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 Posted: Sun Nov 01, 2009 12:45 pm
Council Application
---------- Well well well. Look what we have here. Someone who thinks they're good enough to be a Judge of the UMC. You sure you can live up to it to the job? It's not all about criticizing and commenting on the matches, you know.
Judge's have a whole list of responsibilities besides judging the contestants. They're also responsible for creating the arenas the contestants battle in, reviewing all contestant profiles in the Final Registration thread and relocating them to the Registered Contestants thread, answering the contestant's questions in the Q & A thread, providing any assistance to any who need it, and upholding the unwritten rules of the UMC. That's right, unwritten. This is an extension of the Guild, therefore we have the same rules as the Guild, but we also have a few of our own.
If you still feel you can handle the responsibility of a Judge, then fill out the form below, and one of the current Judge's will contact you in a PM. Contacting us about your application will only hinder your chances.(For a list of Judge's, see Council House)---------- [b]Username[/b]:
[b]Role-play Rank[/b]:
[b]Armeekorps Rank[/b]:
[b]Reason for applying[/b]:
[b]Why should you be accepted[/b]:
[b]Role-play sample[/b]:
[quote="your username here"][/quote]
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Posted: Wed Sep 29, 2010 9:02 pm
So if you're interested in being a judge, please post the required info here. We won't take rank into consideration that much; the ranks are a bit off right now. But we will look into others factors, such as RPing skills.
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Posted: Thu Sep 30, 2010 12:43 pm
Username: Ferregar Role-play Rank: Unknown - I used to be regarded as B Armeekorps Rank: Also Unknown, I just got back into the Guild Reason for applying: I feel that my feedback and involvement as a judge will be very valuable to other roleplayers. Why should you be accepted: I am a veteran roleplayer that applies heavy literacy, character and environment detail, NPC inclusion/ interaction, and backstory referrences in practically every RolePlay I've ever been involved with. I've been part of numerous RP think tanks to develop full world lore and storyline, developed full environments with NPC interaction and dynamic event/night/day activities for them. To put it simply, I've taken the seed of RP and grown a forest for myself, and those I work with. Role-play sample: Ferregar    /...when there's nothing left to burn
///you have to set yourself on fire...
Randall Flagg, the last of his kind, could only stand and listen to the words Kadaira offered him. As she offered her soul to him, he felt his innards churn. His mouth became slick with saliva. He was hungry. Starving for what she held out to him. Dark forces pushed him towards it, urging him to take it then. To seal her fate.
The old fire returned to his eyes. He was alone in the desert, smoke rising far behind him. The ashes of his home, and all his kin. His father's guns felt right in his hands; the sandalwood grips had been worn to perfection. The wind and the sand whipped across his face, but even as the tiny crystals stung his cheeks and eyes he did not cringe. He faced the storm.
The Man in Black, his dark and cursed half, laughed amidst the gale. Laughed with great vivacity, as Earth's final days were set in motion. As that cacophonous noise deafened his ears, he raised a single revolver. Its muzzle spit fire; its tongue was made of lead. The laughter stopped.
I'll never forget the face of my father.
He wasn't sure how much time had passed between Kadaira's last words and his sudden return to reality. Jasmine was gravitating towards the rain soaked room. He was still looking at Kadaira. He smiled, a gesture that took the strength of thousands, and he took a step towards her. He set one hand on her shoulder, feeling the crusted texture of her blood in the fabric.
"Now, don't be puttin' mad thoughts in your head. Ya'll are my wards. Ya'll are my friends. If your soul loses sight of you, I will send mine to find it. Yours too, Jas... an' don't forget that. Ain't nothin' that'll make me take that deal. It may not sound like much, but we got to keep on livin'."
He turned from her, setting his right palm flush against the handle of his gun. Randall approached the second, closed door. As his free hand reached for the knob, his eyes found Kadaira one more time (Jasmine was now invisible, hidden behind the walls of the other room), and flashed his gunslinger grin. Teeth that'd seen the grit and s**t of the hard life, but they still carried a sly joy. The gift of knowing. Knowing that these girls were bound to one another, and he to them. Traveling would come easy now. He had good company.
"I want t' see th' sun rise like it used to. Ain't gonna happen if we give up. So let's scour this place top to bottom - that hole, I'll take care of it when we're done. Assumin' it doesn't start spittin' ghosts at us."
He chuckled, and turned to face the door.
"Hope you're watchin' over us, Lady..."
The door swung open with haste, and before it was even half ajar Randall's gun was in his hand. Ready to blaze a new trail. As the room was revealed, it was clear they wouldn't need guns at all.
It was pretty large, like an old time parlor might be. Two fine wooden tables were stacked atop each other in one corner. There were some paintings here and there -on the floor or on the wall. A wood burning oven sat in the center of the room. The floor was sturdy enough to walk on without risk a broken leg. Beside a tall lamp with a half eaten shade, there were two wooden crates. Their lids were nailed shut. Beyond that, another door. It couldn't lead much farther - he could tell this was nearing the end of the house.
Randall slipped his revolver back in place with the true grace of a gunslinger, and strode into the room. He looked at at the corners of the room. Underneath a large painting of twin oaks atop a hill thick with green grass was an iron rimmed chest.
"Well I'll be. Lookit that. Hey, Jas! Findin' anythin'?"
-----------------
The images she saw were not nearly as comforting. In fact, the picture that she once held, a photograph of The Devil, was now that of an old man sitting at the stoop of his house with a cup and a mouthful of dip, forcing her to bonder if she'd truly seen that face at all. The other pictures seemed to follow suit, becoming Human figures before she could even perceive their change. Pictures of people. Hundreds of people, young and old, male and female. Some were black and white. Some were torn from newspapers or magazines. Some were hastily sketched illustrations. Each held a slight resemblance to another.
Around each picture that remained fastened to the walls were more pictures, faces that seemed similar to others but had notable differences. An old man with a liver spotted nose hung next to a boy that shared his grin. Along the wall, carved with what must have been a knife, were sprawling lines of prose. Layered over those words were scraps of paper covered in more words, and those words bled into many more. It was like a labyrinth shattered into a million pieces, an impossible puzzle that had finally been solved only to be scattered again with the changing of the world.
It was at that moment that the picture of the old man, the image that was once (or was it?) The Devil slipped from its place on the wall, finally too wet and worn to remain suspended by the pin which held it there. As it fluttered to the ground, it seemed the others followed it. The picture came to rest with its back upturned. There, scrawled in red ink, were these words.
"I knew that I had come face to face with some one whose mere personality was so fascinating that,
if I allowed it to do so, it would absorb my whole nature, my whole soul, my very art itself."
-Dorian Gray
-------------
"Kad, care t' lend a hand?"
Randall was already hard at work on one of the crates, its lid creaking in protest every time he pulled at it. It appeared heavy as well, for Randall's force was not enough to budge it from the ground.
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