[Nomz] Einár Nicholas Brígh

---

General Information

Full Name
Einár Nicholas Brígh

Codename or Alias
Hero: Requiem
Villain: Nex

Anonymity
Secret

Gender
Male

Race
Enhanced Human (Not Meta or X Gene)

Age
38

Place Of Birth
Glasgow, Scotland

Occupation/Status
Requiem: Founding Hero with the Protectorate (Thunderbolts)
Nex: Villain on his own (currently)
Einár: Rich little playboy living up life on his father's fortune

Alignment
Savior [Villain]

Factions
Protectorate

Canon Or Original?
Original

Powers and Skills
Powers

SPOILER: Click to show

The Calling: The Goddess Hlin heard the prayers of mortals in danger/need. This sense was bestowed upon Einár and he often thinks of it as not quite a sound. Rather than hearing the prayers, he gets an almost buzzing sensation in his head for when someone is in a vulnerable state. It does not matter if that is physically, mentally, or emotionally. While he has never tested the range, he knows it extends further than he can travel in a day and has spent many years narrowing it down to just his general area. The sensation gets stronger as he closes in on the vulnerable person.

Durability: He's not impervious to damage, but it takes a bit extra to hurt him in a way that matters. Most of this durability is in resisting blunt force trauma as most blades and elements still make their mark on his skin.

Healing: Given time and rest, his body will heal damage to his body. [It is not fast enough to counter things that would immediately kill a man. It's why he has no scars]

Strength: He can't out-lift Titans like Superman and Spider-Man but can easily lift upwards of 800lbs before he breaks a sweat.

Skills

SPOILER: Click to show

Adept Tactician: The Protectorate is dedicated to its protocols and tactics that lead to its success. In Armsmaster's absence, Einár has been able to spread his wings and exercise new tactics for the team to use depending on the situation. While he is no master in this skill, he is more than adept at handling many scenarios thrown his way.

Manipulation: Einár learned from a very young age how to twist his words and people's perceptions of him to get the desired result. This is a skill he has built up for almost 30 years. He's soft-spoken when needed. Passionate when it fits the occasion. The lost son, the perfect soldier, the hero we all need, and the light in the darkest of nights. Even he would fall for his lies.

Master Fighter: Twenty years as a hero and a vigilante would make even the dullest blade into one capable of cutting falling cloth. Add in that Einár was training with his father almost as soon as he could walk and you have a very confident fighter. His is an amalgamation of more fighting styles he has trained in and adapted from his opponents. It is a heavy flow that changes based on which persona he wears.

Weapons Training: His first weapon was a short sword made of wood. Decades of training have taken him well beyond that. Einár favors blades (knives, daggers, and even a sword) and guns (pistols and riffles). These talents come out most when he is Nex as that persona prefers weapons that can cause the most bloodshed. Paired with his strength, his melee weapons do not take much to cause terrible damage.

Networking: Years of living in the United States have allowed Einár to sink deep into the communities he lives in both as a hero and villain. One way or another, he tends to know someone or know of someone who can get a specific task completed. He takes great care in tending to this web and does what is needed to keep his people happy and on his side.

Cunning: While many people seem to put their faith in their superior intellect, Einár uses his cunning to get him through most situations in life. He is not omnipresent or capable of seeing the future, but Einár can think his way out of most boxes.

Weapons/Items:
The major difference between the two sides of him is their weapons. Requiem fights with his fists, but Nex fights with blades. As Nex, he often has at least a knife in his boot, one against the small of his back, and then a sword strapped to his back. When he deems it necessary, he is also known to carry a pistol on his hip, and, at home, he has a riffle that hardly sees the light of the moon.

Most of Einár's items are standard fare. They range from smoke bombs to flashbangs. He has zip ties and handcuffs depending on the personal. Einár carries pepper spray (much to his entertainment) and a taser.

