CHO0II'S LORE TEAM APPLICATION
IGN:
https_chooi
List your discord name and tag (name#0000):
My discord is Rowan !#9853.
Additionally, do you have a microphone and can speak via discord?
I do not have a microphone, nor the desire or confidence to speak in a discord call. However if voice communication is necessary, then I have no problem buying a microphone or using simply my phone for voice calls.
Your time zone and current country of residence:
My time zone is GMT/BST, and I resonate in South Wales.
Link any previous community team applications if applicable:
Lore Team Application | DENIED
During 2022 I applied for lore team, however due to a lack of professional tone and incorrect Grammer I was denied. Since I have honed a more professional writing tone and improved upon my Grammer skills, in hopes for future acceptance.
Do you recognize you could be removed from the community team?
Yes, I am in recognition of this fact, and understand that I could at any given time be removed from the team.
List a few things that may obstruct your progress/development on the Lore Team.
As of the current, not much is in obstruction of my progress and development within the team, however there are two remaining factors that may drain some of my development and open time that I can dedicate to the team.
1. GCSE Studies
As of currently, I am doing my first GCSE lessons before I start my official courses, and it is imperative that I take care of my efforts within these taster sessions classes, as to get a good feeling of what my future classes may be like. Currently, these classes do not affect my overall grade in school, and so being less important than my current studies, however I am among good grades as of now and do not want these to drop in any way. Due to this defining factor, a large portion of my time will be dedicated to my school work, rather than SRP and the Lore Team.
2. Skin Tailoring and Reporter
I am both a active skin tailor and a dedicated reporter, which both require time and patience. With skin tailoring, skins can take me from a mere 30 minutes to a total 2 hours to complete, and that's for a singular skin. Tailoring is my main source of income on SRP as I do not make a large amount of money working as a reporter, so a lot of my free time will go to completing skins. As I have also stated, I work as a reporter within the News faction, and as you will know, writing is a long and tedious process, which takes up to hours. No writing work is complete without time. It may be editing, formating, interviewing or some bizarre situation that I have to explain in a report, but it all can take me hours to complete. Due to this, a segment of my time is put towards tailoring and report writing.
Despite these defining factors, I will still be able to remain active in the Lore Team, as I have already kept a clear and steady activity in my current faction, and remain active despite what has been put to task for me.
What makes you passionate about writing?:
My passion for writing comes in many ways, a hobby, and a general interest, it's what I've always had some interest in.
Growing up in Wales, it's common for most people here to learn writing early on as it is a common factor in almost everyone's future job. Learning to write at a young age gave me more chance to experience it and truly grow a love for it. It's become a hobby, a possibility for my future, my on SRP career and something I value well. It allows me to convey emotion, a story, a friendship, and allows me the creative freedom to write about whatever comes to mind. It's not only a loved hobby, but a way I've made many friends. It's become more than a hobby but a option for my future and is one of the few things I have a passion in. It fills me with joy and creativity, ideas and a broadened imagination when I write, allowing me to put thought on paper, which is one of the things that I struggle to imagine. It allows me to create something with purely words, no pictures, leaving the story to the eye of the beholder.
It's become more than a hobby, it's become a part of my passion in life, that passion coming from the many ways that I can convey emotion, or feeling, or simply describing a sound, it's something that many do not understand the ability of until reading and understanding that you can't convey as much detail as that in say a film or drawing. Writing is one of a kind, as well as the passion I have for it.
Do you have any previous experience with writing lore or creative writing as a general aspect?:
Since my last application, my experience within the world of creative writing and lore writing has become more advanced and improved in a larger scale. Currently, I work as a reporter within the News faction, taking on different reports and telling stories of the different happenings in Karakura, giving me a larger way of writing and further more broadening my skills. I also since last applying, became president of my schools creative writing club, now handing out prompts to those within the club to allow a broader creative mind, along with recieving the prompts that those with no motivation do not wish to complete, and completing myself to their fullest extent. I also joined my schools news council, where each month I am tasked to make an article in our school news paper to be posted on the website, for parents and carers alike to see what their child is up to throughout the weeks. Having now spent a year on SRP, I have also in the past months joined the track team, where I showed off my ability to detailRP, and improving it within practice.
