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Desidae: Web Developer
Sep 19, 2021
In Accepted CA
Out of Character Information IGN: Jallentime Discord: JallenKeyLime#9017 Why do you want to play an application race?: I greatly enjoy the challenge of playing characters that have perspectives, physiologies, and psychologies that are alien to your typical humanoid races. How long, and through what mediums have you been roleplaying?: Been roleplaying for ten years now and have landed in Minecraft, World of Warcraft, Garry’s Mod (shoot me), Guild Wars 2, D&D, etc. Summarize the lore of the Special Race you're wanting to play. This question is important: ‘Construct’ is a term applied to a wide encompassment of creatures and individuals that stem from, and embody, the many planes of the materia. While these beings are all hulking, sluggish, and physically powerful; this is where the similarities end. Constructs from one plane are drastically different in form and their method of creation to one in another plane, even one neighboring it. Robots from the factory may be clockwork, rusted constructs whereas Dryads from Wonderland may rise from the ground as a tree would. You agree to using this CA for the sake of a story, and not to use it as a way to just use it as a simple power-boost or powergaming ordeal?: I promise to resist the urge to curbstomp halflings. In Character Information Character Name: Desidae, the storyweaver. Character Age: 86 Character Race: Infernal Abyss Construct Character Alignment: Lawful Evil Character Backstory: I love a good poem, and believe me, I know a good poem. I’ve heard so many. Poems about diverging paths through the forest, or ones about snowflakes falling from the sky. I’d like to try my hand at one myself, if you’d care to listen. But don’t be too harsh; I’m new at this. Once upon a time in a faraway land filled with flowers and bees and great big trees there lived a happy family of pointy-eared elves. They would frolic and play in the forests and streams, hand in hand swinging to each bough and beam. Animals they became, with their magical talents, they took to the skies or slithered with serpents. A great green dragon watched upon them with love, her wings splayed for ages as she soared up above. But one day she turned, her eyes full of anger, she threw out the elves, and refused them an answer. Homeless, betrayed, cold, and alone, the family wandered in a wagon covered with leaves. Without the herbs of their home, grandfather died of preventable disease. They came over the mountains, jagged and barren. Grandmother was so excited, she didn’t see the cave the Hollow made its lair in. The son, always the hero, fought in the arena to win us a fortune. But mother covered my eyes when the Wartorn came, and bashed his poor head in. The wheels of our wagon creaked and groaned with every pothole and each cobblestone. Day turned to night as we passed the horizon, but no trees were here, had it all been a lie then? I went to tell mother and pulled back the white sheet, but there found her hanging, with dangling feet. Maybe this was the end of me and my- That’s pretty bad, isn’t it? Maybe poems aren’t my strong suit. Grandfather always said I told good stories, maybe I should pursue that instead. Let me give it a try, let me weave you a story. Father and I ventured out periodically to look for food in the time between dawn and dusk that could loosely be described as ‘day’. Darkness consumed this land in varying degrees and the sun, when it reared its pale, sickly, orange light only gave us visibility for a brief few hours as it broke through the haze that never ended. Our first hunt delivered us a ‘deer’, at least, I think it was a deer. Maybe it used to be. Before being dispatched we watched from a distance as it skittered low to the ground with eight elongated legs and screeched into the mist. This place is not normal. Things here are recognizable, but only vaguely so. Like perversions of things we’ve seen elsewhere on our travels. It doesn’t fill me with fear, not like that Hollow did, but it makes the both of us.. Uneasy, and decidedly anxious. With supplies running low I had the idea to shapeshift into a spider to perhaps spin us a shelter from web, since the ‘deer’ skin we intended to use began oozing an oily, grey substance that smelled like sulfur. At least the meat tasted.. Decent. I hate it here. Father mentioned turning back and going to the Horde earlier, but after what happened to Elrias, I think I might prefer this godforsaken place. Every night I’ve been having the same terrible dreams. I see that deer standing out in the expanse, fangs protruding from its mouth. I watch it from a distance as it skitters along the dry, colorless dirt. Then it spots me. It’s eight, bloodshot eyes staring deep into my soul. I wake up in a cold sweat every time. I don’t have the heart to tell Father about it, but I’ve seen him awake in the same state. I believe he sees it too. Everything is foggy these days. We’ve been here so long. Every time we try to leave we wind up going in circles, always winding up back at that same handspun shelter in the cave. I have to shapeshift so often now to keep it maintained that it feels like second nature to me. Father has been shapeshifting too, but I’m not sure into what. He leaves at night now to look for resources, or, at least that's what he has told me. He brings back meat sometimes, but when I ask him what it's from, he says he can’t remember. Father didn’t come home this time. The deer did. It wanted revenge. It