---

Appearance

Visual Appearance

Physical Appearance

When someone decided to describe blue eyes as cold and endless as the Arctic Ocean, they must have come across Einár. He stands at 5'7 with a strong build despite the rather fun-filled life he supposedly leads. No one is quite sure when he manages to have time to work out considering he is always going somewhere at any and every point. Einár has short, neatly trimmed dark brown hair with an obvious streak of grey cutting through it all at the top. He keeps his beard just a few centimeters longer than a stubble.

He lacks any major markings that would set him aside from other people. No thick trails of scars. Not a hint of ink. Not even a birthmark.

Clothing and Armor
Einár

SPOILER: Click to show

While he is not running around as a hero or villain, Einár often wears comfortable and extensive clothing. Nothing that has a name brand on it. He prefers simple slacks with a sweatshirt or a vest and button-down combo. It is only on the rare occasion that he can be found without either.

Requiem

SPOILER: Click to show

His uniform is a lovely shade of green, bright and easy to be seen in the vast cityscape. The pouches on his hips carry medical supplies and classic tools for hero work. His helmet has a built-in com for his team and the visor has built-in infrared and night vision options. There is also a voice modulator that makes Requiem's voice a touch lower than it normally would.

Nex

SPOILER: Click to show

This suit hangs more on the standard protection that comes from a bulletproof vest. The pouches around his chest carry the tools he needs for the trade from cuffs to smoke bombs to cash and poison. This outfit is made to look like someone who lives on the streets, torn in places and stitched together with pieces of cloth in others.

The helmet (while looking old) is a higher-end piece of tech with a heads-up display for general information you can pull on your smartphone. It also has a built-in night vision mode and voice modulator, though he often prefers to use his real voice as Nex.

Personality

Sexual Orientation:
Pansexual

General Personality:
Like with all things involving Einár, his personality swings between personas. Requiem is a warm, kind-hearted person who reaches out to those around him. He has managed to form quite a reputation as someone who can be leaned upon in times of need. He is soft-spoken in general but does have a passion that he unleashes when the subject matter at hand applies or when the situation needs it. Requiem is a fantastic mentor, often offering a helping hand or even just friendly advice to those who ask for it. He would never force his words on another person.

Nex is bold and charismatic despite the scent of iron that often hangs from his frame. He is ruthless more often than not, only showing hints of care and kindness when he thinks it will lead to his desired result. Nex can turn and twist words and faiths to suit him, often leaving the people he deals with uncertain about the things they previously believed in. If Requiem is a spring rainfall, Nex is a Californian wildfire in the brush. He has a type of passion for his mission that can bring people into his corner even when they may have otherwise avoided him.

Einár is a warm, happy man who doesn't let much of anything rain on his parade or set fire to his seat. He stops to hold open doors for the people behind him and takes the time to participate in the zipper method. Einár is the kind of person to look for the next new thing to try, often encouraging those around him to live life to the fullest no matter what comes their way. He is also a terrible flirt, willing and thrilled to flirt with any adult who looks in his direction.

Face/Voice:
James McAvoy

---

Character's History

Mother:
Hetty Wren Falk-Brígh

Father:
Rory Eoghan Brígh

History:
A Legend's Start
Einár Brígh was born in Scotland into a family of more than manageable means. He spent much of his youth in boarding schools where he was taught what a hierarchy is from his books and classmates. He got his first taste of battle when he was 7 years old, knuckles bloodied twice. First, with that of the boy who dared to try to shove Einár below him in social status. Then again when his punishment was dealt out with the back of a wooden ruler that had seen far more flesh than he had. He will always remember the pity in his father's face and the cold fury in his mother's eyes.

Rory Brígh had always seen his family for what it was: a long-standing line of people who served The People. A family once rumored to have the blessing of the goddess Hlin herself. They were protectors, healers, and guardians even in the modern era. He sought to plant these ideals in his young son's heart while he was still an impressionable boy. "People need a guiding hand when the weight of the world is too heavy. You need to be the light in the dark that illuminates their path." Words said with such sweet intentions. Words that were too easily twisted by Hetty's charming little songs and tales.

