Application - Greyson Hunt

[Gustavim]

Do you have any prior experience with Requiem? If so, please detail when (and what characters, if desired) you previously played:

No previous experience in Requiem, will be my first time.

Briefly summarize your prior role-playing experience in a sentence or two:

Mostly casual role-playing computer and board games.

Why do you wish to play on Requiem, and what do you expect from the shard?

Requiem was highly recommended by a friend of mine. Being a fan of role-playing games myself, I hope to just have a lot of fun and be part of the great stories in game.

What will your character’s name be?:

Greyson Hunt

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

32 year old, short ragged hair, light skinned tone (not pale white, more like “lack of sun” tone), 1,75m height and around 68kg. Naturaly fit, gained from a life of training and fighting (some muscle definition but not exactly ripped nor six-packed) with a light beer belly

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

Hard loyalist of the Black Wolves, where they go, he goes, that’s his first and utmost motivation. In a close second, is his hatred for anything and everything magic and his intention on removing magic’s foul taint off the world

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):

As he grew up as an apprentice alchemist in his family business, Greyson was a happy man in such tires time. In a small village of very devout people the harmony and peace were real. But all this came to an end the night that someone decided to go against the faith.
Greyson woke up during the night to the sounds of screams… his village was under attack and the few guards stationed there were little to no help and were quickly dealt with. Greyson ran outside his house and he could not believe his eyes. It was a slaughter of his people and all that he could see was men using unnatural powers to summon lightning and fire to kill his beloved neighbors.
His parents pushed him to the woods so he could escape, and so he did. He ran but moments after he was caught. Someone gabbed him from behind and covered his mouth so he could not scream. Then a man spoke
“Do not be afraid child we are here to help” Said a tall man in all black clothes what seemed to come out of nowhere. And the man did not lie, a moment after dozens of people in the same clothes appeared from the shadows and made their away in a quick pace for the village.
They did quick work of the heretics but unfortunately it was too late for Greyson’s parents and Village, and he begged them to take him with him as he would serve them as he could, and unbelievably seeing the pure determination in the kids eyes they did so.
Due to that trauma, he reacts very poorly to any mention of magic. He’ll go in an almost instant state of rage against anyone who even mentions magic or that he suspects that he is a mage.
The exception is, of course, his loyalty to his Black Wolves companions, where he will listen and try to learn any and all information they will say. If in a mission with the Black Wolves, he will be highly professional and competent. Although if fighting a group he will almost always target first any magic user.

Briefly write an in-character response to the following scenario:

You have finally arrived at your destination; the Rumbling Pass train-yards. Before you stands a massive outpost, looking to have been erected within the past few years, 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 range that effectively contains the First Province within, the outpost serves as the last obstacle you must overcome before entering 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. Behind him, a passenger train, a marvel of technological advancement, sits idling on its’ tracks, dozens of persons filling it’s numerous passenger cars. A true rarity within the Republic, you can hardly believe your eyes (and ears) as the locomotive releases a massive plume of steam from its’ smokestack. You overhear many a bewildered citizen around you gossip as to how the only truly safe way into the Province is now by rail, for the Rumbling Pass’ mountains are nigh impassible and miles long, with the only safe navigable tunnels being those traveled in the safety of locomotives and rail-cars. You shudder for a moment, pondering how many forsaken souls attempted to flee the cloistered Province through the Pass’ winding, dark tunnels, hordes of Afflicted upon their heels, only to be cut down in the pitch-black darkness.
It strikes you as peculiar that so much effort has been made in securing a means of logistical supply and personnel transportation into the fallen First Province. You’ve heard rumors before of Quarantine Zones; entire Municipalities and even Territories being cut-off from access due to the blight of the Torment and the over-abundance of the walking dead – but in most instances, no one is ever trying to get into to those forsaken places. Yet here, mere miles from the ruins of Tor, masses congregate in order to make their way into the First Province Quarantine Zone. If you hadn’t known any better, the entire scene – the Outpost, the mass of military personnel, the throngs of citizens and the hissing locomotive – resembles more of an evacuation rather than a one-way ticket into anarchy and lawlessness. As you make your way closer to the train-yard outpost, you can’t help but recall all of the wild and crazy stories concerning all manners of rumors about the First Province since it’s fall two years ago. Some say that the treasures awaiting the bold are beyond measure – others swear that Salvation and Ascension is guaranteed for those who would follow their Faith and help reclaim the First Coast.
Where the truth lies, you’ve no idea – you only know that you’re here, at the precipice of it all, and your destination is within reach.
You watch, somewhat defeated, as but a scant few of the hundreds that approach the outpost officiant, who 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 and train-yards proper. You see some swarthy fellows 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, flashing official looking papers from a Faction or influential Prelacy house, who promptly waves them through. While watching and eavesdropping, you manage to overhear the well-rehearsed speech the officiant provides to those whom don’t provide paperwork or grease his palm, the words monotone and nasally.
“By decree of the Venerated Church, the First Province is 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 Quarantine Visa by the perimeter authority.”
The officiant snorts in disdain, then adds the last line to the rehearsed monologue:
“State your business and make it quick, citizen; we’ve enough bodies in there to keep us busy for years without adding yours to the pile, and those VIC are stirring up problems something fierce as of late.”
You ponder the situation for a moment, evaluating your options. It is 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 or Prelacy Families 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 – although his price may be hefty. However, despite it all, you’re sure that some of those let in appeared to have made a convincing case with the officiant without resorting to subterfuge or immorality. Gathering your wits, you step forward towards the officiant, and make your decision as to how to gain access to the First Province.

As he follows Patricia Woods straight to the booth to deliver his papers he looks around all the people, all the confusion and the several briberies and the farfetched stories some of the people use to get inside makes him very uncomfortable. And all the magic users getting through?!
I’ll go have a talk to the officiant to make him open his eyes!
“How, in the name of Decus, will you ever keep apostates from getting through? Bad enough all those “legal” heretics just waving papers and getting inside with no problems! Can’t you see they are ticking time bombs, just waiting to go off? Sooner or later they’ll be consumed by their own heretical “powers” or they’ll just think they are better than the rest of us and start killing just because they can! That’s what always happens!
Another member of his group places a hand on his shoulder to try to calm in down and he looks over his shoulder a moment before grabbing his papers slamming them on the table.
You’re lucky I’m already late to join my brothers and sisters or we would have a long talk.
The papers are from the church no one really sure if they are legit or not

[Coty]

Congratulations, adventurer! Your application is...

Approved!

Please ensure that your character name is spelled correctly upon exiting the Songmaker's chambers. A GM will approve your character at their earliest convenience.

Welcome to Requiem!

He was right, the officiant knew. The dark powers these arcane wielders held, church-approved or no, threatened not only the Republic but all of Eden. Yet what was someone like he to do about? He'd no martial prowess. In fact, he had proved inept enough in such things to land himself as Republican Quarantine Officiant, considered a punishment and shame amongst the Legion. But he did what he could even still. Sending these heathens to their deaths behind the high walls of the quarantine, like sheep willingly corralled, seemed the next best thing to killing them himself. Well, the officiant thinks as he looks over the group, now the wolves have gotten into the pen. May they feast well. He stamps your visa.