Out-Of-Character
Minecraft Account Name:
MrFenno
How old are you?:
18
Time-Zone/Country of Residence:
Australia, Eastern Standard Time
Do you have a good grip on the English language/good grammar?:
Absolutely, positively, verily, undoubtedly; I'd list more, but I believe you already understand :D
Small 2-3 Sentence Description of yourself:
Hey all, I'm Harry. I'm currently undergoing the Higher School Certificate; huzzah for stress! I'm pretty easy going and non-confrontational - but that doesn't mean I'm introverted by any regards :)
How much time could you be on the server weekly?:
I could probably offer about 3-5 hours Monday-Thusday and up to 8 hours Friday; weekends, I'd be on for most of the day/evening, so about 30+ hours, give or take.
What do you know about Roleplaying? Give a definition of what it means to you
I've done a fair bit of Pathfinder and DnD, so remaining IC is important to me; Roleplaying, for me, is stepping into the shoes of someone entirely different. With those shoes, you can ignore your morale code, or uphold it, and do whatever you please; to the extent of the laws of the Nations and World.
What experience have you had in Roleplaying, if any?:
As I've mentioned above, a little experience with paper and pen RPG's :)
In your own Words, define what the act of Meta-Gaming is:
Metagaming is, in the words of Leonardo Decaprio from Inception, "a game inside a game"; but that first game transcends any normal rules binding that server - in a way, it's using outer knowledge or showcasing character attributes that shouldn't be made available. For example, if I were to display or utilise knowledge or technological feats that shouldn't be achievable/conceivable by my character, that would be an aspect of Meta Gaming.
In your own Words, define what the act of Power-Gaming is:
Power Gaming is, in my opinion, a hyper-competitive and rather immature attitude towards gameplay that either raises themselves and their power to godlike capabilities ("impenetrable defence" or "supreme understanding of anatomy that allows for one-hit kills on any man or beast") or disdains the abilities of others; such as 'forcefields' and 'spells that kill forcefields' and 'forcefields that stop spells from killing forcefields'.
What do you expect this server will be like?:
From my gathering, I expect that it will be filled with exceptionally creative and compelling characters, beautifully crafted landscapes and the highest of server plugin standards.
What other server(s) have you played on and why did you leave them?:
I've had a few servers here and there; either I've slowly lost interest in them, or I didn't fulfill criteria to gain entrance (Voxel Box being an example of the latter)
Have you read, understood, and agreed to the rules?:
I have indeed!
Do you promise to abide by said rules, and laws? This includes the Server, Forum, and Teamspeak set Rules:
I promise to abide by all laws and rules and treat them equally and fairly.
How did you hear about us? Did someone refer you?:
Checking Minecraft Forums.
Have you previously made an Application? If so could you link us to your last Application?:
http://www.lordofthecraft.net/forum/index.php?/topic/54013-mrfenno-application-for-lotc/
In-Character:
Character Name:
Marcel Cadenson
What Race are you?:
Human
What Sub-Race are you? (note, you aren’t required to have a sub-race:(
Biography (Please make this at least 2 paragraphs long. This must include the history of your character and his life as well as age, appearance and personality, etc.:(
"Come in lad, you've got a lot to write down this evening!"
As I approached the bed where the weathered old man, I took in the surroundings; the house reeked of antiquity. The walls, mottled in their texture and colour, seemed viable to collapse upon us at any moment during the process of interview. I drew myself on a rickety old chair beside the old Retanian and pulled out my quill and paper.
"So, may I call you Caden?" I asked him.
"Lad, I'll be dead by morning, you can call me whatever you like" chuckled the dying father of Marcel Cadenson, "Just make sure you write down everything, understand? We haven't got much time to dally around."
With that, I dipped my quill in the ink and, with a mutual nod of the head, he began to speak and I began to write.
