Out-Of-Character Details
Minecraft Account Name: Seafoam
How old are you?:27
[Time-Zone/Country of Residence:EST/USA
Do you have a good grip on English grammar and the English language?: Indeed I do.
Have you had any previous experience in roleplaying?: Yes; I have several years of experience with Half-Life 1 role-play.
Have you read and understood and agree to the rules?:Yes. These are perhaps the most significant I found: No power-gaming or meta-gaming will be tolerated. [this includes unapproved use of RP magic]
You must keep in character
You must always play in character as this is an RP server
How did you hear about the Lord of the Craft?: A friend told me about it, whose MC name is Hulk646.
Link any previous applications you have made to the Lord of the Craft: A Mori-Quessir application I did was denied by default, due to the fact that I apparently can't play as that race until I'm accepted as one of the four basic races.
Have you posted this application on Minecraft Forum? If not, post it here:
Definitions
In your own words, define what the act of roleplaying is:
Roleplaying, to me, involves immersing oneself in a character that is apart from one's real-life persona; becoming more and beyond what one could do in real life, and assuming the identity of that character completely while in the world where the RP occurs. While role-playing can give players vast liberty to be many grandiose things, it's important to keep the nature of the RP consistent with the overall environment and culture in which it exists.
In your own words, define what the act of meta-gaming is:
Meta-Gaming involves doing/saying things IC that you only know OOC; in other words, your character is acting upon information that you only know in "real life."
In your own words, define what the act of power-emoting is:
This involves doing arbitrary acts to other characters without first setting up a proper RP context; for example, assassinating a character without having a legitimate RP reason, and/or giving them the chance to respond IC.
In-Character Details
Character Name: Melosea Mc'Ireheart
Character Race: Dwarf
Character biography - Make this at least 2 paragraphs long, which must explain your character’s history, appearance, personality, age and any other details you deem necessary:
Born on the outskirts of Kal'Urguan, nestled deep and hidden within the valley leading into the Dwarves' secret gate into the Mountains, was born a slightly underweight but sturdy forest dwarf from two of the land's most prominent melon farmers around. These two farmers made the bulk of their living from the melon trade; shipping vast quantities across the Alrasian Sea to Alras, where myriad cheap shops and markets still abound. His father, Oaksun Mc'Ireheart, also an experienced cartographer, and his mother, Mardru Mc'Ireheart, were devout Druids, and had their son, whom they named Melosea Mc'Ireheart, soon after the Druid Age of Reunion. They learned much from the humans; grooming their farming techniques into a fine art form, and producing some of the largest and sweetest melons that Asulon had ever seen. However, their expertise was not cultivated by the humans alone. As part of Druid society, Mayrdru and Melosea learned much about the balance and harmony of nature from the Elves; their farming techniques doing as little damage to the earth as possible, yet still yielding a bounty of nourishment. Of course, their lineage was not all about harmony and gentle balance; they were still dwarves, and some of the fiercest around, for their ancestry could be traced directly back to the great Kjell Ireheart. To some, these two influences might seem like a contradiction; but the Mc'Irehearts developed them into a keen sense of subtle ferocity. It's this quality that they hoped to instill upon their son Melosea, but that would come later. Holding the belief that knowledge must come before power, and being dismayed at the brazen, if not arrogant, warrior spirits of some of their dwarven brethren, Melosea's parents insisted on firm education from the beginning. His toys were those of a child beyond his age: globes, atlases, and maps adorned his room, while other dwarf children occupied themselves with skirmishes involving toy swords and pickaxes. He might have seemed soft, but don't be fooled: like a cat lying in wait for its small rodent prey, Melosea's might and power would be struck after years of apparent pacifism, in the bloodiest of ways that would make the strongest of the Mountain Dwarves feel proud.