Hetty Falk-Brígh married not for love, money, or comfort. No, she married to fulfill a mission that her mother had given her from her mother before her. Long ago and in a time only recalled in books, her family had been told that they would bear a son whose importance would be greater than all of theirs combined. A boy who would bring in a new era to the world, righting the wrongs that never seemed to stop no matter how hard anyone tried. This sense of duty and mission and blind faith found a daughter of Odr in Scotland.

As a boy, his mother's words were never far from his ear, her song soft and sweet and alluring. She never disagreed with his father's teachings and never sought to cause that conflict. Instead, Einár was encouraged to take the position of protector of the world even as it sunk deeper and deeper into the darkness. "Sometimes," she would tell her son over many years, "one must keep the rot from spoiling the garden. The only way to do that is to purge it."

In an effort to teach his son discipline, Rory taught the boy how to fight and defend. His mother showed him how to defeat and take a life if he deemed it needed. His father showed him how to talk to people and earn their understanding. Hetty taught him how to twist their words against them and how to make them see his way. Rory loved his son more than life itself for the simple fact that he existed. Hetty loved her son more than her own life because she knew what he was meant to do. By the time he was a teenager, there was only one step left to take.

"It was horrible." It was bloody. "We didn't see them in time." They had been alone. "There was nothing we could do." They had done everything.

Einár had taken a bat to the back of his father's head, stunning the older and wiser fighter. It hadn't taken more than that to finish off his father, the person his mother had told him over and over again was evil. She had even given him evidence of how corrupt this once guardian had become. The young lad had to stand still as his mother then beat him in turn. It was the only way to keep him safe. She promised him.

He would later wake in the hospital, fuzzy and uncertain of anything that had happened that day. They would escape most of the police's notice, his father's death ruled a homicide, and the killers were still at large. Hetty would grow increasingly irate and short-tempered towards her son, muttering over and over again that it "hadn't worked." This would escalate into violence that Einár would struggle to escape or fight off, healing as he was. One afternoon, she pushed him too far and too hard.

He knew that there were a handful of ways to get his mother to stop long enough for him to escape. But, why should he keep struggling? Why should he let her keep pushing him around and treating him like something worth her wrath? Einár met his mother's gaze, fury matched and something cold setting into his eyes. Hetty didn't have time to protest her son decided not to resist her shove, the railing they were against cracking and shattering. He could have stopped her. He could have prevented this.

But, somewhere along the line, Einár had developed a taste for blood and he found it all the sweeter when it was mixed with his own. The fall from the second story would end with Hetty's head meeting solid stone first and Einár breaking his legs on a well-positioned table.

A Legend's Middle
Einár Brígh was orphaned at the tender age of 17 by the rage of strangers and the grief of his mother. He was pitied by any who dared to speak to the young lad, charmed by his earnest blue eyes and the heartache he wore pinned to his lapel. As the only child, he was set to inherit a wealth that had been passed down through generations and he was all too happy to leave it to be managed by others for the time being. No, Einár had found something interesting as he had laid in his bed from his newest set of broken bones.

Slowly, but surely, his body knit itself back together and even slogged off old injuries and scars. Einár had been unsure what to make of it. All he knew was that he was grateful for the gift. It would be a year later that he would discover his next gift. He was an adult in every meaning of the word, but he felt restless. Both his parents had filled his head with such lovely and lofty ideas of what his future should hold. So far, it had been a rather long and uneventful year.

Worse, was this soft not quite sound that kept murmuring in his ears. A constant buzz that never showed in his hearing tests and never quite made it to white noise. Einár found the noise louder than ever as he raced after it through the alleyways of London. It was near deafening, true and cursed siren dragging him into the depths of the night. He had never been able to pinpoint a source for it and his blood rushed through his heart. Brick wall gave way to the view of a young woman pinned under the hands and knife of a would-be thief and murderer. Einár acted without thought, allowing his instincts to lead the way and he didn't tune back in until he had the knife pressed against the attacker's throat.

