is labelled a stereotypical Dwarf and why shouldn't he be. One of the most stout, hardiest of his folk he is, and he'll let none other persuade him differently. Irin along with his brother Bruin is still in his mid-youth, and lost after the siege of Kirrak Rikkaz, he and his brother strive to reunite with their kin. Although he is born from the womb of one of Arbrek Starbreakers past wives, he still tends to forget this although his brother; Bruin makes it hard for him. It has been a good eighty years since their disappearance but hope shimmers in their eyes as they come across what the think may be their hearty kin, the Starbreaker Clan.

Position Desired: Lore Master, Irin feels strongly about reinforcing his kinsmans ancient ways and traditions.

Prove are you a Starbreaker: Surely the proof would be for reasons in vain, what kind of father doesn't remember his own son. However Irin has the Starbreaker symbol imprinted on his kneecap, along with his brother Bruin.

Any special skills you possess: Irin is a skilled warrior, and content with honor with a side of bloodthirst. His arms are stumpy but his skill with axes are unmatched by few, good thing battle-axes have long handles...

Your Blacksmithing Level: Only 10 or something, Irin doesn't take much interest in crafting arts.

Have you joined the Smithing Guild: No, the constant clang of steel defects Irins' preferance.

Screenshots of MC creations: I have none I am proud of, i'm no builder and nor I find it relevant to my role.

Roleplaying experience: My roleplaying experiences are more than you'd expect. I come from a community of heavy roleplayers on a game most are unfamiliar with; GTA-SA-MP. I roleplayed there for four years before migrating to Minecraft. Mythical RP is a change for myself but I have adapted to it fairly well. My tolerance for those that misuse the laws of RP is zilch, Metagamers, Powergames, Asspullers and Trolls I frown upon. My RP is substantial up to a certain degree of course, I'm no miracle worker but I'm no ROFLBBTHEQ11!!111!ONE!!ONE! Noob.

Anything else: I'd like to add that I am Scottish in real life, therefor my Dwarven accent could be influenced and imprinted into your mind.

Out-Of-Character:

Minecraft Account Name: geoboy66

Did you attend minecon and sign up at the LOTC booth?: No, I don't like conventions, playing the game is enough for me.

How old are you?: Fourteen but I'm mature for Fourteen.

Time-Zone/Country of Residence: Scotland, Greenwich Meantime

Do you have a good grip on the English language/good grammar?: Yes it's my first language.

Small 2-3 Sentence Description of yourself: I'm a fourteen year old boy who lives in Dundee, a decent sized city in the east of Scotland. I enjoy sports including basketball, football and a lot of parkour. I like to play MMO's such as Lotro and Wow and especially enjoy roleplaying on Minecraft.

How much time could you be on the server weekly?: Twenty to Thirty hours.

What do you know about Roleplaying? Give a definition of what it means to you.: Roleplaying is an art of telling the story from a fictional characters' point of view whether this is realistic or not roleplaying is a commonly enjoyed thing throughout the world.

In your own Words, describe what Metagaming and Powergaming are. Metagaming (MG) Is when you use Out of Character knowledge In Character, an example of this would be going up and greeting a stranger using their name. You wouldn't know the person and therefor you wouldn't know their name. Powergaming (PG) Is when you force actions upon another player not giving them any chance to resist. An example of this would be:

"Karol Bladeleaf pins the man to the ground and kills him" Powergaming can also mean doing unrealistic or impossible things, like for example: "Kyle takes his bow and kills eight hundred people"

What do you expect this server will be like?: I cannot say to be perfectly honest as I haven't played it yet but I hope it will be filled with serious hardcore RPers that know how to RP in a proper fashion. But most of all I hope I'll have a fun time playing here!

What other server(s) have you played on and why did you leave them?: I learned to Roleplay on SA-MP, I played one server there where I spent three years. I lead three factions which were very successfull but I left due to boredum of the game. I've also RPed on WoW aplenty but I have RPed on one Minecraft server and it is Skyrim: The Age of War. The staff were a little ignorant so I decided to search for another server. And here I am.

Have you read, understood, and agreed to the rules?: Of course, there would be no point in applying for this if I was just wanting to get banend.

How did you hear about us?: Through a few friends. Tyber1231, kitty00009 and a few others whose IGN's I don't know.