Melosea learned well the use of the bow and arrow from his Elvin friends. However, being a forest dwarf, a touch of arrogance and bit of a superiority complex towards his fellow dwarves led him to use his bow quite sparingly; as the sudden, unmitigated display of power and warfare struck him as quite unsophisticated. So, his use of the bow was mostly limited to killing small game; but even this was often discouraged by his nature-loving parents. He grasped to understand how these dwarves, his parents, whose bloodline was soaked with the carnage of Kjell Ireheart, could be so gentle and unassuming. He both envied and loathed this quality, for, not surprisingly, he suffered frequent taunts, teases, and even threats and physical assaults by his more violent dwarven classmates. And so Melosea had little use for the mock skirmishes held so commonly in courtyards of Kal'Urguan, and retreated into his maps and books commonly, in the innermost recesses of their sprawling, picturesque oak home. He drew much inspiration from one of the Hidden Scrolls, entitled "Nature's Gift," and it was from this poem that his true nature and identity began to form. To be in harmony with nature, but to also be able to utilize it as the means to his bloody, Dwarven glory, became his singular obsession.
But another firm quality was instilled in his personality from birth: that of self-sacrifice. Indeed, his mother's very name was adopted from the word "martyr." Many nights were spent around the family hearth, where Mardru told him the tale of Urir Ireheart, who so selflessly and courageously gave his own life to save their people from the wrath of the Undead. The idea of self-sacrifice left Melosea with a feeling of alienation: why should his people be the ones sacrificed for others? are they not good enough in the eyes of the Creator to flourish indefinitely? These questions, his mother assured him, were immature, and would pass as he became older and realized that as one from Druid blood, he had a divine purpose and would be protected on any quest he undertook. His light armor, made from the tall grass of Asulon by secret Elvin techniques, was imbued with their mystical powers of defense and camouflage. His sturdy bow, handed down from his father, and crafted from the strongest oak from the forests of Winterfell, would smite his enemies in a stealthy, deadly silence. His smaller, 4 and a half foot frame would hide him well in the dense forests of Kal’Urguan and abroad; while his penetrating orange-eyed gaze and fiery red hair would surely fill his enemies with at least a touch of dread, lest he be captured, spotted, or cornered. His dark skin would become darker and darker: like the grand melons so graciously grown by Oaksun, the sun would too cultivate his skin, bestowing upon it a dark wooden hue, so that even the keenest of hunters would have a difficult time spotting him among the foliage. Currently 221 years old, the stage is set for Melosea’s dramatic and triumphant purpose to return ancient Dwarven glory to his people.
What are your characters ambitions?
Melosea, coming from a long line of skilled cartographers, came to see his destiny written in the stars. Long nights were spent with his father Oaksun gazing into the night sky, tracing constellations depicted to show ancient Dwarven lore. He was particularly impressed with the stories of Lord Marshall Phog, who rebelled against the Dwarf Legion and formed his own Free Dwarven Army. Much like Phog, Melosea had a firm sense of independence and leadership that set him apart from the common gluttonies of food, ale and combat so typical of Dwarven society. Nonetheless, he one day longed to prove his worthiness in bravery and sacrifice to Lord Marshall Braveaxe and become a leader among his people. He desired the opportunity to teach other dwarves how to contain their warrior spirit in a refined, concealed manner, unleashing it only when necessary, and only when it can have the most devastating impact upon the enemy. Lord Braveaxe’s love of the ancient ways was not lost upon Melosea: indeed, Melosea sought not only to blend the skills and attributes of his more delicate Elvin friends with those of the Dwarven, but to bring back tangible evidence of his courage and pioneering spirit to Kal’Urguan. During one of these nights, gazing at the stars overlooking Al’Khazar, Melosea had a vision which would become his life-long quest and purpose within the Dwarven community: to return the skull and crown of the ancient King Thorik from the depths of Holm back to the Grand Council of Kal’Urguan.
Melosea had long been taught that there is a fine line between being an independent leader and being a traitor. Such was the lesson of the tale of Hiebe Irongut, whose poisonous treachery went beyond the traits of a leader and developed inside of him into a treasonous heart. What honorable dwarf would not only challenge the policies of one of their Grand Kings, but also go so far as to sequester his own people on the desolate, secluded island of Holm? “None,” thought Melosea, and his determination was bolstered. He knew, however, that he had much to learn before his prodigious goals would ever come to fruition.
