IsolatedIncident

- The Yatl Wastelands -

Art Entry
I found myself inspired by a build in the Yatl wastelands. This is roughly based on it. 

Medium: Digitally painted

- The Bolemounds -

– Writing Entry --

(Unrelated to image)

There was a quiet solitude to the Bolemounds, a peace undisturbed by the indelicacy of mortals. No one ventured here to the sunset knolls of crumbling stone, scorched beneath the radiant sun. From beyond came a breeze as soft and tender as a lover’s breath upon skin, it swept over my sunburnt land, carrying the cool secrets of the ocean with it.

Today was not a day for doing, nor going. No, today was a perfect day, the sort of day one lazed beneath an acacia and spun dreams. Like threads upon a loom, I drew thoughts together into a picture, of a dance I’d practiced too many times. It was a dance of swords and power, of wisdom and wills. Battle.

No matter how the mortals tried, they fell one after another, offering their blood to the rusty sand of the Bolemounds.

My Bolemounds.

I knew before she arrived that someone had intruded upon my sacred place.  It wasn’t the sound of footfalls that alerted me to her presence, but a sense. A thundering heartbeat was all I needed to hear to know the familiar mortal was there.

Closer shuffled a gnarled woman. She was weathered, of dark skin, and with eyes like charcoal. Upon her forehead and at the corner of her eyes, deep wrinkles nestled into her skin. They marked the ever-moving sands of time, the years that ticked away when no one paused to look.

In that steady passing of time, from the moment these strange creatures first set foot upon my lands, many an arrogant knight had challenged me to prove themselves. They were a torrent that constantly carved away at me, as the river carved away at the stone. This woman, she was no knight, no great warrior or champion, no bloodthirsty fool sent to die.

I knew her. I’d watched her grow from a babe, raised amongst the ashen acacias and rough stone.  She had freckles gifted to her by the sun and a smile as soft as the sand beneath us. She was a scholar, who smelt of parchment and leather, whose hands swept dust from the pages of tomes, whose eyes found meaning among the language of old.

In every way she reminded me of the sweeping breeze that danced over the peaks, swept through the valleys, stirring fallen leaves and ruffling the soft feathers of Bokolo. Her musical voice, her lilting accent, they greeted me like the cool touch of wind greets the sea.

“Hello friend.”

Beside me she came to rest, her joints creaking at the effort. I knew by mortal standards that she was ancient, on the gradual slide toward death, her frail body cursed to wither and decay. In all the world, this woman, this mortal, was my only friend, and soon she would fade to nothing, as all fleeting creatures did.

For some time, we simply sat, enjoyed the stillness of the world, and the precious beauty around us, but as they often did, the mortal shattered the silence with a breath of a whisper.

“I came here to die.”

It caught me, for the first time in centuries, by surprise. My years were long, and my knowledge was great, but in all the time I’d presided over the Bolemounds, never had a mortal asked for death.

I found myself uncertain, lost on what I should do.

I could have deliberated for centuries, and no use would come of it, but I needn’t have bothered. The mortal, impatient as they were, took my silence as a ‘no’.

She, a bright creature, came prepared with an alternate plan. From a worn leather pouch, slung around her waist, she drew a knife. It was small, improper for anything but sharpening sticks of charcoal, but the look in her eyes spoke of a passion I feared.

It was the ones with passion that always came the closest, fought the hardest, lasted the longest. They had the drive to kill me, a reason from the heart that pushed them beyond usual mortal boundaries.

This woman, withered and frail, had all the passion in the world as she thrusted that small knife toward my chest. Through my shock I managed to bat her hand away. My nature told me to answer the fight, to end the intruder who threatened my home, but for the first time, I fought that nature and stepped away. I didn’t wish to kill her, not this woman, not now.

Instead I left her. Hoped beyond hope she would concede.

She did no such thing.

The soft sand underfoot hissed as steps followed me into the rich afternoon sun. Again, she drove that small knife toward me. This time I caught her by her wrists. She was weak, slight, as brittle as the smallest twigs of the acacia. Even so, she stirred the deepest part of my heart, the nature that whispered to defend my home. To kill.

“Leave,” I murmured, the woman’s language unfamiliar on my ancient tongue.