My skills in the field of creative writing in the past months have gone from minimal to the best they have been in a extended period of time. I hope in the Lore team, I can further improve my growing skills.
In your own words, give your definition of lore:
Lore; To describe the past of something, or someone. It is what happened in the past, and has brought us to the future, it is what we cannot see, but know is there. It's like a shadow; It follows us everywhere, we know it is there, and yet, can never tug away from it. It is what builds up a place or person, the foundation bricks to any story, game, or film. It is what makes a character, a character.
https_chooi
List your discord name and tag (name#0000):
My discord is Rowan !#9853.
Additionally, do you have a microphone and can speak via discord?
I do not have a microphone, nor the desire or confidence to speak in a discord call. However if voice communication is necessary, then I have no problem buying a microphone or using simply my phone for voice calls.
Your time zone and current country of residence:
My time zone is GMT/BST, and I resonate in South Wales.
Link any previous community team applications if applicable:
Lore Team Application | DENIED
During 2022 I applied for lore team, however due to a lack of professional tone and incorrect Grammer I was denied. Since I have honed a more professional writing tone and improved upon my Grammer skills, in hopes for future acceptance.
Do you recognize you could be removed from the community team?
Yes, I am in recognition of this fact, and understand that I could at any given time be removed from the team.
List a few things that may obstruct your progress/development on the Lore Team.
As of the current, not much is in obstruction of my progress and development within the team, however there are two remaining factors that may drain some of my development and open time that I can dedicate to the team.
1. GCSE Studies
As of currently, I am doing my first GCSE lessons before I start my official courses, and it is imperative that I take care of my efforts within these taster sessions classes, as to get a good feeling of what my future classes may be like. Currently, these classes do not affect my overall grade in school, and so being less important than my current studies, however I am among good grades as of now and do not want these to drop in any way. Due to this defining factor, a large portion of my time will be dedicated to my school work, rather than SRP and the Lore Team.
2. Skin Tailoring and Reporter
I am both a active skin tailor and a dedicated reporter, which both require time and patience. With skin tailoring, skins can take me from a mere 30 minutes to a total 2 hours to complete, and that's for a singular skin. Tailoring is my main source of income on SRP as I do not make a large amount of money working as a reporter, so a lot of my free time will go to completing skins. As I have also stated, I work as a reporter within the News faction, and as you will know, writing is a long and tedious process, which takes up to hours. No writing work is complete without time. It may be editing, formating, interviewing or some bizarre situation that I have to explain in a report, but it all can take me hours to complete. Due to this, a segment of my time is put towards tailoring and report writing.
Despite these defining factors, I will still be able to remain active in the Lore Team, as I have already kept a clear and steady activity in my current faction, and remain active despite what has been put to task for me.
What makes you passionate about writing?:
My passion for writing comes in many ways, a hobby, and a general interest, it's what I've always had some interest in.
Growing up in Wales, it's common for most people here to learn writing early on as it is a common factor in almost everyone's future job. Learning to write at a young age gave me more chance to experience it and truly grow a love for it. It's become a hobby, a possibility for my future, my on SRP career and something I value well. It allows me to convey emotion, a story, a friendship, and allows me the creative freedom to write about whatever comes to mind. It's not only a loved hobby, but a way I've made many friends. It's become more than a hobby but a option for my future and is one of the few things I have a passion in. It fills me with joy and creativity, ideas and a broadened imagination when I write, allowing me to put thought on paper, which is one of the things that I struggle to imagine. It allows me to create something with purely words, no pictures, leaving the story to the eye of the beholder.
It's become more than a hobby, it's become a part of my passion in life, that passion coming from the many ways that I can convey emotion, or feeling, or simply describing a sound, it's something that many do not understand the ability of until reading and understanding that you can't convey as much detail as that in say a film or drawing. Writing is one of a kind, as well as the passion I have for it.