Only learning the skills from many schools of thought, pondered Melosea, would he have the knowledge, charisma and resources to complete his mission. He therefore seeks to learn the ways of the Dwarven Rangers and become an expert in sabotage, espionage, and reconnaissance. He also must become an expert in building techniques, and build a ship strong enough to withstand the turbulent force of the Alrasian Sea. But Melosea is realistic and patient; two of his firmest qualities: he knows he must acquire the knowledge of how to gain resources before he learns how to design any grand Dwarven sea vessel. He must learn the lumber trade of old in Al’Khazar. He must learn the ways of wooden architecture from the humans who lived in the Whisper Isles and made ingeniously crafted homes from pine and cypress. He must travel to Winterfell and learn how oak logs were used as supporting structures. He must learn the ways of the courier as well; how to become an expert in marketing, while peddling goods between Salvus, Renatus, and Kal’Urguan safely and free from marauding bandits. All of these things and more Melosea must learn, in order to build a ship the likes of which have only been seen in the days of the Battle in the Nether of 1345, when his Dwarven kin build the strongest of ships to escape to Asulon from the Undead.
Of course, Melosea must learn much more before completing his Task and perhaps taking a seat one day at the Grand Council. If he’s to make it through Holm alive, he must learn the ways of Rohgan Greyhammer, the bounty hunter who slew the golum Sentinel. He must learn from the monks at Cloud Temple, who will aid him in navigation through the use of their many charts, maps and atlases kept in the library. He must gain access to books and scrolls from the time of the Post-Dream Age of Knowledge so that he can tap into the knowledge and power of his Druid heritage. He must acquire all the knowledge he can of ports, merchant ships, and sea commerce in general, for it will be under this guise that he will one day travel to Holm. Therefore he must visit the Realm of Hanseti, the port capitol of Konigsburg, and mingle with the seafarers there. He must seek the knowledge of the Elves concerning the construction of New Laurelin, which will become a coastal city on the Emerald Peninsula. He hopes that his Druid blood, by which Laurelin’s mighty trees were founded, will convince the Elves to tell some of their sea trade secrets, which assured the docks of Old West Laurelin constantly bustled with large-scale merchant activity. These goals are, of course, many years in the making. For now Melosea simply wants to set up a Nature’s Bounty shop and learn the ins and outs of tree and lumber commerce.
Please provide an in-game screenshot of your skin here:
Is there anything else you would like to say about your character: Not that I can think of at the moment.
Open-Response-Questions
Each question here must be answered with a minimum of one full paragraph, and detail the scene you are given in the way it would happen in roleplay. These questions should be answered in first person. Be detailed, not short.
Upon entering the Mighty Human City of Arethor, you come across a shop-keeper calling out to sell his wares to passers-by. The shopkeeper is not a Human, he is a poor dwarf looking to make a living in a new city. What is your response?
Straggling through the foreign land, Melosea gazes with relief at the sight of a kindred spirit. His relief is doubled when he realizes the unique opportunity a fellow dwarf could provide in this particular location. Daydreams for the future bombard his mind: he imagines setting sail upon the oceans to the east of this vast trade city, inching his way ever closer to Holm and his final goal. He ponders: "Perhaps a friendship in this dwarf I could cultivate; perhaps his business could help me quest further in establishment of my own merchant ventures...further...onward into the Greywise mountains to the north...learning the lumber trades and crafts to build my....prodigious...."
"Hey, you thare! Is ye a fellow dwarf I spy, tis true as shore as me axe grinded thar stones upon which this very shop twas built! What can I do for ye?!?!," the dwarf interjects; dashing Melosea's daydream into myriad specs of invisible hope and bringing his gaze steadfast to the small makeshift hut in front of him.
"I beg ye pardon, too much ale hath passed through me lips in past nights!" Melosea drums up the excuse haphazardly; ever-aware of the secrecy of his mission, even among his own.
“I’m looking far some fine hand-carved crafts; some novelty o’ the sea-farin’ kind would prove suitable; something’ not just decorative but practical; and preferably of the wooden sort; that I could take on me journeys into lands unknown; that would guide me through when my directional sense seems to fail me; that would give me some useful assurance that I can find the right path, even when the stars and heavens and very tides upon which I will one day sail, seem to fail or deceive me….”
Trader dwarf: “A hopeful capn' I never measured such a spry, handy dwarf as yeself to be; yer goals seem lofty and out in space, but surely, I can find a tool for ya suitable to meet ye needs far romantic adventure!”
