I played the last act pretty religiously, yeah. (Get it? GET IT?)Do you have any prior experience with Requiem? If so, please detail when (and what characters, if desired) you previously played:
UO (Napa Valley), EQ (Tunare), Grimmwold/Dark Age/Requiem, PNPs like Dark Heresy & Shadowrun... I'm totally not a nerd tho.Briefly summarize your prior role-playing experience in a sentence or two:
I miss the atmosphere and the folks I met, both here and on other shards.Why do you wish to play on Requiem, and what do you expect from the shard?
Niamh Valfear. It's pronounced [niːəv], damnit. Most people called her "Knives", "Doc", "Abbess", or heretic if you're Samantha Thorne.What will your character’s name be?:
Age: 20.Please briefly describe the physical attributes of your character, including age, looks, height, weight and any notable features:
Height: 5'9".
Weight: 137lbs.
Eyes: Large and almond-shaped, murky with traces of underlying blue.
Hair: Wavy locks of obsidian black, long, typically free or loosely bound.
Skin: White, rather pale and thin.
Scent: Beyond smelling like a person, some typical accompanying scents are incense, ink, herbs, chemicals.
Physical Description: Niamh is tall but pale, thin and gaunt. She perpetually looks frail, sometimes sickly. Her teeth, nails and thick mane of stygian black hair are well maintained, thankfully mitigating the girl’s rather haunted look. Most memorable would be her murky, clouded eyes; irises of deep blue veiled by an unfortunate silver-gray mist; she is often uncertain of her vision and, as a result, her movement. Her voice, though reserved and faint, is pleasantly honeyed and melodic.
Niamh has rightly been pointed out as a very contradictory character, and that she remains. I don't think that she necessarily wants to be in the area where she pyred and prayed for most of her friends, but it's a calling, at this point.Briefly state your character’s intentions or motivations for entering the First Province:
From (presumed) orphan to Torian slum girl, from student to anointed Decusian Clergy, scholar and physician, to vagabond. One time, Xtopherus Von Aequisnox totally snubbed her but Archbishop Lancaster kissed her hand, which was p. touching.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):
We don't talk about her thing with Archbishop Anslem.
The liberal displays of Legion Gold, Templar White and, most of all, Republic Red had a curiously mixed effect on Niamh. Oh, there was fear, of course, as it had been drilled into her for years. But there was also joy, kinship, comfort, dignity, and, most of all, purpose.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.
The queue, though long, passed quickly as she quietly reflected on all the horrors, all the desperation and all the pyres that lay behind her and ahead of her. When the officiant's expecting, impatient gaze broke her contemplations, she only handed over some of the most recent documents detailing some of her affairs in the quarantined province. It could've been a Decusian writ, an order to build a hospital for the Knights Hospitaler, any old letter denoting her history with the Church - she doubed that the officiant truly cared about the fineries or details, though she suspected that he would be ill pleased to not have his palm greased.
They were here to do their jobs, though, not enrich themselves until they no doubt rivaled Foundry Reeves. The thought came quickly, and she reprimanded herself, wondered where such cynicism could have come from. As the officiant looked her over, she merely said, with a quiet voice that had not been raised to sermon in months,
"The road from Redholme has not been kind, but now I am eager to return to my duties, Archangel willing. Is there a problem?"