Do you have any previous experience with writing lore or creative writing as a general aspect?:
Since my last application, my experience within the world of creative writing and lore writing has become more advanced and improved in a larger scale. Currently, I work as a reporter within the News faction, taking on different reports and telling stories of the different happenings in Karakura, giving me a larger way of writing and further more broadening my skills. I also since last applying, became president of my schools creative writing club, now handing out prompts to those within the club to allow a broader creative mind, along with recieving the prompts that those with no motivation do not wish to complete, and completing myself to their fullest extent. I also joined my schools news council, where each month I am tasked to make an article in our school news paper to be posted on the website, for parents and carers alike to see what their child is up to throughout the weeks. Having now spent a year on SRP, I have also in the past months joined the track team, where I showed off my ability to detailRP, and improving it within practice.
My skills in the field of creative writing in the past months have gone from minimal to the best they have been in a extended period of time. I hope in the Lore team, I can further improve my growing skills.
In your own words, give your definition of lore:
Lore; To describe the past of something, or someone. It is what happened in the past, and has brought us to the future, it is what we cannot see, but know is there. It's like a shadow; It follows us everywhere, we know it is there, and yet, can never tug away from it. It is what builds up a place or person, the foundation bricks to any story, game, or film. It is what makes a character, a character.
WRITING PROMPTS:
RULES
1. You are expected to write in the third person, and narrate in a reliable and neutral tone. Do not focus your prompts specifically on one character’s perspective, but on a bigger picture.
2. There is a 300-1000 word limit that applies to both prompts. Because of flow, if you need to go a little over or under, you are permitted to, but as soon as a prompt is 100 words outside the limit, you will be automatically denied.
3. The effort and quality of both prompts will be taken into consideration when we accept applications.
#1
Summarize a character conflict, roleplay conflict, or event that you experienced (server-wide, personal, etcetera- there is no bar for how ‘interesting’ or ‘impactful’ it is). Be sure to follow the above guidelines.
RULES
1. You are expected to write in the third person, and narrate in a reliable and neutral tone. Do not focus your prompts specifically on one character’s perspective, but on a bigger picture.
2. There is a 300-1000 word limit that applies to both prompts. Because of flow, if you need to go a little over or under, you are permitted to, but as soon as a prompt is 100 words outside the limit, you will be automatically denied.
3. The effort and quality of both prompts will be taken into consideration when we accept applications.
#1
Summarize a character conflict, roleplay conflict, or event that you experienced (server-wide, personal, etcetera- there is no bar for how ‘interesting’ or ‘impactful’ it is). Be sure to follow the above guidelines.
Words: 886
Trapped. Like a jail. The walls brooding down on Cheng, crushing him, as if collapsed with time. Beads of sweat flying from his brow, trying to escape the pressure of the looming, narrowing bricks, crushing all life and existence, until no air is left to breathe, until every breath is exhausted from his lungs. The colour drained from his face, like the release of water from a dirtied bath, or the drying of a fruit in summers sun. Emotions. They overwhelmed him, like a pot of water boiling over, its steam rising into the air with no escape, trapped, until explosion. Explosion. That, that he felt like he could. The emotions, tearing at his every thought, ripping through his mind, scorching at his brain like the soaring of a car on a race track. Undisturbed pain, until disturbed the sound.
BEEP! BRRR…
His eyes widened, pupils dilated, as if he had seen a ghost. A swift turn was made, his breathing heavy with regret. A torturous emotion that forever haunts and taunts the human mind. He stared, his eyes locked on one person, and that one person only, as if he was restrained to only look at him, disobeyment resulting in death. A tall, lanky man stood in the doorway, his hand rested against the cold, dampening of the metal door, prickling to the touch. His hair, a matted brown colour, coated with grease and filth like the swamps of a crumbling forest, decayed with the years. A disgusting look upon anyone's sight. He gave a long sigh, that of disappointment, maybe sorrow. That of emotions only the experience may comprehend. Yes, emotions of pain and suffering, that we as onlookers merely understand. He took one step into the room, his light blue uniform tattered with dirt, the once shining badge, scratched away, like the chalk of a school white board, ripped away at by the constant wiping of the teacher. Each step he took echoed in Cheng's mind, driving insanity into the depths of his every thought. Pain felt never ending, like a constant circuit, repeating, over and over without completion. The creak of the chair as he sat, the wood wailing with its every fibre, almost suffocated by the weight of the officer.