She refused.

With one simple act, she ripped my self-control from me, relinquished my decisions to a deeper, ancient thing that I didn’t understand.

Before I realised it, I’d turned the knife on her. I pressed it into the soft flesh of her belly. She made a noise, an indescribable noise, something like pain and triumph.

Those dark eyes, they met mine and for the first time in my existence, I felt guilt, honest and raw. My friend, my only friend, dying by my hand. I wanted to take it back, all of it, but there was no replacing the blood that poured gradually into the rusty sand. There was no saving her when we were so far from anywhere, and her elderly body was so frail.

All I could do for her now was to hold her and wait for her breaths to waver.

The whisper came as the sun waned, at the time when pastels spattered the sky and stars began to peek through.

“Hello friend.”

As though I wasn’t cradling her body, as though I hadn’t killed her, she lowered herself into the stained sand beside me. I knew as soon as my eyes found her, that she wasn’t quite there. Neither alive nor dead, her edges were uncertain and her form wavered, flickering as though she was made of candlelight. I watched her, or what was left of her. She was little more than the part that should have scattered on the easterly wind, the part meant for some other world.

Despite the thousands of words brewing in my heart, I could only think to utter one question as the veil of twilight fell over the Bolemounds, bringing a close to what should have been the perfect day.

“Why?”

“You have been lonely for long enough.”

. ~ ~--+--~ ~ .

Pasted to message-boards and walls alike, an invitation, penned neatly on parchment, would flood the cities and towns of the Empire of Man.

+-- Each invitation is accompanied by a simple image depicting a mask --+

Come one, come all, Nobility and Citizenry alike. You have been invited to a Masquerade ball in celebration of the esteemed

Imperial Grand Marshal, Ser Rolando Castelo for his services to the Empire as he humbly retires.

Join us in the celebration- donning a fantastical mask of your choosing and formal garb fit for dancing- at the Imperial Palace.

((6pm EST, Saturday the 13th of October.))

. ~ ~--+--~ ~ .

Do take care to consider:

Trouble-makers will be denied at the door.

If you wish to be let in, please assure you maintain a level of decency and cleanliness.

Gifts may be brought for the Grand Marshal. They are a welcome surprise, but not a necessity.

Only a select few will be allowed the rights to carry weapons. Be prepared to be searched and have potentially harmful belongings confiscated for the duration of the event.

((This invitation extends to all  who reside within the Empire of Man))

Signed,

Elaine, Minister of Arts and Imperial Painter.

Elaine Argentine claps her hands once, her smile filled with delight, as she hauls out the many decorations she'd been gathering for this very event.

Isabelle mutters some choice words under her breath to Leilatha as she sees the mad elf race past, “Do they not have better things to do with their limited existence?” the older woman scowls unpleasantly and stomps off to the Chieftain’s tent.   

Name, Isabelle Taloha

Age, 45

Ethnicity, Human

Profession, Nope. 

[IGN:] IsolatedIncident

[Timezone:] Upside down time ( GMT +10)

[Group:] Warhawkes

Areni Terin weeps upon hearing the news, tears flooding from her eyes endlessly.

“I knew this day would arrive from the moment we met,”

The youthful elf thinks back on their years together, her heart fracturing more with each memory. She snatches a tattered diary from her shelf, stuffing it into a bag worn with age.

 “But it destroys me to think I could not be with you in the end.”

Without even a whisper of a goodbye, she breezes from her house, each step taking her closer to the nation Amethu taught her to love. To mourn the man she once called her soul-mate.

 Areni would eye the flyer for a moment, a smile growing on her face. With haste she writes a reply before continuing on her way.

Name: Areni Terin

[[MC Name]]: IsolatedIncident

Category: Landscaping

 Out-Of-Character Information

What’s the name of the Minecraft account you're applying for?: - IllogicalOrder 

What's your MAIN Minecraft Account name?:- IsolatedIncident

Do you agree to follow the rules on your new account?: I agree.

Do you understand you can not be on both of these accounts at once?: Indeed, I understand.

Do you understand that if one account is banned, so will the other(s)?: I understand.

How long have you been on LoTC?:  about 7 months. I was accepted late in May this year. 