About 32 years ago, in this very house, in this very room, Caden was brought into the world; covered in blood and smatterings of other matter, he looked quite fearsome to a man who's never seen a birth before. I've seen soldiers caked in less blood than that boy and, you know, I've seen my share of war. But, I was so proud to hold my boy in my arms; unfortunately, his mother was lost during the birthing, bless her heart. But I didn't blame Marcel for it at all, he was only a newborn babe. So, as a single father, I raised that boy as my pa raised me; every day, I taught him all the essentials that he should know, such as chores, basic arithmetic and literacy. But, much to my happiness, he most enjoyed watching me train with my battalion - he told me once that the sun shining upon my blade was what caught his eye and captured his heart. So, when he turned six, I gave him his own miniature weapon - you should of seen his deep blue eyes sparkle like opals when he held that blunt pig-iron blade in his tiny arms. At first, he could barely lift his sword and he became quite upset. But, through a training program I had devised to strengthen his core and give him more physical strength, he could begin to swing that sword with ease. By the age of ten, he was training with my unit; I never took him with me on assignments, but he didn't mind - maybe he knew that he wasn't ready to kill a man in combat.
My oh my, I should of seen it coming when I returned from a mission; the training ground was covered in gore, and several body parts littered the surroundings - I recognised a torn insignia of a brigand faction that I had conflicted against the week before. A cold, icy fear gripped me then, for I feared that my son had been killed, until I saw him just sitting there, knees pulled up to his chest, holding his broken, bloody sword; it then dawned that someone incredibly strong must of torn through his guard, but that he kept on fighting. That's when he noticed my presence and looked over to me; he reminded me so much of when he was born ten years ago, covered in blood, crying like a wounded pig. But the boy didn't wail; as I picked him up and held him in my arms, I could feel him sobbing quietly against my tabard, little shudders raging throughout his body. The boy finally learnt to kill, yet he cried for his enemies.
I checked upon him regularly, asking if he was feeling alright; he'd nod, and give me that big toothy grin of his. I told him that it was okay to feel afraid after killing someone, but not to let their deaths haunt him; I've had my share of nightmares involving my foes and I wouldn't wish that upon anyone, least of all my son. But, he grew up as any normal boy should; he had my thick brown hair, but he also had his mothers eyes. He continued to partake in training with me, as well as engaging in his routine exercise, which gave him quite a powerful physique. Another thing to thank his old man for was that he was quite handsome in comparison to his peers, which of course brought along women and trouble; thankfully, the boy handled himself superbly at both, courting the smitten ladies with ease and giving any that would trouble him a mighty fine concussion. It was when he turned twenty one, when he was finally accepted as a man of the world, that we bid our final farewells to each other; we both knew that my age was catching up to me and that my death would come soon. But I told that boy "Now listen here Marcel, you've got your whole life ahead of you; I have lived mine to the fullest and am ready to die in peace. If you receive news of my imminent death, it's entirely up to you whether you want to see me before I go; but I'll forgive you if you can't make it, because I love ya, son and I know you'll be travelling abroad fairly often. I haven't got much to give you, except for my blessing to go forth and carve your name into the walls of history. Now, get out of here, you've got that creepy girl coming for you, get going Marcel!"
"So, did he come to see you?" I asked, shaking the ache out of my wrist; it had been a while since I'd written anything substantial and it was taking a toll on my wrists.
"You bet he did! He came in a few days ago, he told me about what he's been up these past 3 years and what he's planning to do for the rest of his life."
What is your Character's ambitions?:
"So what does he want to do?" I inquired, readying my quill to take down Caden's response.
"Well, I told him he was being a brown nose, but he wanted to go into the Army, see how far he could climb up the ranks. I told him that he'd have a hell of a drop if he fell and he replied 'Dad, the day I fall is the day that old Iblees'll come out of that dank abyss and try retaking the world.' Silly boy still hasn't read his history, else he'd watch his cheeky little tongue."
What is your character’s favorite tool? (sword, pickaxe, shovel, etc:(
"The boy's loved swords, ever since he was young", stated his father manner-of-factly. "But I've noticed that he enjoyed the jobs he had whilst growing up, which mainly revolved around the Mines; lad enjoyed exploring the bowels of the earth, taking all that she offered with nothing more than a torch and an iron pick."