"Mr. Yáng, is it? Officer Montero."
He extended a long, dwindling hand, its skin cracking and flaking like that of the top of a freshly baked pastry, except this one looked left to rot. Forgotten and destroyed, like the many aspects of life we may take for granted. Cheng didn't take the hand, a disgusted look, painted across his face, conveying a sense of disrespect to Montero. His fingers tapped, the bones shaking his core, fear driven into his mind, drilled in, not ever to be removed it seemed. Montero spoke, although no register of words was made in Cheng's mind. A trapped feeling wrapped him, like a cold blanket, closeting him. Disappointment towards himself, the disappointment of others, it filled him with agony. It felt as if the whole world has come collapsing down on him, crushing his bones to the finest of dust, each shard drawing blood from his skin to truly punish him for his mistakes. But what mistakes had he made? And why? Questions filled his head, swirling like a never ending storm, each snowflake of that storm resting upon his brain causing him a headache. It was painful. A painful feeling he knew all too well. He knew why he had done it, almost as if his body bewitched by some spirit, egging him on, that little voice in the back of his mind, a small child nagging for more sweets, until those nags can no longer go ignored. His own hair felt too heavy for his head, he felt like he could be strangled by it, or worse, by the own air that surrounded him. He felt like he could choke on the very atoms that keep him alive each day. And as Montero dwindled on with his constant chatter, the thoughts of regret poured from Cheng's eyes. Tears. The small droplets, forming at the brim of each eyelid, falling. Trickling down his face, a path set for them like none that had been set for him. Montero's eyes darted, the clear liquid reflective of the light around it. Pity. Pity did Montero feel, for he himself could have been in a similar situation barely 5 years ago from the present. But he did not weigh himself down by his past, he must persevere. He raced a bone like hand, the meat barely visible, all let an old wrinkled sack of skin, followed by the echoing snap of his fingers.
"Mr. Yáng? Please, compose yourse-"
Two words, slicing the end of his sentence off like a blade slicing through fine paper.
"I did it.."
Montero's eyes dropped. He could feel the agony in Cheng's voice, the feeling of regret all too familiar for him. He had given up on himself. Pools of sorrow filled his eyes, wanting to assist, comfort in some way, but this was work, not personal life.
"Mr. Yáng, I need a straight answer… Did you kill Li Xiao?"
As Montero's eyes widened, hoping that Cheng would simply halt his speech, the mouth of the accused widened, to speak their final words.
"I killed… Li Xiao."
BEEP! BRRR…
His eyes widened, pupils dilated, as if he had seen a ghost. A swift turn was made, his breathing heavy with regret. A torturous emotion that forever haunts and taunts the human mind. He stared, his eyes locked on one person, and that one person only, as if he was restrained to only look at him, disobeyment resulting in death. A tall, lanky man stood in the doorway, his hand rested against the cold, dampening of the metal door, prickling to the touch. His hair, a matted brown colour, coated with grease and filth like the swamps of a crumbling forest, decayed with the years. A disgusting look upon anyone's sight. He gave a long sigh, that of disappointment, maybe sorrow. That of emotions only the experience may comprehend. Yes, emotions of pain and suffering, that we as onlookers merely understand. He took one step into the room, his light blue uniform tattered with dirt, the once shining badge, scratched away, like the chalk of a school white board, ripped away at by the constant wiping of the teacher. Each step he took echoed in Cheng's mind, driving insanity into the depths of his every thought. Pain felt never ending, like a constant circuit, repeating, over and over without completion. The creak of the chair as he sat, the wood wailing with its every fibre, almost suffocated by the weight of the officer.
"Mr. Yáng, is it? Officer Montero."
