PREFACE:
Hey there. I understand that I have started this section of my application with a slight informality to the original format posted in the guide thread, but I just wanted to take this time to thank you for something before we begin, even if you are not readers with the authority of deciding who will be accepted into the next round of lore-team members.
I think it's really important for me to do this, because I feel as though at times the lore-team can be underappreciated on occasions. So, even despite the outcome of this application, I want to thank you in continuing your own individual and co-operative journeys through the archive that is SchoolRP lore. From a creative outlook, I'd like to remind you all that the capabilities of what you produce lie in your own hands. I hope that one day, those hands that you use to type with, are those that turn out to be particularly successful. This is where it begins for many people. A journey throughout your life that you won't regret if you use your time well. So, to all those talented authors out there, keep doing what you're doing.
Thank you.
IGN:
lirically
List your discord name and tag (name#0000):
willawa
Additionally, do you have a microphone and can speak via discord?:
Of course.
Your time zone and current country of residence:
BST (seasonally converts to GMT), UK (England).
Link any previous community team applications if applicable:
¬
lore-team application #1 / DENIED / Click here.
lore-team application #2 / ACCEPTED / Click here.
Do you recognize you could be removed from the community team?:
At any time, at the dawn of any circumstance, removal from the community team will be understandable and only challenged to the point of reason.
List a few things that may obstruct your progress/development on the Lore Team:
School:
Let’s be genuine, at this point in time, I’ve already started my last year of education at my current school, which means I’ll be busy with exams most of the time (studying etc.). But, it doesn’t mean I won’t chip in. I’ll always be online whenever I get free-time. I'm planning on making a whole schedule for next year so that I am settled for both school work and my time SchoolRP
Writer’s block:
Very common within the community of writers that exist on not just SRP, but in any context in general where literature comes into play.
What makes you passionate about writing?:
Passion is described as an uncontrollable emotion, and whilst it’s true that I am rather affectionate in the league of writing, I think there’s some sort of intangible type of magnetic pull that always seems to activate whenever I load up a google document, or the minecraft text box. I think the enjoyment can definitely be supported by my genuine love for English language and literature, but also by the simple fact that roleplaying on the server never seems to find a lurking demotivation in the back of my mind.
I’m also passionate about writing because it’s a creative output that I can really relate to on the server. If I had applied for Event-Team, brainstorming event ideas would be rather mind-boggling, if I had applied for Builder, I wouldn’t know where to start - Lore-writing is something that isn’t mind-boggling, an activity that isn’t a clueless journey through my eyes. It’s rather the opposite. The only reason I left back in May of 2022 was due to my clear abstaining in activity throughout my period of being a lore-team member. Whatever reason it was, I knew that one day, I’d return to the server and regret my resignation. However, today, as of 26/09/2023, I hope for things to change. I want to involve myself in lore-writing on the server, more than ever before. Ever since May 2022, my priorities have altered massively. If you’re questioning my loyalty to roles ever since then, take the emergency faction for example. I have been in the KPD for a whole year, and I don’t plan to stop any time soon. I hope to reach at least a year and a half mark before considering anything in relation to the role right now. In other words, I am heavily satisfied with what I have accomplished faction-wise.
Do you have any previous experience with writing lore or creative writing as a general aspect?:
Yes, matter of fact, I do. I’ve been studying for an English Language/Literature GCSE for the past few years, and considering this may be my peak grade by the end of the year, I think this is the best time to train my efforts at such a subject. So, why not practise it using a roleplay server, something that I actively plan on through my day-to-day life? I’d like to think that’s a pretty reasonable reason as to why I’m applying for this position, also. And, let’s not forget the time that I was in the community team just a year and a few months ago! That is also something valuable in experience that I have brought to the table.
In your own words, give your definition of lore:
From a personal aspect, the term ‘lore’ is an attachment to a place, person or group of people. Whilst traditionally it’s defined as a ‘body of knowledge’, more simplified to some as ‘paragraphs of information’, the knowledge shared may be open to spark conspiracies or certain theories from a reader’s perspective. This is why I find it so insightful to read and write about lore for a place that I have had characters in for the past 3 years. I feel more than capable to help coordinate lore extracts for the server’s background at this time!
WRITING PROMPTS:
RULES
- 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.
- 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.
- The effort and quality of both prompts will be taken into consideration when we accept applications.
#1
Summarise 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.