Have you voted for the Lord of the Craft on Minestatus? Which vote number were you? I have not but would be more than happy to.

What is your The Lord Of Craft forum account name?: geoboy66 my nick is Geo

In-Character:

Character Name: Ralof Kjarvallen

What is your Race?: Human

Biography(This should include the history of your character and his life as well as age, appearance and personality, etc.): Ralof is a man of the cold, harsh north; he's a hunter, a tracker and lives in the wild. Ralof is twenty eight years old with quite a pale complexion as he himself believes the north winds paint a mans skin whiter than snow. He has long brown hair that sits neatly draped from his broad shoulders pertruding from his hardy torso. His eyes are resemble a cobalt mineshaft and his lips prove pale. The only thing warm in about this man is the fire for vengance. Ralof was born and raised in the North and he's been there all his life, from the almost incapable age of six he was tought the basics of survival in the wilds, how to construct and iglu, how to gut a deer and use its body as sleeping bag. By the time he was nine he could catch leaping trouth with his stubby bare hands and cooking it was by far his most enjoyable part. Life was cold, life was tough but Ralof loved to work for his food and especially his shelter. His family (consisting of a sister, mother and father) were always makeshift, they would only remain in the same location for no more than a couple of months and there isn't one part of the north Ralof doesn't know - or so he says. Life pretty much went on like this, until the accident.

Ralof, his sister Yalena and his parents were tredding away from there current camp after a long four month stay, this time they were heading south for the first time since his parents had moved to the north, they were headed for the misty mountains, a harsh and rugged terain filled with jagged peaks and steep slopes, clearly a place to be given a second thought surely. Nonetheless the family were set on seeing what the could find atop the mountain. They were determined and stubbron just like Ralof. After a good three hours they had reached a flat enough area to have a rest as it turns out it wasn't just their resting place. As a band of orcs, around four led by a tall grim half-orc descended down a narrow winding path to them. Upon being noticed the Half-orc let out a staggering shreek, dazing Ralof and his kin and this shreek was no shreek, but a call for help and the call was answered... One of the ugliest creatures he had ever seen emerged from the group of orcs, its pincers were as shrap as steel and each one of its eyes struck fear into his heart eight times over. He had only ever heard of the Scaddernak' before but this is the first time he evidently discovered one. The Scaddernak scurried along it's thin needle-like legs slashing the wind with no regret it pierced his mother's thigh before throwing her off. Ralof will never forget the look in her eyes as she gracefully slid off the side of the peak, guilt flooded him until he was drowned with hate. The Scaddernak impaled his father with it's pincer and as it savagely shook him from it he crashed against the floor, a thick, dark venom pertruding from his chest and stained on his cuirass. Ralof was unseen during this whole incident and had to be mute as he watched the orc party drag Yalena off down the mountain. The time had come for him to receive his last mission from his father and as his cold lips spoke, they resonated: "Follow that Scaddernak, travel to the south, Find Yalena!" As he spoke these words, Ralof gazed at him, as if he had more to say. "Now run, you fool!" And with these words came the Arrow piercing his father's shoulder and his father was right, there were still two orcs here and he was dangerously unarmed, he had to move - Fast.

Up until this day Ralof continues to be an independant man and his stubborn nature prevents him from taking hospitality from others, even when they insist. He lives in the wild and he knows it shall stay that way. 'As is the way of the north'.

Your characters ambitions: Vengance for his parents and to find his sister. He wants to gather some powerful allies to help him achieve his ambitions.

Out in the Wilds, your character comes across a small cottage. Outside, there appears to be an elf struggling combat with two bandits. What does your character do? Ralof hides camouflaged in the large fern watching the combat, the elf bests one of the bandits, but as he struggles to reclaim his sword from the bandits chest the other bandit crushes his skull him a mace. It is clear by the blood stains and his frail body movements that the second bandit is badly injured and while he is still in shock from the encounter Ralof takes this chance to ambush the bandit.

Your character walks up to a shop in a quiet market. "Hello, my good sir!" says the shop owner. "What may I help you with today?" How does your character answer? Ralof leans on the counter by his elbow, cupping one hand and resting his chin there. He lowers his head forward towards the man so that he may whisper. "Do you have any white worg hides? I've heard you specialise in 'hard-to-come-by" material.

A screenshot of your skin:

Other Information: Ralof is a little descriminative and stereotypical but he is not racist.