He extended a long, dwindling hand, its skin cracking and flaking like that of the top of a freshly baked pastry, except this one looked left to rot. Forgotten and destroyed, like the many aspects of life we may take for granted. Cheng didn't take the hand, a disgusted look, painted across his face, conveying a sense of disrespect to Montero. His fingers tapped, the bones shaking his core, fear driven into his mind, drilled in, not ever to be removed it seemed. Montero spoke, although no register of words was made in Cheng's mind. A trapped feeling wrapped him, like a cold blanket, closeting him. Disappointment towards himself, the disappointment of others, it filled him with agony. It felt as if the whole world has come collapsing down on him, crushing his bones to the finest of dust, each shard drawing blood from his skin to truly punish him for his mistakes. But what mistakes had he made? And why? Questions filled his head, swirling like a never ending storm, each snowflake of that storm resting upon his brain causing him a headache. It was painful. A painful feeling he knew all too well. He knew why he had done it, almost as if his body bewitched by some spirit, egging him on, that little voice in the back of his mind, a small child nagging for more sweets, until those nags can no longer go ignored. His own hair felt too heavy for his head, he felt like he could be strangled by it, or worse, by the own air that surrounded him. He felt like he could choke on the very atoms that keep him alive each day. And as Montero dwindled on with his constant chatter, the thoughts of regret poured from Cheng's eyes. Tears. The small droplets, forming at the brim of each eyelid, falling. Trickling down his face, a path set for them like none that had been set for him. Montero's eyes darted, the clear liquid reflective of the light around it. Pity. Pity did Montero feel, for he himself could have been in a similar situation barely 5 years ago from the present. But he did not weigh himself down by his past, he must persevere. He raced a bone like hand, the meat barely visible, all let an old wrinkled sack of skin, followed by the echoing snap of his fingers.
"Mr. Yáng? Please, compose yourse-"
Two words, slicing the end of his sentence off like a blade slicing through fine paper.
"I did it.."
Montero's eyes dropped. He could feel the agony in Cheng's voice, the feeling of regret all too familiar for him. He had given up on himself. Pools of sorrow filled his eyes, wanting to assist, comfort in some way, but this was work, not personal life.
"Mr. Yáng, I need a straight answer… Did you kill Li Xiao?"
As Montero's eyes widened, hoping that Cheng would simply halt his speech, the mouth of the accused widened, to speak their final words.
"I killed… Li Xiao."
#2
Create a folklore tale based on an existing area in Karakura of your choosing; tell us a story! Show us how creative you can get. Be sure to follow the above guidelines.
Create a folklore tale based on an existing area in Karakura of your choosing; tell us a story! Show us how creative you can get. Be sure to follow the above guidelines.
Words: 636
Karakura Graveyard, so old and frail. The home of our ancestors, but the home of our decaying, twisted, and corrupted past. . .
The iron bar gates, shaking with every breath of the wind, as it gushes through each gap, letting out a moan and a whistle, as if those of the past are still with us. The stone walls, cold to the touch every spike of the cold air sends a shock down your spine, a jerk down your neck, as if suddenly touched by a cold hand. Each grave stone, decayed as the days go by, it's grey cobbling headstones, tumbling to the ground with each sudden step. The gates, creaking and swaying, like that of dancing, or a child swinging upon them. A place of death, a place of memories, a place of family, and a place of spirits.
Now tell us, whisper in our ear, have you ever heard of the tales, the darkest tale, the tale that rots you to the core so those who speak it never speak again. The darkest tale, the darkest of Karakura, the one that children fear, the one that the elders remember. Have you never heard? Well then the tale shall be told.
Ayako was a young girl. A fair girl, that of great wealth and kindness. The gates of the graveyard laying still, untouched, like they had never been touched by the cold hand of death, the stone, their darkening grey, yet a welcoming warm. The headstones, left still, and silent, as those of the past rested, undisturbed. Ayako, a kind girl, but a curious one of that. And how fitting, that curiosity killed the cat. As the curiousity got the better of her, the mind of questions swirling with excitement, she dared to enter a place of the past, a place of undisturbed rest.
A kind girl, yes, but what she had in kindness she lacked in intelligence, and so she ventured in. As the silent winds blew through the gates, her hair, subtly swaying with every breath of cold air the skies blowed, she heared the faintest sigh. As she turned, a bewildered look, no face swept in front of hers, only the swaying winds of the dead. The imagination of a child, so bright and vibrant, why any faint sound from within the head will set off that keen, active imagination yes, yes it would. As the fluids of thought filled her mind, there came a loud, long echoing moan. . .