She had been here a few times before. Well, maybe that was a lie asking to be solved, but Umesaka Wakayo always loved giving out clues for her crimes. A lucky fiend, no doubt about that, just chipping away at the weapon’s edge every so often for the enjoyment of none other but her own. A scandalous representation as a ‘doctor’ for some time, this woman shared no true interest in the wrath of medical school. Her eyes set on Director Heddo - a spark in her eye. There’s no telling you what’s good about that, and Heddo is present sufficing with the bad news, a privilege to sightsee Wakayo Umesaka’s collection of weapons. An innocent head honcho of the hospital, victimised by a gremlin’s intent for intelligence, most of which she might not even find in the places most valuable to him. Umesaka cackles within her speech, she simply cannot help herself.
“How’ve you been?” An expected response follows, the only difference being bloodshot eyes that direct his expression.
An unsettled, brusque voice trembles, it’s owned by the Director of course. “Okay.”
A wicked grin flickered at the chance of seeing Rokku so very vulnerable. Umesaka’s demise was near, but would she see it? Would her demands fit the shoe? Would the laces tighten? There’s a clean sparkle that embellished the sharp state that it boasts like a dragon, disgruntled out of a den. A threatening sight for such a weakness, Wakayo is pinpointing a state of decrepitude, god forbid that it was paying off. There’s an aura worth nothing for her within this man - temptations revive in her body and soul, bloodshot eyes could swear to have appeared. A rampage waiting to be cracked out of that powerful curse that binds sanity with bloodshed.
“Well, lucky for you, you’re in for a ride, Director.” The ex-doctor’s actions were a sign of many identification points as to her being something other than sane. Insanity boiled in her brain, the knife she was holding reached further towards the head of Director Heddo. There’s a shockwave of disbelief that kick starts her forearm’s movement. The sharp-edged blade is heading towards Rokku Heddo’s ear. He has to escape. He has to do something, but what can he simply do? Weak within his innocence, Heddo can’t do anything to save himself. So, a horrid blow lands at his ear. It’s unorthodox for the emergency worker, but the risks that the lady has to face now are impeccably difficult to surpass at a high-mounted stage. She continues her duty, her mind filled with prayers for her own good. As she left, with a few files in her possession due to another tool carried; disaster struck. A syringe headed towards her - the man she had been nosy towards when planning this operation, he was standing beside the door. Alleviating the danger, the green-haired witch snatched at his wrist when given the opportunity.
“Mr. Yoshiharu Benjie. It might be a good idea to put the syringe down, no? I’m no animal, Mr. Yoshiharu. You weren’t taught this in training.” An undeniable flair crackles at her face. Despite not doing much in medical school, and cheating on a few tests, Umesaka remembers what she was taught - a scary condition any hospital worker could’ve been faced with. Benjie was just unfortunate to get in her way. The plan continues, admittedly with a few hurdles in the way, but a few frames of the camera snap, Yoshiharu’s eyes are full of tears that are tough to wipe. Umesaka had managed to climb down the staircase. Her fire-axe had made a connection with the poor doctor’s neck.
For some odd reason, Yoshiharu is still; statuesque like an archaic monument held up by a weak foundation, how charming of him to keep a straight face for such a long time. How charming he was, idling for the photograph taken by each and every witness. Saving lives, all to end up trying to save his own. A fairytale story, how would it end? Why would you allow a goblin to choose your path? Yoshiharu couldn’t allow it. Multiple units have arrived by now, and both the hostage (and taker) were filled with worrisome expressions, the same face, perplexed by two different meanings. A simple demand had been met, something like ‘free passage’, but the only passage Yoshiharu could think about was a biblical passage: a prayer for his survival. If only a gun was in her possession, Umesaka could really bring out the terror that engulfed her entirely. There is no true neutral that flourishes through these veins of hers, which is her only disadvantage.
There’s another flicker in the lens of the camera that provides you with the details of her crime. She’s outside Block L with handcuffs bound to her wrists. She has the pleasure of gleaming up to the night sky, knowing what pain and ruckus she has brought to the place.
Little does she know, after six months of custody, she’ll arrive at a very different hospital, a very different Karakura. Adaptations will be made. Plan B will enter the spyglass, with intentions to send this youthful director to a ruinous domain. The woman takes a stand in a dark room, the camera’s connection is on the brink of failure, as if the file would break at the sight of her face, as if the technology would explode if it was to no longer see her face. . .
There’s one side of a grievous smile. She has returned.
#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.