Frighten brown eyes stared up at him as the man stuttered out a plea, but there was no stopping him now. Einár pressed the blade all the closer, slowly dragging it across even as the woman raced away from the pair. He couldn't be bothered as he watched the man's life drain from his eyes, choking and gasping the whole time. When he stopped, only the vague sound of the city all around him and his own ragged breathing filled his ears. Einár paused in confusion. The buzz, his constant companion, was silent.

This murder led to two events. First, Einár discovered that he could silence the buzzing if he just followed it and destroyed whatever he found at the end of it. Second, he had more power than just healing. In time and with more deaths under his belt, Einár would discover his strength and his durability. His mother had been correct. He was meant for more. His father had been right. He was meant to protect this world.

The Legend of Requiem
He needed a name and a face. A place to hide in plain sight. "The world is cold, corrupt. People are crushed under the foot of those who claim they are doing what is best for everyone while they load their pockets with wealth they do not deserve. They are a sickness infecting the populace and slowly eating away at everything that makes us who we are." Einár Brígh wasn't going to stand for it any longer.

The first face was Requiem: a vigilante that often went to far more brutal means to quell those who would do evil under his watch. It did not take long before he found himself under the watch of 'heroes' and Einár knew he would need to do something to ease their hackles. Americans were too easily roused against a common enemy, more so when they detected a British accent. If he wasn't careful, they would likely try to throw him into the harbor. His answer came in the form of the Protectorate.

Newly developed, this paramilitary metahuman institution was meant to stand against the ever-flowing tide of vigilantes and uncontrolled heroes. Requiem was in the first wave of fresh recruits alongside the ever-beloved Armsmaster. Where the other man was quick to show his skills and his capacity for mentoring early on, Einár took his time to learn and know his colleagues. He offered a shoulder to lean on in hard times and a willingness to put himself between danger and his teammates where needed. Truly, a guardian in his own right.

It had come as a surprise when he was recruited into the Thunderbolts in General Ross' petition alongside several other leading members of the PRT after Armsmaster. There was a war brewing on the horizon and, though he often was at odds with the other man, Einár knew that Armsmaster knew it too. However, Einár was alone in seeing the opportunity such an event would provide itself. He knew all too well that he worked for his enemy, the American government. If these heroes could come together and form a proper team, they could stand as the opposition to the PRT. Internal fighting would only make his plans easier to accomplish. One death at a time.

What he hadn't planned on was Armsmaster getting himself killed. It created a power vacuum that drew Einár in like a paper boat down a sewer drain. That was years ago. Einár managed to show a level of charisma that he had only shown to his teammates and those under him. He pulled the right strings to place himself in the center of the public's view of the PRT until the government found a new puppet to take the reigns again. Requiem quietly bowed back into the shadows, but he left his mark and impression on the people.

They know Requiem as a man who loves his people fiercely and who will bleed for any of them if the time comes to it. A man who will stop to help an elderly cross the road as surely as he will stand between another hero and death. Einár knows how to make an impression and he keeps up his public image quite well.

The Legend of Nex
Requiem's work often resulted in the quieting of the buzz in his mind, and Einár became aware of a hunger clawing at his soul. There was more work that needed to be done. Work that Requiem could not manage in his position and with all the eyes on him. No, the weeds were flourishing under the lack of attention as the PRT turned their attention to standing against unchecked heroes. Einár could not let that stand. He needed a new name and a new face.

Nex is different from Requiem in all the ways that matter most. Nex slinks in the shadows, following the call of his sense until he comes across his next victim. Sometimes it's someone who needs saving. Sometimes it's someone who needs ending. On the rare occasion, it is someone that he can pull to stand beside him. Nex shares his philosophy on the world at large when prompted, waxing not quite poetry about the state of the world and how the people need to rise up. Too long have they sat idly by and allowed others to make their choices for them. "Someone must keep the rot from spoiling the garden."