Creeeee. . .
As quick as imagination can set into flight she turned. The emotions of fear capturing her mind, like the warm hands of care clasped around a butterfly. Her eyes widened, a widen that only appears out of fear, out of dread, out of pure horror. Before her, in the daylight of the morning, stood a brooding, elder woman. . . Her fingers that of bone, her skin that of dust, her hair that of filth, and her smile, that of evil. Horror or fear, what to describe the emotions within Ayako's brain. As the woman of old, raised one bones, decaying finger, her smile grew into a slender, mortifying grin.
"AYAKO! AYAKO IDIOT WHERE AR YO-"
A foe? A family? No, a friend. Ah yes, Akira, the elder one of her friends, smart, but not smart enough we must assume. As he stared across the graveyard, dread in his eyes, a plunged feeling in his heart, he'd collapse upon his knees. Fear, imagination, curiousity, whatever it was, it was a killer. As he looked at Ayako, her contorted body, lay flat against the ground, his mind ran with thoughts, emotions. why? Why Ayako? And as quickly as she had came, her cackling voice said her final words. . .
"The ghosts of our past. . ."
The iron bar gates, shaking with every breath of the wind, as it gushes through each gap, letting out a moan and a whistle, as if those of the past are still with us. The stone walls, cold to the touch every spike of the cold air sends a shock down your spine, a jerk down your neck, as if suddenly touched by a cold hand. Each grave stone, decayed as the days go by, it's grey cobbling headstones, tumbling to the ground with each sudden step. The gates, creaking and swaying, like that of dancing, or a child swinging upon them. A place of death, a place of memories, a place of family, and a place of spirits.
Now tell us, whisper in our ear, have you ever heard of the tales, the darkest tale, the tale that rots you to the core so those who speak it never speak again. The darkest tale, the darkest of Karakura, the one that children fear, the one that the elders remember. Have you never heard? Well then the tale shall be told.
Ayako was a young girl. A fair girl, that of great wealth and kindness. The gates of the graveyard laying still, untouched, like they had never been touched by the cold hand of death, the stone, their darkening grey, yet a welcoming warm. The headstones, left still, and silent, as those of the past rested, undisturbed. Ayako, a kind girl, but a curious one of that. And how fitting, that curiosity killed the cat. As the curiousity got the better of her, the mind of questions swirling with excitement, she dared to enter a place of the past, a place of undisturbed rest.
A kind girl, yes, but what she had in kindness she lacked in intelligence, and so she ventured in. As the silent winds blew through the gates, her hair, subtly swaying with every breath of cold air the skies blowed, she heared the faintest sigh. As she turned, a bewildered look, no face swept in front of hers, only the swaying winds of the dead. The imagination of a child, so bright and vibrant, why any faint sound from within the head will set off that keen, active imagination yes, yes it would. As the fluids of thought filled her mind, there came a loud, long echoing moan. . .
Creeeee. . .
As quick as imagination can set into flight she turned. The emotions of fear capturing her mind, like the warm hands of care clasped around a butterfly. Her eyes widened, a widen that only appears out of fear, out of dread, out of pure horror. Before her, in the daylight of the morning, stood a brooding, elder woman. . . Her fingers that of bone, her skin that of dust, her hair that of filth, and her smile, that of evil. Horror or fear, what to describe the emotions within Ayako's brain. As the woman of old, raised one bones, decaying finger, her smile grew into a slender, mortifying grin.
"AYAKO! AYAKO IDIOT WHERE AR YO-"
A foe? A family? No, a friend. Ah yes, Akira, the elder one of her friends, smart, but not smart enough we must assume. As he stared across the graveyard, dread in his eyes, a plunged feeling in his heart, he'd collapse upon his knees. Fear, imagination, curiousity, whatever it was, it was a killer. As he looked at Ayako, her contorted body, lay flat against the ground, his mind ran with thoughts, emotions. why? Why Ayako? And as quickly as she had came, her cackling voice said her final words. . .
"The ghosts of our past. . ."
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