Melosea nods in affirmation as he meticulously fumbles through the eclectic assortment of crude tools, hand-help weapons, household ornaments, gaudy trinkets and tacky souvenirs, toys and novelties, not finding anything of apparent use; when about to give up his search, he spies the finest compass he has ever seen. The beautiful oak frame, notched with machine-like perfection all the degrees of direction, longitude and latitude, envelopes a near-perfect clear orb, inside of which the two rods pointing to north, south, east and west appear suspended inside some gelatinous liquid of light purple hue. He’s instantly entranced by this compass; this relic; this enigma of virtuosic design, and he knew somehow, perhaps by a divine inspiration, that it would prove to valuable not only as a rare find of old-world handiwork, but as an instrumental cog in the wheels of his destiny! He MUST have it…suddenly his orange eyes burn brighter; a fiery, ancestrally crimson hue emanates from his gaze into the traveler’s nonchalant stare; and at that moment, the merchant knew he was not dealing with his run-of-the-mill workaday shopper, and his tone became solemn and serious:
Trader: “A man who knows his purpose has no need to shop around. His items will find him, and it appears this compass has found ye. But this piece is of such priceless rarity, even the origins of its creation are unknown to even meself. I would have a troubled sleep indeed, if I knew I parted with such a gift for less than….500 minas.”
Melosea’s eyes dimmed quickly as he slumped forward with a depressed sigh. He had only 300 minas, but suddenly he remembered the hand-carved dwarven ship-in-a-bottle he had made and brought in his knapsack. Surely this masterpiece would dazzle the trader’s eye enough to forget about the rest of the minas…..
Trader: “Ye got yourself a deal mate! A ship like this I have not seen since the old days of the ports of Salvus!”
Grinning, Melosea pockets the compass and happily struts along the rest of the bazaar, beaming with an oblivious daze of smugness, and not noticing the brooding, darkly dressed Elf watching his every move; looming like a shadow in the distance…..
You’re wandering the Oren Road late at night, when a large Orc begins to threaten a nearby dwarf. There is no help nearby, and the situation looks like it will escalate into violence soon, what does your character do?
Melosea happens upon the impending disaster with a gaze of panic. He is torn between his innate love of war, and respect for the Cloud Temple, knowing that violence is highly taboo here, and that his very destiny might depend on monks' cooperation in allowing him unbridled use of the library within. Likewise, his mind is torn between divided loyalty:
"Who is me highest priority to protect?," Melosea thinks, "surely it's me fellow dwarf; as much more as this monk could do for me quest, the orc seems to be mar further after me dwarven brethren; and tha less yer monk knows about tha skirmish here, the better, mayhaps he would blame me for helpin far to spark such a violent commotion, in these hallowed halls!"
Melosea's mind is made up, and a plan of duel attack and escape begins to take shape. "If only...I could lure tha beastly orc outside tha Temple...I could make quick work of thee with ma wooden throwin' axes!" Melosea revels in his superior intellect above the brute, and calls out to him with such an insult as it would be sure to deflect his attention, if only momentarily, away from the poor dwarf about to fall victim to his gargantuan sword:
"Aye! I got ye little orc-ling out 'ere by me fire pit, a-tied to 'imself, and a fine stew his young sinews will soon make in me mushroom stew, and a fresh new taste too, fro' tha usual chunks of chicken!!! Mayhaps ye join me, and learn for tha taste o' yar own fleshblood will be such o juicy treat as ta' make ye forget yar own vows to protect yar tribesmen, 'specially he bein already nearly dead; a-puttin him from out his misery I would be doin; a quick chop to tha' skull; he wouldn't feel tha' bubbles a-boilin' away his own flesh and bones, and perhaps a better death is this, than tha type o- yar own kindred, who will put down tha week and enfeebled, in a far more brutish mannar!!!!!"
The battle-worn orc's blood-red eyes turn sharply in Melosea's direction, and gaze upon his shadow, barely masking him in the dim moonlight. The verbal onslaught temporarily distracts his attention away from his base hunger, as he rushes, his huge feet thudding along, making the very walls of the Temple quake with an urgent anger, as saliva for an even better meal oozes slowly from snarling fangs, and his mighty sword, whose jagged edges mimic the fury of his own tusks, looms overhead; casting a shadow of the impending battle to end in a feast won from glory over his enemy.