How many accounts do you currently have whitelisted?: One.

In-Character Information

Now you actually make your character - be creative but stay reasonable! Make sure they make sense and that they follow lore. Try to come up with a character that you actually want to play.

Character’s name: Irene Mallister

Character’s gender: Female

Character’s race:  Human/ Highlander

Character’s age: 17

Biography  (Please make it a decent two paragraphs long. Remember to add server lore, and events that happened to your character so that they don’t contradict history.)

(( Be prepared this is a very long bio))

The last child of Sarus Mallister and his wife, Irene entered the world on a cold night on the 16^th of Snows maiden 1519. Dreams of her brothers and sisters filled the small girls mind at night while she slept. Irene adored them, the way a child would adore characters from a tale. Countless hours would be spent in her room, tucked away, studying as directed by her father, though these hours were often spent dreaming of the person she may one day be. Irene longed deeply to be the way she saw her siblings, particularly her sister, Estelle. Brave, skilled, clever. Though she was child, still learning how to read and write, learning of things such as bravery were to wait. Her dreams one night were disturbed by a frantic, panicked voice. A servant perhaps? Irene was tired, 7 years of age and sleepy from a day of study. It mattered not who awoke her. The circumstances for which she was awoken was what mattered here. The sound of horses, war cries. A battle. Unbeknownst to Irene, this wasn’t an ordinary battle, this would be the battle to bring her entire house to their knees and herald the conclusion of the Duke’s War.

Swept away from such bloodshed. Irene was ushered out a small door nestled in the back of the keep, a loaf of bread tossed into her hand and a dagger placed in her other. The world has never been a kind place to children, but alone, away from battle her chances of survival were better. The tales her brothers and sister told, gave her confidence in her adventure. Irene may have kept away from the family most of the time, but she always heard their tales.

So she set off on her journey, a small girl with nothing but her nightgown, a band of gold with an engraving of antlers wrapped around her upper arm, some bread and a small dagger to guide her. In her mind, Irene was certain this was a test, a way to prove herself to her family that she too was brave and clever like Estelle and her brothers. Fear this was not a test came only later, when the glow of fire lit the night sky in a sharp red light, far off in the distance…

Such fear might have drove a braver soul to return, to check on their home. Irene was so young, still filled with hope that this was a test, so she kept walking. A small girl still convincing herself more with each step she took away from her home that everything was fine.

As the months passed, the girl found refuge amongst the remote reaches of Haense. Far away from civilisation, an abandoned hunting lodge provided her a place of safety. Nestled in the woods, she was alone. Her needs were cared for, a river for water, game to hunt for food, shelter from the harsh winters that attacked Vailor each year.

Years passed in this arrangement. But as the years passed, Irene’s hope faded, a test could never last so long. It was only the tiny niggling feeling in the bottom of her heart that kept her. The belief that one day her father would pull her into his arms and proclaim she had passed his test. Tales of adventure had long told her that destiny shows itself at uncanny times, one cannot see it coming, and due to such, she waited. The years passed, turning her deep wine red curls into a long mess she kept tied in a lengthy braid. The bright hopefulness in her emerald eyes faded. Ten years is how long it took for all the hope to fade. Ten years was the amount of time Irene had wasted away. Ten years was enough time for her to realise… This was not the test she thought it was.

Irene had decided, if life would not help her, she would help herself. And so it began, Irene’s second journey, her first true test. It was up to her now to be the person she had dreamed of.. Gathering what little she had, she travelled back down the path she had taken long ago, ready to accept the things she had long ignored.

Personality Traits: Determined, Independent, confident, ambitious.

Ambitions: To make her life significant. Find out what happened to her family.

Strengths/Talents: Patient, Exceptional memory.

Weaknesses/Inabilities: Lacks knowledge of the world, lacks social skills, fears failure.

Appearance (List the extra details of your characters appearance, IE; height & weight): About 5’8 tall, has defined muscle tone, though is still rather lithe.

Appearance, please provide us a screenshot of your character’s skin (If you need help, see our screenshot guidehere):

I do think an ignorance of the character having died and the fact they are immortal should be in place. For those who know about the death possibly even an inability to remind the one who died of the events that happened. Really i haven't been playing long but I do see a bit of an issue with just forgetting 30 min of your memories when you can simply be reminded by those around you. 

