What will your character’s name be?:
Everest Mortayne
Please briefly describe the physical attributes of your character, including age, looks, height, weight and any notable features:
The man appears to be in his early thirties. His glossy red locks are loosely tied back with a white ribbon. His affable good-looks and his innate aura of calm often put others at ease. His good-natured smile highlights the precipice of middle-age with laugh-lines peeking around the corners of his eyes and edges of his mouth. Even the timbre of his voice seems peaceful. He is often dressed in more formal attire and strangely enough seems more comfortable in it than work clothes, as if he were simply born to the scholarly life.
Briefly state your character’s intentions or motivations for entering the First Province:
Everest has learned that his aspirations are simply too big to stay away from the First Province. The prospect of notoriety, fame, and a life everlasting in the annals of history were simply too powerful for him to resist. That and a few other things which demanded he leave his home.
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):
Everest sat with his friend at the precipice of entry and thought back over their long history. He tried to recall a time before they had met, before he had been known as Everest and before he had taken up his trade. He was born in the Midlands, on the precipice of the arrival of the Resolve, but he had never known anything other than strife. Chaos was all he remembered, they were his earliest memories. The promises of delivery followed by the incursion and pacification by the Church. Pacification, that certainly was a polite way to put things. He had seen the afflicted, the walking dead. He had been so alone in those early years, longing for freedom from Torment, longing for companionship. Those first years had been hard. They had been harder when he was apprenticed. It had been a reprieve of sorts at first. Food, shelter, clean clothes, but the path to enlightenment had been difficult. The lessons had been strict and brutal, but always followed by a gentle hand or a kind word. Such were the tools of buying loyalty and belief. He remembered the bloody lessons, handling all manners of cadavers and learning the functions and care for living tissue. He remembered well the feeling of holding life and death at his finger tips.
He looked away from the fire he now sat by, regaining his thoughts in the present.
He looked to his long-time companion, a man that knew him and had seen to the very bottom of his soul. They had embarked on the long journey through the pass to the province. The challenge had been set before them, one that neither could shy from and both with secrets that they would take to the grave. He had looked at Everest, disheveled from weeks on the road, the usually well maintained coif now dull and frazzled and desperately in need of a good rinse and an even better comb. The man's look said it all ..."you look like hell." He hadn't needed to speak a sentence, the two had been together long enough for Everest to even hear the sarcastic tone. He shot back a dirty look before opening the book and reviewing a few lines. Essential tools of the trade when it came to cataloging their journeys and discoveries. He idly flipped through the remainder of the pages, mostly blank, before flipping back to the last entry and marking the day. We have entered the First Province...
Briefly write an in-character response to the following 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.
Everest looked at his companion before looking at the bureaucrat. It had been too long since a proper soak and his patience and serenity was fraught. He simply raised his brow before producing a visa. It seemed odd against Everest's somewhat polished self in that it had crumpled and been smeared with blood. "The trip was harder than I thought it would have been. And the others fell to bandits some miles past. If you wouldn't mind hurrying us along, my friend here is looking to set up his practice and I am longing for a proper bath."