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Applications
APPLICATIONS ARE OPEN!
The next processing date is Friday 11th October
IMPORTANT: PLEASE POST YOUR APPLICATIONS HERE ON THE NEW APPLICATION PAGE
We're so glad you're thinking of joining us in Haven, where we are all safe.
In order to apply for a canon character, please fill out the information below and post it in a comment in this entry. For an OC, please apply using the OC information. Please do not link to applications, all applications must be posted here. Please do not delete your applications; if you do not want it to be seen, you can request for it to be screened after a decision is made.
You may apply for two characters every two weeks, to a total of six characters. Only two of these may be from the same canon, and they cannot be too familiar with one another. Please make sure to mark the header of your comment(s) with RESERVED or NOT RESERVED, as well as the character name and canon. App challenges are not allowed currently.
Try to remember spelling and grammar are important, and in app length quality and not quantity is what matters. If you wish to request a specific apartment, please do so in the relevant part of the application. All parts of the application must be your own work, plagiarism will not be tolerated, though you are welcome to reuse your own old applications.
If you are asked for revisions, please don't panic! It doesn't mean the mods don't like you, only that we probably need more information before making a decision. If you are asked for revisions, you will have one week to supply them.
Every attempt will be made to place a character in their chosen apartments, though this may not always be possible depending on the slots available.
Applications are open constantly, but are only processed every other Friday at 7PM EST. The Saturday following acceptance, an IC mingle log will be posted for characters to be introduced to the game.
We now have a test drive community athaventest which is continuously open. Posts there may be used in lieu of a sample in the application. You may also link posts, logs, or threads from other games and memes in lieu of samples, though we ask that they be no more than one year old.
To see what we are looking for:
Canon Characters:
Sample Application (Faith Lehane)
Sample Application (Iroh)
Original Characters:
Sample Application (Mors)
Sample Application (Vera de Barr)
Previous Game History:
Sample Application (Abel Nightroad/Mayfield RPG)
Sample Application (Bolin/Discedo)
Applications will be processed on the following dates:
11th October
25th October
8th November
22nd November
6th December
20th December
To apply for a canon character, please fill out this form:
To apply for an original character, please fill out this form:
no subject
It’s because he’s so liberal about his religious beliefs that he can afford to Kanye-shrug about social issues that send his fellow noblemen in fits of shaking, crying, and possibly (single) tears of blood: Cesare doesn’t judge men’s characters based on their birth, rank, or religion, upholding the need for a meritocracy, and straight up deriding those whose bias, or “honour” blinds them from recognizing talent, or opportunity. He is flexible enough to appreciate novelty and variety, particularly in politics and warfare, and he even constructs his strategies around what are essentially Muslim tactics as were employed in the crusades, favouring manoeuvres that rely on speed, coordination, and sleights of hand. Brute force is, in general, not his weapon of choice, as he seems to suffer under the great delusion that the Aristotelian “all things in moderation” is the ideal way to go, and people have to be won through
lyingcheatingdeus ex machinathe virtuous example of their leaders.Abilities/Powers: he’s sort of like a Miss Universe competitor with a horseback riding hobby and a backstabbing talent: he’s got looks, wit, charm and Renaissance science savvy to his name, along with a fairly deft hand with a sword and a bow, and enough dumb luck to suggest he may be manning his own four leaf clover greenhouse. Notably, even though they’re quite well mastered, none of these skills reach a supernatural level; in particular, it should be mentioned that he’s mostly only tried in small, controlled skirmish – he’s not exactly a polished combatant just yet.
He also claims to have raised a horse, but whether that means he did it by his own hand, or gave the necessary orders to a stable master is never elaborated upon – I’d sooner settle with, “he knows his way around horses” as a more realistic compromise.
Items/Weapons: just the standard dagger that most heavily paranoid gentlemen of his age carried.
Sample Entry:
audio;
[ There is nothing quite like the sound of hysterical sobbing to begin everyone’s morning audio program - ]
I… fo – forgive me? Forgive me? Sir? Good morning. Good day to you. Good day to your lady, your children. To your… your lady mother. I would kiss – I would kiss every ring on her fingers, only –
[ A sharp gasp. ]
Please. Please, whatever you want. Whatever you need, I – spare me, take everything, but spare my miserable life and return me to Rome - I am… I am sure my family can provide anything you – have you written them? My family? We are of means! My father can - if only you write him, my father will crawl here upon his knees, and my mother after him, tearing her hair as she weeps, like – like Maria, the Mother. The Virgin! The Virgin, sir! The very Virgin! And my sister, my fair sister, she will sing for your mercy in this little alchemist’s box that captures sound. She would do this. They would all come. All… all of them, only…
[ Pathetic sobbing, now. ]
Please. Please, have mercy and release me from this hell. I beg of you, plea -
[ And suddenly, sheer silence – then, a good deal of laughter. ]
…mea culpa. Mea maxima culpa. I can’t improvise any longer. Have we all done with the charade, signori? Or shall I play more at Dante, and you at my tormenting spectators?
