Hook

The sellsword, Maze Jarrow, passes through the gates of Markev. Torchlight flickers against him, casting half of his person under a cordial golden glow. Dismounting his steed, the night rain patters against his hood and runs down his shoulders as he enters the close-by tavern with haste. After shaking the wetness off himself and taking a seat close to the fire, Maze spots a piece of paper beside his chair. It is a promotion for the Southgarde - one of many posters around these parts, Maze assumed. It must have fluttered down off the wall, or was torn down by some rogue. "Haven't ran with a group like this in some time," he mused, as his eyes ran across the parchment. "Suits me well enough.." His interest had peaked, and claiming an ink-pot and quill from the bartender, Maze began to write his application. IGN: Hook Character Name: Maze Jarrow Race: Adunian Current Nation: Maze has a small dwelling just outside of Markev, Haense, though most of his time is spent travelling for sellsword work. Personal Goals: Since the first time he took up mercenary work, protecting a merchant caravan as it carried goods between the Dominion and the Warhawkes, Maze has followed no other path. In his years prior, he had spent terms trying his hand as a carpenter, bartender and ferryman, though none of these suited his passion. But life as a sellsword suited Maze. he thrill, the payment, and perhaps most importantly - he was able enough to do it. Currently, Maze sits in Haense for a week's rest after claiming a bounty. He wishes to join the Southgarde to meet fellow sellswords, with hopes of co-operating for larger contracts and to meet like-minded individuals. Current Equipment: Maze currently wears a leather-studded jerkin, with harder shoulder-pieces and a reinforced chest piece, and cloth underneath for comfort. His trousers seem to be of similar stock, while his boots are a tough leather, perfect for travelling. Several small pouches hang off his belt, which he fills with whatever small goods he may need for survival on longer contracts. One Steel longsword sits in a sheath on his hip. It is not very worn - a recent purchase, after his old sword finally perished. Two small steel daggers. One rests in a scabbard on his lower back. An identical dagger is hidden in a scabbard, in his boot. One Coinpurse, filled with Minas. A small pocket watch. A compass, and a notebook.

MC Name: Hook RP Name: Artwinkle Pudd Known Arcane Arts: None - Been searching for a teacher for 4 IRL months with no luck just yet. Position Desired : Student When is the best time to contact you for an interview: Most evenings after 5pm GMT. Hook#9681.

Initiate Application MC name: Hook Discord: Hook#9681 - Character Name: Artwinkle Pudd Race: Human, Heartlander Age: Twenty Two Do you know any magic currently?: None Which subject do you plan to learn?: Fire Evocation Do you swear to abide by the rules of the academy?: Solemnly.

Artwinkle sits in his study, sipping on a mug of tea, contemplating the events of the battle. "I do hope these fighting men and women would avoid dying on my roof, in the future. Won't be long before those old planks give out and they fall through, landing right on my lap. That's no good... Plus, the bloodstains are getting difficult to scrub out." Such was the downfall of living outside the walls of a city at war.

Artwinkle Pudd's body jolts his brain into consciousness in the middle of the night. He would be drenched in sweat, and inexplicably out of breath. Wheezing, he would sit up, forgetting his recent move to a bottom-bunk, and so naturally, he would thwak his head on the bunk above. The sudden series of events would have likely woken up his house-mate, who had been sleeping on said top-bunk. Now, worried about this catastrophe that had just occurred in his bedroom, Artwinkle's memories of the Far Glade would fade away, but the sinking feeling remained. He would not fall easily back into a deep sleep, that night. And not only due to the nasty bump on his head. ------ OOC: I really enjoyed this CYOA! Clearly a lot of thought was put into it and the descriptive writing was excellent. Cheers for the experience Aesopian.