He is the light in the darkness and he turns all those who join him into flames of their own. With enough people, they will have enough to start the war that is long past due. They will seize control of the country and unite it under a single banner as it is meant to be. No more division. No more need to struggle. All they need to do is have a little faith in him and support each other when they need to lean.

Einár does not hide his bloody deeds from his followers, nor does turn it into a spectacle. Most are aware of the crazed look in his eye when he culls the garden with far more blood and viscera than required. Those who dared to speak against him for it met equally violent ends. Nex is not above killing you and your entire family in favor of keeping his garden pure.

The Not-So Legend of Einár
Rich, single, and from across the big beautiful Atlantic, Einár draws attention no matter where he goes. To the despair of the paparazzi and potential gold-diggers, he seems quite content to stay at home in D.C. whenever possible and only leaves when duty calls. His life is quite boring and uneventful when one looks at it from under the lens of a fellow billionaire. It is at the point where the paparazzi don't even bother to aim their cameras in his direction when he does show his face. No one knows how to give a good show like young Brucie Wayne and Oliver Queen did. This generation, honestly.

---

Role Play Sample:






Requiem:

"Shhh, close your eyes."

The warm baritone fills the short distance between them and the woman shivers from the cold, her soaked sweater doing nothing to protect her from winter's chill. Her head turns as a warm palm cups her cheek, leaning into the comfort that comes from the gesture, not unlike a child to their parent.

She tries to sit up, but a second hand touches her shoulder, pushing her back into the sticky liquid under her. Exhausted eyes open to catch her own pale expression in the reflective glass of a black mask. She examines the green v carved into the middle of it before shivering.

"You do not have to struggle anymore," he says softly as his thumb brushes her cheek. Requiem tucks a strand of matted hair behind her ear and sighs as her body relaxes. He knows it is only a matter of time until her heart gives out. Even as keen as he is to save people, he recognizes when a situation is hopeless. He'll make sure to report this later, that she had been gasping on her final breaths when he arrived.

Requiem leans forward, tapping his forehead to her own and whispering, "Welcome to Paradise."

Nex:

Laughter echoes throughout the small room, slamming into the walls and coming back in fierce waves. Bile burns the back of his throat as he dares to lift his head. His vision is obstructed by the swelling of his eye, but nothing hides the smirking man sitting before him, looking like a king on his throne of broken promises, and shattered lives.

"Oh, do you still have energy left? You hear that boys? This asshole thinks he can keep fighting."

Nex sneers from under his gaiter, pissed that these pieces of filth dared to remove his helmet. He rolls his shoulder, testing its limits before shifting into a boxing stance. While he preferred to trim away the fat of this city with his blades, he is no stranger to fighting with his fists.

The first fist catches a thug in the ribs, his body tipping down in a too-slow block. Nex holds nothing back as he feels bones crack and give way under his fists. No one will miss the weeds he will all too happily pull.

A wild, stomach-turning smirk curls Nex's lips as his hand closes around the throat of the no-longer-smirking man. He claws at Nex's arm fruitlessly as he squeezes until his fist closes and chuckles, "Welcome to Paradise."

Einár

"I think it's time we get down to what we have all been waiting for."

Flash photography briefly washes out his skin, but his expression stays excited and joyful. Einár winks at the crowd, stage whispering, "No. Not that kind of surprise. Easy now."

This earns him a round of laughter which only brightens his grin.

"No, no. I mean the restoration of the United States Botanic Garden after that rather nasty fight. Thankfully, most of it was saved by the lovely members of our Protectorate." Einár spreads an arm behind him as the lights of the conservatory light up one by one like little embers of hope in the early evening.

"Darlings of D.C.," Einár proclaims with that quiet note of pride, "Welcome to Paradise."