What is one of your Character's most skilled talents?
"Marcel's a fighter, I ensure you; give him any form of weapon and he'll swing it with the best of them within the day. He'll take to any job you give him with gusto too; anything to do with Mining, he'll absolutely demolish, pardon the pun."
A screenshot of your skin (must be in proper format:(
Other Information about your Character:
"Well, I think I've said everything I can about my boy; why don't you speak to him yourself?"
With that, I turned around and beheld Marcel as he entered the room; Caden didn't lie when he mentioned his physique and appearence - he had a rugged countenance about him, but still held the loftiness of youth. As I shook his hand, I could feel several coarse blisters; how he must of judged my writers hands, in comparison to his warriors ones.
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Marcel. My name is Arthur Rexus, I'm recording the stories of everyone here in Renatus and I was just speaking to your father about you; you've been through quite a bit, but look how you've pulled through."
Marcel flashed a smile and lowered his head, humbled by my slight compliment; "Thank you Arthur; if it was not for old Caden here, I would of never become the man I am today. Now, is there anything you'd like to ask me?"
Open-Response-Questions
Whilst traveling from the Cloud Temple you see a small halfling, being harassed by two armed warriors. They appear to be trying to steal money from him, how does your character respond?
The moment I had finished my question, Marcel fired off his response, an automated message from his moral subconscious; "I would challenge the warriors to a battle, where I would cut them down for picking on the weak. I would return what was taken to the halfling and escort him to where he needed to go."
"See, boy, that's the way to be! I told you that manners would make the man, did I not?" spoke Caden, his voice getting gradually getting more and more soft as his life slipped away.
Your character wanders into Alras, and comes across a small stall, behind which a well dressed man is standing. He’s offering various wares, the merchant turns to you and says in a posh accent " 'ello there, what can I do you for today?" What is your character response?
"Well, I would do what any normal being would do; I would ask him what they were selling and, should they have what I need, I would purchase it and give them a small tip for courtesy; else, I would politely decline his advances and be on my way."
Whilst wandering in the wilds, your character comes across a small hut, which looks abandoned. Inside it you see a chest containing a few iron bars, and a golden sword. How would your character respond?:
"This is a good one; what will you do, Marcel?" asked his father, his eyes flickering but still fixed upon the visage of his son.
"Well father, I would leave it as it were", replied Marcel, throwing a warm smile at his father and clasping his hand. "Some people aren't meticulous in their cleaning and someone could still live there. And I would never steal from someone's home."
Hungry and lost in the wilderness, you stumble across a small trading camp nestled among the forest, they greet you you in the common tongue, how do you respond?
"Well, provided my condition, I would ask them for what they could spare; after I had restored my strength, I would travel with them for a short while, working to repay my debt until I regained my bearings."
You hear word that bandits occupy the road outside the town in which you have been staying. The town guard have gathered, and are asking for assistance to help eliminate them. The leader of the party is offering a reward for any who offer their support. How does your character act on this information?:
Marcel paused for a brief moment before answering. What he said didn't surprise me, but I heard Caden sigh with a breath of pure happiness and pride that only a father could hold for his son.
"I would venture to the leader of the expedition and put my name forth to assist. I would then seek out a few individuals, particularly smaller or 'weaker' folks, giving them a small incentive of Minas to join the party. We would ride out, defeat the bandits and, upon the leader of the party offering the reward to me, I would instead ask that he give it to the people I had recruited; the pleasure of seeing those who think they are weak triumph is reward enough".
"Spoken like a true humanitarian, Cadenson." I remarked to him; however, he paid no attention to me, for his gaze was set upon the near-still body of his father.
"Thank you for your time Arthur, but might I ask that I be alone now with my father?"
"Of course, Marcel. If you can still hear me Caden, I hope that the heavens treat you well. Farewell, Marcel Cadenson; may you carve your name into the walls of history."
And with that, I left the room and closed the door behind me; I heard only brief murmurs, then the sounds of quiet sobbing.