*A torn piece of paper is nailed to a tree before you. Across the rest of Atlas, other denizens would discover more torn pieces of paper, just like this one, nailed to other trees. They'd also find them stuck to walls, pinned to notice boards, and generally littering the otherwise picturesque landscapes and townships of Atlas. If one was to squint, they would be able to make out the following text, written in a peculiar font.* --------------------------------------------------------------- Hullo, dear reader! For a noteworthy stretch of my recent life, I've travelled around Atlas seeking a tutor. One who would teach the ways of Arcanism, to be fair and particular about the whole thing. I've visited and spent time in every tavern in every sizeable settlement that I know of across the land, as well as tracking down Magic Districts, Quarters, and Colleges, but none have presented me with an able teacher of Arcanism as of yet. And it has been quite some time. If you are able to teach Arcanism, send a raven to Artwinkle Pudd, of Markev, Haense. If you do not own a raven, feel free to send an eagle, macaw, pigeon, turkey, or really any trained bird that you can attach a note to. Perhaps not a crow. A crow might frighten my house-mate, Tidwald. He is eighty-eight years old and terrified of crows. *A crude illustration of a man's smiling face would be here. The smile certainly looks genuine, so there's that.* Kindest regards, Artwinkle Pudd

Artwinkle Fudd approaches what he believes to be the Mage's College application table, clutching a torn piece of parchment close to his chest. Seeing nobody around, he plants the parchment on the table, and scurries off again. APPLICATION My name is Artwinkle Pudd. I am a Heartlander (Human). I am Twenty-One Years of Age. I aspire to study Elemental Evocation. Some extra text, perhaps some sort of personal additive, appears to have been written on the parchment, underneath the information, but a tea-stain has rendered it illegible. Ah well, it probably wasn't important anyway. OOC: Username: Hook Skype: N/A, apologies! (Discord name is Hook#9681)