Orc: "BE YOU DA ONE ON PIT OF FIRE TO BE FEAST FOR ME WITH YOU FELLOW DWARF, HIS SCRAWNY BONE
NOT ENUFF FOR ME BELLY, AND TASTE BETTER YOUR BONES AFTER THEY FALL BROKEN FROM A FUTILE STRUGGLE WIF ME, A WARLORD AMONG ME PEOPLE!!!"
The orc swings mightily but clumsily into the dimly-lit outskirts of the Temple; hacking down a bush here, a sapling there, as Melosea darts expertly from shrub to tree. Suddenly, the brush comes alive as Melosea leaps from his hideout. With both hands he reaches behind himself, producing two hand-carved wooden axes. “Chunk!” The orc's head turns in astonishment to a tree behind him: the blade of a small wooden axe juts all the way through the small tree, and all he can see is the handle, sticking out towards him like some wild tap for tree syrup. Eyes beaming with battle fury, the orc swings his sword back and forth at Melosea, but his cumbersome armor can’t keep up with Melosea’s dodged attack. To and fro he somersaults away from the blows when, at last, luck from above seems to guide his second axe, as it sinks with a sickening "thunk" into the orc's neck; missing his chain mail by a mere hair.
Orc: "YOU..ARGLE.....THA BEGGLE....!!" Blackish blood oozes from the wound, as the orc drops his sword from weakness, and hobbles into the darkening woodland; badly wounded but not fatally, and surely on his way to summon allies to finish the dwarves off once and for all.
Dwarf 2: "My savior! How can ye ever be re-paid, for my axe had not the might to defeat the likes of him, and my movements were not so fast! Strong of might, but short of mind has been me lot, but a loyal hand I will shorely be for ye, as the custom to repay my debt will secure me blessings from our brethren ancestors, and I shall in hope share in your glory!"
He offers Melosea all his minas as recompense, but Melosea refuses it, instead offering some sound advice to his new friend: “Allies, my dear dwarf, are the most valued spoil of war; more so than all the diamonds of our mines…” And the two new friends strode onward to Kal'Urguan, while Melosea told him of his dreams to come…
Whilst walking down the road to Malinor, you stumble upon an old man. His walking stick , looks weak and frail, and just as you are about to ask something, the stick breaks, and the man falls to the ground. As he falls down, a bag of Minas falls to the ground, and splits open. As you watch the multiple coins spill out, you peer down at the defenceless man. What does your character do?:
Melosea cannot help but utter a muffled chuckle at the old man's plight. "A funny story to tell round tha' campfires, and mayhaps an imitation or two..." he ponders in jest, but the light-hearted mood suddenly shifts to a fleeting fancy of desire at the pile of minas before him. But Melosea, tinged with the innate greed by which all dwarves are borne, is tempered by his Druid and Elven roots, and is reminded of one of the sayings of old, told to him by his parents during the days of the great melon harvests: "The bountiful prize will come to you only by the works of your own hand." His mind is haunted by this phrase, and he knows he can't give in to his baser desires, not to mention the fact that they are so close to a city of Elven nobility, and guarded by the Malinor Vanguard. He laughs to himself...
"He he he, 'twould be me luck if I were ta scoop up this simple score, only to be a-witnessed by those eyes, those self-same eyes by which me forest skills were made, and cast upon me the shameful gaze of my tutors, my forest brethren, disgracing not only meself, but the very hand that fed and led me, through the dark forest, into the lofty trees to congregate with the wisdom imbued by the Elves in the very trees which surround me..."
His wiser senses now taking over, Melosea helps the man to his feet, and sees a convenient opportunity to make yet another ally borne from origins of a desperate situation. "Yar stick breaketh from its lesser origins; 'tis not the sturdiest yar could use fer to ease yar weight; what a spot o' luck it is for ye, to happen upon a forest dwarf; a new staff I could craft far ye most expertly; yes, a fine new stick o' birchwood would prove a strong support, though the time and skill might take us the night...let us camp here, and perhaps an arrangement of benefits to both shall be made!"
Though a forest dwarf, Melosea's natural greed still does have some hold on him, and as an aspiring merchant, he constantly looks for ways for his skills to further his own adventures; a skilled bargainer, he certainly must make of himself, he thinks, if he is to succeed...
Old man: "You need say no more; I will gladly part with half of these minas, in return for a new staff...and also from gratitude of this staff, and of protection during the night, might you wonder to hear some stories of old Elandirel..of your brethren, as you call them...."
