Oryn Application

[Undying]

Do you have any prior experience with Requiem? If so, please detail when (and what characters, if desired) you previously played: Yes. A number of characters that can't seem to live long enough, someone call OSHA or get me a red shirt.

Briefly summarize your prior role-playing experience in a sentence or two. Why do you wish to play on Requiem, and what do you expect from the shard? I enjoy Req as an environment and as a server. I think the playerbase is good and the GMs are open

What will your character’s name be?
Oryn

Please briefly describe the physical attributes of your character, including age, looks, height, weight and any notable features:

Oryn is tall and gaunt, though appears somewhat shorter due to always stooping. While his frame might have destined him for glory on the field of battle, it never quite filled out making him look all the more lanky and wiry. His hair is often tied back and the pair of glasses that sit on the edge of his nose make him look older than the 30ish years under his belt. His finger tips are ink-stained and he tends to shuffle about as though not to disturb some patron or customer. While he is used to better clothing, the travel set provided seem to have seen much better days. To begin with, they are ill-fitting, too short in the arms and legs and far too loose at the waist giving him an almost scarecrow like appearance. While easy enough with a smile, he seems to be sheepish in crowds as though he doesn't quite fit in with the rest of the travelers. They do say though that the First Province has a place for everyone.

Briefly state your character’s intentions or motivations for entering the First Province:

Oryn has arrived from the Western reaches, most specifically Antongrad with the sole purpose of watching and cataloging the events as they unfold. While content to observe from the sidelines, there is a spark of curiosity that begs to be kindled and harnessed.

Briefly provide a pertinent detail or notable quality of your character’s history (this does not have to be exhaustive nor revealing of any information you wish to keep secret):
Oryn, what can be said about one so out-of-place? Born in the Western Territories to a Republic father and local woman, Oryn never quite fit in nor was ever truly welcomed in either of the circles. He survived though, which is more to be said than many, mostly due to the obligation his father felt towards him and in continuing some sort of legacy. Oryn had disappointed at nearly every end. While a tower amongst men, he never quite developed the muscle or the discipline for "proper soldiering" despite his father's best efforts. He had tried him at the sword and the axe and even the bow, yet in all of these poor Oryn had failed miserably. He didn't seem to have the temperament for it either, preferring to idle the day away drawing pictures of the burnt fields and the masses of bones heaped at the checkpoint or capture the sunrise as it peaked above the Godspine. "A waste of talent" was probably the cruelest but most accurate way his father had ever painted him. As a final act of nepotism, and perhaps a secret hope of making the boy into some sort of civil servant, Oryn's father had called in a favor with those that needed to catalog the heretical actions of those put to the stake and the contraband confiscated from the many Western families seeking safety in some other territory. This work suited Oryn perfectly, as he would meticulously document the pedigree of the various items before handing them over to the VIC or the Circle.
And now here he was, faced with the opportunity to expand his horizons; the Republic needed a few brave souls to chronicle the happenings of the First Province in a way that both captured the true actions for posterity and the annals and in a more public fashion to reinforce the strength of the Republic amidst claims of Resolvists, pagans, and rebels. While the Republic could not pay him for his efforts nor officially sanction them, a few midling officials did arrange for safe travel, a few goods, and most importantly a visa. His tasks were simple: establish a small library and print and report on the goings on within the region to the greatest extent possible...oh and one more thing; not to die...at least not too quickly.

What is your response to this scenario?

You have finally arrived at your destination; the Rumbling Pass checkpoint. Before you stands a massive outpost, looking to have been erected only recently, of which is patrolled by numerous Legionnaires and Church Templar. The outpost guards the only viable entrance to the recently quarantined First Province; the home of Tor, the fallen capital of the Republic. Sitting at the foot of the massive mountain line that effectively contains the First Province within, the outpost serves as the last obstacle you must overcome before gaining entry into the quarantined territory. You and others like you assemble outside of the palisades of the outpost, awaiting the opportunity to speak your case to the presiding Legion officiant who is processing admittance to the Province.

You watch as but a scant few of the dozens that approach the officiant, whom stands at the outer gates of the outpost flanked by a few heavily armored Legionnaires, are actually allowed to pass through the man-door and into the outpost. You see some slip pieces of gold to the officiant, while others plead their cases and rationale as to why they should be allowed to enter the recently fallen territory. Some appear to provide some sort of paperwork to the officiant, whom promptly waves them through. While eavesdropping, you manage to overhear the well-rehearsed speech the officiant provides to those whom don’t provide paperwork or grease his palm.

“By decree of the Venerated Church, the First Province is considered to be a mortal health hazard, and as such, is quarantined under Article Eighteen of the Republic Treatise of Health Act of 1320. Citizens who do not possess a Quarantine Visa issued by one of the recognized Factions of the Republic are considered non-essential to the reclamation of the First Province. Under Article Eighteen, non-essentials seeking entry into an official quarantine zone must petition for entry into a said zone, and state just cause for the issuing of a visa by the perimeter authority. State your business and make it good, citizen; we’ve enough bodies in there to keep us busy for months without adding yours to the pile.”

You ponder the situation for a moment, evaluating your options. It’s well known that with the right connections and the right amount of coin, one can get their hands on a Quarantine Visa from any one of the major Factions of the Republic, or even a passable counterfeit from more nefarious sources. At the same time, it would appear that the officiant doesn’t appear to be above some simple bribery. However, you’re sure that some of those let in appeared to have made a convincing case with the officiant. Gathering your wits, you make your decision as to how to gain access to the First Province.

Oryn stammered a half-intelligible response.

"C'mon, out with it string bean!" the official demanded.

Oryn took a breath trying to center himself; he really was at least half-way intelligent, but the yelling and the stress had left him most flustered! He felt the blood rush to his face, giving him the look of an inverted cherry with his bright red head atop a long and skinny stem. Instead of responding he reached into one of the pockets of the ill-fitting jacket and handed the Visa over. It had been prepared for him by his supervisor before he had left Antongrad and had weathered the travel in good-shape, mostly because the persnickety man had taken every effort to protect it from the elements. Oryn had heard the horror-tales of travelers being waylaid for months in the camp at the Pass. He had even seen some return to the western provinces after failing to secure safe passage into the Province. The though made him want to vomit. There was too much to do, too much to see, and most importantly too much to live up to should he fail in this most simple of missions.
The instructions had been clear - reports, curate a library, and one other thing in due time - all without official sanction.

The official looked over the Visa. No doubt he was used to some other form of bribery or deceit or threat to ease the passage. With Oryn all he had was the paper at face value. He seemed to look the man over with a bit of curiosity.

"Profession?" he inquired.

"H-Historian." Oryn finally managed to get out.

The man looked like he was about to die of amusement and quipped Let's hope your pen is mightier than your sword."

Oryn sighed, but couldn't disagree, before looking at the official with a look that could only say one thing "Can I go yet?"

[Galg]

The officiant's smile faded after his quip, looking the man over one more time before waving a hand for him to move forward. As you gather your things and move through the gates, you hear murmurs of the guards talking, without care of being overheard...you can pick out a few select words...mostly about what they would do with the same height advantage, and how much bigger someone could get...

Whatever they may have to say, you make your way through the gate as you're...


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