Name: Areni Terin

MC Name: IsolatedIncident

Are you at least half mali blood: I am full Mali blood

Will Anyone be living with you: Not currently

Town Citizen? Yes

Out-Of-Character Information

Please do your best to correct spelling and grammatical errors, this is a RP server and writing is the main form of communication!

What's your Minecraft Account name?:  IsolatedIncident

How old are you?: 15

Are you aware the server is PG-13 (You won't be denied for being under 13): Yes i am completely aware of the server being PG-13.

Have you applied to this server before? (Please link all past applications): I have not applied to this server before.

Have you read and agreed to the rules?: I have read all of the rules and understand them.

What's the rule you agree with most?:  I agree most with the no explicit roleplay rule, due to it making a comfortable environment for everyone to roleplay in.

Are there any rule(s) that confuse you or don't make sense? (if so we can help clear it up! You will not be denied for having a question of the rules): I fully understand all of the rules.

How did you find out about Lord of the Craft?   A good friend of mine was recently accepted to Lord of the Craft and encouraged me to join too.

Definitions

Feel free to Google the answers or browse our forums, but make sure that you write the reply in your own words, not those of another website or person!

What is roleplaying?:  Roleplaying is taking up the identity of a character and acting out situations as the character. Therefor using the character's personality and experiences rather than your own.

What is metagaming?:  Metagaming is giving your character information they would have no way of getting themselves. Eg. Having your character know that they can buy carrots at a lower price in Cerulin than they can at Petrus when they have never been to Cerulin. Because of this metagaming takes away from they fun of roleplay and is extremely irritating.

What is powergaming?: Powergaming much like metagaming gives your character an unfair advantage. it does this by allowing your character to do things they shouldn't be able to, basically making them overpowered. Examples include, Being able to run to safety after being shot in the foot or over powering 3 bandits without a weapon. Again this makes the roleplay unenjoyable and irritating.

In Character Information

Now you actually make your character - be creative and stay reasonable! Make sure they make sense and follow lore. Try to come up with a character that you actually want to play.

Character's name: Areni Terin

Character's gender: Female

Character's race: Half Wood Elf, Half High Elf.

Character's age: 134

Biography (Please make it a decent two paragraphs long. Remember to add server lore, and events that happened to your character so they don't contradict history.): Areni was born in Haelun'or in 1374 and has been travelling since a very young age with her family moving from town to town and living off of the bare necessities they felt as though they had trouble fitting in anywhere, this was due to her father being a High Elf and her mother being a Wood Elf. Areni learnt about the world through seeing it, her parents showed her many spectactular things like the forests of Adrallan and how to wield a bow. They spent 70 years like this, travelling as a happy family.

However Areni's mother soon felt her calling as a Dryad and began to search for her tree. Areni and her father followed her mother on this journey and when the tree was found Areni's mother fell in love with it and forgot about her family. Areni's father was so heartbroken he left one evening, leaving Areni with her mother. She stayed by her mothers side for 10 years untill her mother became so protective of her tree Areni was forced to leave her. The pain of this left a burning hatred for all Dryads within Areni's heart, Because of this she ventured away wandering from town to town for the next 50 years, alone. In this time she discovered her great love for knowledge and searched for it everywhere, this search lead her to the town of Cerulin where she currently searches for answers to the towns questions and mysteries.

Personality Traits:  Inquisitive, Stubborn, Daring, on the most part friendly unless in the presence of a Dryad.

Ambitions:  To discover the oddities of the world and immerse herself in all the knowledge she can.

Strengths/Talents:  Curious, Friendly, Daring.

Weaknesses/Inabilities: Stubborn, Daring, Has an undying hatred of all Dryads.

Appearance (List extra details of your characters Appearance, IE; height & weight): 176 cm tall weighs about 65kg. She is often seen wearing a mix of blue and green, Light brown hair, golden eyes, light skin, all traits due to her being half wood elf half high elf.

Appearance, please provide us a screenshot of your character's skin (If you need help, see our screenshot guide here):