There’s a district in Karakura that cloaks itself as an overgrowth of greenery, known during the Muromachi period to have been eradicated from the public’s eye. Yoshimitsu Ashikaga (the shogun at the time) could’ve sworn to have kept it away from the eyes of the island for the sake of its wicked sorcery that surrounded the area, which was awfully ironic considering he acclaimed it as his own 'private land'. What would he use it for? A clear reason was far out of reach, too deep into the caves of secrecy. There was a gift for those who dive into the deep ocean of subterfuge, a file of knowledge that provides information about a monument leering just low enough for it to match the heights of a close radius. District Nine is the home of such prosperity. Shizukanamichi-Karakura, now known to hold a park for only the most egotistical posers, used to be a place of horror. But back then, with the news of just a monument at the epicentre, speculations flickered around like electrons in a circuit. A letter, encaptured within a washed-away bottle, had been found by one of few village youths; it was claimed originally to be sitting by a lake’s shoreline.
The scripture is scribed using a fine quill, hinting at the writer’s position on the island. As much as the child loved being a keeper of secrets, he couldn't not share this with his family. It only takes one glance to hook the reader, unfortunate for the ruling Ashikaga. Rumours insidiously spread around like a virus tailored to inquisitive minds, a revolution is now formed. The deceptive masterminds behind the whole gig,, whether they’re here for good or despair, it’s difficult to describe the mastery behind their craft. A modern plan for such underlings of Ashikaga. After all, the two foot-soldier’s behind this whole escapade looked loyal, the Yin and Yang for his schemes to lock down the spiritual area. The little boy gazes up at his father during a time of their noble feast. The father’s eyes light up in contrast to the blasphemous reaction the emperor shares. There’s a noxious gas that smears the ceiling of his palace, a corrupt one at that - the smiles of the social image murderers of the two were covered by their hands, sweat streaming down their face. All of that hard work. It pays off.
‘Dear guards of the Ashikaga Palace, please relocate to 1316, 17, 1289 and the surrounding area. We cannot let them know about the power of my darling yūrei’s power. I repeat, we must not. I command for you to submit to my request. Otherwise, you will be subject to execution. This is your only warning. I’m counting on you,
Your lawful Emperor,
Yoshimitsu Ashikaga.’
Interpretations of this extract have been theorised an extreme amount, even back then by library-keepers of the island, begging to council a meeting in secret considering the factors of plagiarism, thinking that maybe someone was framing Ashikaga, considering his extreme, unconventional campaign under his rule. To think it was the pair of new recruits, Teramoto Juro, Hase Tetsuya, would’ve then been considered an offence in itself, framing such innocence for deceit.
“Hase, my dear associate. Our plan has gone swimmingly; what do you say? Shall we dive into the deep end of treason, and go for the horse’s head?" Teramoto’s words flood into the ears of the deceived Tetsuya Hase. He’s crying, but Teramoto’s smile strengthens, engulfing the power of a thousand daemons. All the innocent tears drip from his face at this instant. His shaky hands, previously trained to write identical to the handwriting the shogun forms, the pressure from all of Juro’s threats, reach up to his face in agony with the pain that was hardly insufferable, a halt in the hallway that paved no exit.
“You don’t understand anything, living in that guise of yours, Juro. As if I would… kill my superior. You’re rather insane for that. I can’t do this anymore, you overthrew the insult of the title ‘foot-soldier’ if anything. I wish someone would just remove that foot of yours!” Hase Tetsuya’s words slice daggers at his unlikely cohort, incisions through Juro’s ankle become apparent at the deceiving soldier's sour gaze.
The response from Juro is bitter and scornful, his words set ablaze as they scratch against the ground, sliding up the side of Tetsuya's body to end up in his ear. Unlike their private symposiums in the past, this scuttle was a ferocious verbal debate, as if two different worlds are in the same location, one’s eyes full of bloodlust, the other full of anguish. In those eyes, Teramoto, through this meagre disguise of many, reached for his sheath equipped with the attribute of a tantō blade, standing en-guarde at the soldier that resonated a smoky, broken down vehicle on a highway. Stranded, with no SOS phone to hand; enforced to beg to those with high speed automobiles, but would it ever work? Borrowing someone else’s goodwill for his own sake, you see, that’s not Tetsuya’s moral alignment. He can’t ever take advantage of people, an exception being the monstrous plan to shame the high-horse on the throne - a naive mistake. Slashes noise the alleyway’s echo, all-consuming. The childish wail of a weakling, stuck in the mud, stuck to a sanity drain. Two people, the same rank, uncontrollably divisive.
Equal in rank, until the brandished blade cuts through Hase Tetsuya’s neck.
Cold-blooded murder; sub-zero depths, drowning him into discomfort.
THE END
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