Out-Of-Character Information Please do your best to correct spelling and grammatical errors, this is an RP server and writing is the main form of communication! What’s your Minecraft account name?: Hook What timezone are you in?: GMT / BST (UK Time) How old are you?: 21 Are you aware the content and interactions on this server may not be appropriate for children under the age of 13? (You won’t be denied for being under 13): Yes Have you read and agreed to the rules?: Yes What’s the rule you agree with the most?: When in doubt that a planned action is allowed, ask a moderator for clarification. Are there any rule(s) that confuse you or don’t make sense? (if so we can help clear it up!): No How did you find out about Lord of the Craft?: Heard about it several times over the years, from trailers, to forum posts, to word of mouth. Link(s) to past Whitelist Applications (If applicable): N/A Have you logged into the server yet? (You cannot be whitelisted without logging in at least once): Yes Definitions What is Roleplaying?: Roleplaying is the act of playing the role of a character, in the case of LotC, acting and speaking to others as my own character on the server. What is Metagaming?: Metagaming is the act of using out-of-character (OOC) knowledge in order to benefit myself in a roleplay scenario, or to exploit / communicate for aid with other players using out-of-game messaging platforms, as well as generally using knowledge that my character would not be aware of. What is Power-emoting (Powergaming)?: Forcing circumstances to happen with providing choice for another player, particularly during roleplay encounters. For example "Dave shoots Bob with an arrow through the heart, killing him instantly". This does not allow the other pc to react or roleplay a response. An alternative to this would be "Dave takes aim at Bob, draws, and looses his arrow, sending it soaring toward his target." This allows Bob to react/respond. In-Character Information Character’s name: Maxwell Hoath Character’s sex: Male Character’s race: Human Character’s age: 27 Biography: Maxwell Hoath was born in the Kingdom of Norland, to a Norlander father and Heartlander mother, in 1606 as an only child. Brought up on travel throughout the lands, Maxwell was taught by his father, Tobart, to hunt and fish, and they would do so each time the family set up camp, as well as being trained to an acceptable level of swordplay in order to defend himself. By 1615, the family had travelled out of the Kingdom of Norland, and had moved towards the Westerlands. Maxwell's mother, Cyra, had grown sickly over the years since childbirth, and was now often approaching to the point of near immobility for days at a time. When the family were travelling near the border of the Westerlands, Tobart died on a hunting trip at the hands of the bandits who had been laying siege to camps and villages in the area. Maxwell, who had managed to hide amongst some dense bushes, fled in terror from the scene, unable to do anything to aid his father at his young age of nine. As such, Maxwell had to learn to provide and care for Cyra. Returning to the Hoath family home in the Norlands, Maxwell was too young to embark on hunts alone and Cyra was too sickly to do much of anything. Maxwell turned to begging to attempt to provide for himself and his mother. Despite his best efforts, after three years, Maxwell's mother also passed, something Maxwell would blame and resent himself for for years. Maxwell was alone for the first time, and in need to provide for himself. No longer wishing to remain, in 1618 Maxwell left and sought adventure through travel. Doing odd jobs along the way, Maxwell got a job as a cabin boy in 1620 aboard a merchant ship at age fourteen, where he often helped the ship's cook, as well as cleaned the decks and the cutlery. The time on the ship allowed him to see several lands he wouldn't have seen otherwise. He continued work on ships for some years, embarking on a trip to Hanseti-Ruska in 1623, where he left the ship and began to travel the region. Soon after, Maxwell ran out of money and found himself up living on the streets of Alban in 1624 at the age of eighteen. His hunger grew with each passing day, and work was proving harder to find. Eventually, Maxwell fell into the fold of a criminal gang after meeting Vincent Feyeth, a member of the group, in a tavern in Alban. Led by an exotic Farfolk thief known as Old Hansae, who wore fine stolen silks and smelled remarkably of rhubarb, the gang operated under the premise that stealing from those who could afford to lose their riches does not truly harm anyone, and that it would allow them to live well. Maxwell learned that his time hunting had inadvertently taught him the art of stealth to some degree, where instead of following and tracking prey in-between forests, Maxwell could shadow an upper-class citizen through the streets and alleys of Alban with ease. During this time, Maxwell crossed paths with various criminals and lowlives in the city, including an interesting drug-addled elderly man known to most as Tidwald the Tall. Though for a couple of years Maxwell found success with the gang, earning enough money to live reasonably for this time, by 1626 the gang had become enough of a problem for the city guard to systematically catch and execute each and every member, with only Maxwell and Vincent managing to escape in time. This pair fled the city immediately under the cover of darkness through the farmland to the North, and would often continue to work as a pair in their activities from then on until Vincent capture and execution in 1627. Maxwell began begin operations again between 1627 and 1629, where he worked on several merchant ships and used this access to naval transport to smuggle goods across the waters for coin. Since 1629, Maxwell has kept a low profile and currently resides within the Federation of Sutica, and in 1933, has offered financial aid to the struggling old man from Alban, Tidwald, who had also recently relocated to Sutica. Maxwell is otherwise lying low. He has just about enough coin to sustain himself - For now. Personality Traits Though having spent some years working as a crewman aboard several different ships, Maxwell prefers to work on his own or with one or two close accomplices, due to feeling a lack of control when relying on the abilities of others, especially strangers. Despite having lived in rough conditions throughout the years of his life, Maxwell remains a fussy eater. Believing any meat cooked less than well-done to be a swift way to dysentery, and that onions are more or less root of all that is wrong with the world, Maxwell tends to eat a diet consisting of mostly spiced and hard-cooked meat, bread, and any green (strictly green) vegetables he can get his hands on. Maxwell is not intentionally unpleasant to strangers, but his lack of contact with others of his own age during his formative years means he lacks certain social skills (sometimes coming across as rude) though he is excellent at gauging the emotions of others based on their facial expressions and uses this as a crutch in some conversations. He is said to make a cracking cup of tea. Ambitions: Maxwell's time as a member of Old Hansae's gang of thieves in Alban was the most prosperous time of his life, and as such, Maxwell naively believes that thievery is the fastest way to getting the money he wants. Maxwell intends to eventually settle into a home, though has no intention of earning the money to do so in a legitimate way, and does not intend to settle down any time soon. Though he may desire a family one day, he fears he will be unable to protect them or live long enough to see them age, a result of his parents both dying when Maxwell was young, and as such does not tend to share this desire. When Maxwell runs out of money, he will likely return to smuggling and larceny, though he remains open to other options. Strengths/Talents: Maxwell is very resilient and adaptable after living most of his life in rough conditions. With an activist method of approaching problems, Maxwell works best under pressure. His years of hunting translated relatively well into stealth, which he began to develop properly during his years in Old Hansae's gang in Adelburg, and continued to develop throughout his years thereon. When it comes to combat, his main strength is his ability to move and dodge blows, and he prefers to fight with a shortsword and no shield. Maxwell prefers to avoid direct combat when possible, and often knows when he is outmatched. Appearance: Measuring in at exactly Six feet, Maxwell has pale skin, steel-blue eyes, and dark hair, which is generally shaved at the sides and back, leaving some length on top. He generally wears a combination of armour and cloth that allows him to move freely, though offers some protection, mainly for his torso. In the last few years, he has usually been seen sporting a moustache, inspired by the one that his father Tobart had worn in his final years. Skin: (attached image)