[ Colder, composed. ]
If you take advice: make haste to speak your minds. Extended silence exhausts your leverage. The terror of anticipation crumbles before boredom.
Sample Entry Two:
There is one thing he learns each time he faints: he is no thief.
The first time he wakes from a dreamless sleep, it’s to wetness on his hands, his cheek, his temples, and his lips, to blood and to greenery. He is five, a boy, and not yet heir, but Pedro Luis’ spare, and so, the Lady, his mother has the final say: the horse that threw him is flayed, the stable master broken, and Cesare’s set to name each time the whip metes scars. He keeps the count – loud, clear, maybe sincere – in his best Latin, then loses his words by ‘five,’ cries by ‘eight’ and begs his leave by ‘eleven.’
It is a lesson, his father tells him later, on thieving - he had stolen, for a moment, his mother’s surety that she would have a firstborn son, and not a cripple. It is an ugly thing, theft, and not beloved of God, and so Cesare must mind that he not cheat his mother of the blessed child she so deserves, and he must ride with better care, and he must never lose his seat in the saddle. But it is not stealing from the kitchens, Cesare thinks, when he brings both horse and stable master more servings of their fruit, because he will be a lord one day, and everything in this household will belong to him.
The second time he takes a hurt to his head, he’s a young master of Perugia, and the boys of his school year have sought him for sport. They are all very twelve and very tentative, and they run a crowd in his dormitory quarters, long past curfew: is it as they have heard, then, he is a Spaniard? A Spaniard from Spain? And he speaks Italian as they, and prays with rosaries as they, and he is not a barbarian (as they, remarkably, are not)? He drinks wine and breaks bread and knows to hold his fork? This, they do not believe, he must show them he can hold a fork!
And it’s all fun and games until a boy from Milano loses an eye – to a knife, the fork’s fellow, because Michelotto arrives to find Cesare in a skirmish. Once the violence has done, once they’ve all picked themselves from the ground, once Cesare has regained awareness and he can tell (and remember) whose fist had met his head, order is restored. The administrator is present, the situation is recorded, and under Cesare’s dictation, amends are made in the Borgia fashion: the Milanese boy is (thankfully) a servant, so his master will take gold in apology. They are left, Michelotto and he, with a room in ruin, and ruckus in the halls, and a bloodied knife on their floor. Cesare picks it – “Here. It’s been christened.” – and gives it to his friend, because Michelotto has earned it, and it’s no theft, if it’s been abandoned. Not really.
The third time he loses consciousness, he knows the medical term for it, the cause and the consequence. It is in Pisa, to high fever and a sickness earned off – his followers laugh – a tavern wench. A tavern wench he neither bedded, nor wedded, not even gone and kissed. It is a cold, his father’s physician tells him in terror, as if a minor ailing can rob Rodrigo Borgia of a second son, as if the man might have to say so to his employer. It is an ugly, common sort of cold, befitting Cesare’s late understanding that he has caught it from a commoner during a late night stroll in the plebeian districts.
It is God’s gifts and God’s blessing unto him, and Cesare will spit the steps of every church he meets from this day on andn until his memory fails him – fails him utterly, and he forgets what he’s seen this month in its whole: the people who starve, the mothers who whore their children, the men who sell their backs and their honours for pittance. The regional priests can help. The regional priests do nothing. The regional priests, Cesare learns, when he sends his guised Spaniards to have the local clergy relieved of their coin purses, carry enough gold to feed a family for months. It is not stealing, he likes to think; it is only hastening God’s plan to give unto the poor the riches of His kingdom.
The fourth time he wakes without remembering himself comes after wine. Much, much wine, and unwatered. That great oaf, Henri, has dealt him an ugly blow during the mock crusades, and his ears still ring of it. He drinks, and he drinks, and he drinks, and the pain pales. His thoughts, if they are his, come muddy: Europeans should ride European horses, Europeans should ride European horses! Henri is right, so very right, that fool is right. Perhaps he should have Giovanni ride Raffaele Riario to Rome, then, and show his good father what a wonderful thing Cesare has done? And will his father laugh? Of course he will, because Europeans should ride Europeans. And die, Cesare thinks, of European steel.
But then, that might not be to his Lord Father’s humour – his moods have come difficult to predict. Cesare, at least, cannot fathom. After all, is he not Rodrigo Borgia’s son? And does Rodrigo Borgia not leave him here, at the pleasure of Giuliano della Rovere’s assassins? Has Rodrigo Borgia not placed the entire weight of Christian Rome on Cesare’s shoulders without much by way of help, much by way of instruction? Of course Cesare will do it. Will do everything. Cesare will manage. Cesare will win the game, because Cesare will rewrite it until every available rule is a sharp blade well-honed by his hand, quick to stab at the heart of his contenders. Take no prisoners, give no quarters.
He does not ask whether he is stealing the lives of those he involves. He has not been a thief so long – there is no need to even consider it.
no subject
Your application is in the queue and will be processed on January 18th.
-> ACCEPTED