wanted me to die like all the others. It wanted to end my story. In a way it did. I’m spinning a new story now, just as I’m weaving it within my web. It tasted even better the second time. I’m leaving now, to find a better home. To find better stories. To write new ones. Maybe ones with a better ending than mine. Or maybe not. Character's Purpose: Desidae is a character obsessed with writing stories and follows a personal code to create the best ones she is able. While a creature that is entirely selfish, cruel, and perhaps even sadistic; one cannot deny that many of the best stories thrive on conflict. Desidae strives to be that conflict, perhaps not always as a villain, but as a catalyst. Write an in character scenario where you emote out your character as if you were on server. (Around 5+ sentences) Desidae’s fingers thread themselves together, her long claw-like nails wrapping against her knuckles as the spider hummed in thought, “What if the king went mad in his isolation? A tortured soul imprisoned by the enemy, his release coming too late to undo the damage wrought to his mind?” She spoke in consideration, to herself and the one across from her. The halfling woman frowned deeply in response to this, rapidly tapping a quill against her cheek, “Tha’ is pretty dark. Cannae have him return bright ‘eyed and bushy?” “Boooooooriiiiiiing.” She chittered in retort, “It’s much cooler if he starts eating people.” Character Reference: Physically, Desidae was an elf druid that has been corrupted by the Infernal Abyss into a chitinous, hybrid construct of herself and a spider.
Desidae: Infernal Abyss Construct content media
Desidae: Web Developer
Sep 17, 2021
In Accepted Whitelist Application
Out of Character Information IGN: Jallentime How did you learn of The Crossroads?: A mosquito landed on my shoulder and whispered the URL in my ear Discord: JallenKeyLime#9017 Your Age: 26 Describe the server in your own words: A Minecraft roleplay server that’s deviating from the usual plan of turning about a hundred monkeys loose in a map and watching them fling shit at each other by instead making it revolve around campaigns reminiscent of DnD. Outside of campaigns the monkeys are released into an interdimensional tavern. You agree to the rules of the server, including that you cannot start conflict with other player characters without their out-of-character consent: Yes mom In Character Information Character Name: Rilitar Character Age: 123 Character Race: Elf What does your character look like in 3-5 sentences: Despite being short for his race at 5’6 and rather poorly proportioned, Rilitar has miraculously managed to not yet give up on life. He has, however, entirely given up on himself. Rampant tobacco use has stained his fingers and teeth yellow, whilst his penchant for strong drink has given his skin an unhealthy, almost greasy sheen. One of his eyes consistently refuses to agree with its pair in regards to what they should be looking at. Give us a mental/personal description of your character in 3-5 sentences: The psychological prowess of Rilitar is best measured in fluid ounces, as more brain cells are dying by the day and drowning in a stew of liquor and self-loathing. In the brief moments of clarity gifted to him when he rises from slumber on the floor of a strange house each night he thinks to himself, “Why do the ones you love always leave you?” Soon after comes the panic of recalling he’s wanted for unpaid child support in six towns over. He runs, but his weirdly slender and a bit-too-gangly arms make him look like an alcoholic orangutan with an eating disorder. The children call out to him as he passes through, “Hey, you look like an alcoholic orangutan with an eating disorder!” Rilitar cries internally, running that much faster. Explain how your character made it to the Crossroads in 5-10 sentences and with 1 reference to the lore: On one particularly sloshed night out on the town our brave hero was currently in the process of being bench-pressed by a tavern bouncer, the strongman winking to the ladies inside before he chucked the poor Rilitar into the street. As rain poured down around him, he rose to his feet and began meandering the streets by his lonesome. Shivering, he tugged his patchwork jacket close to his body as his one reliable eye focused on something at the end of the street. There in a clearing stood a man, or something much like a man, covered from head to toe in bright orange fur; its elongated arms knuckle-deep in the mud as it stared down Rilitar from a distance. He attempted to turn and leave the street and its strange happenings, but instead found another such fire-bodied creature actively coming down the street toward him. Before he could react in his dazed and drunken state the two creatures were upon him and their nature was clear. They were orangutans. Wielding what looked to be mop handles the two beasts savagely beat the ever-loving tar out of the poor elf until he lay in a wounded heap. The beasts then nodded to one another, the two now beginning to change form, though obscured in the rain and dark. The two druids, satisfied with their act of mockery, spat upon Rilitar and spoke, “Eat shit you alcoholic orangutan with an eating disorder!” The next morning Rilitar decided he’d had enough of this town and continued down the road, searching for a new tavern to drink his sorrows away. Character Skin: Link or Upload an image.
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Desidae: Web Developer
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