Index | Niburu: Nos Tutari | Player Characters | Rowan Harrow

Background

Another violent crash caused Rowan to start, clinging to her corn husk poppet even more tightly as she screwed her bloodshot, tear filled eyes closed. The smell of voided bowels and the coppery tint of blood filled her nostrils as she tried to make herself as small as possible, her knees under her chin as she sheltered against the back wall of the darkened wooden shack she and her mother had called home. She could hear the catcalls, the angry baying for her blood as the mob outside shifted and roiled. She peeked through her fingers seeing the lights of their torches through the weathered rotting boards of the walls of her home. They'd found her mother out. They always did, and this time... this time they'd caught her. She cast a furtive glance to the crumpled mound of stained, dirtied cloth the shadows of arrow shafts cast in the flickering light, a pool blacken curdled blood surrounding all that was left of her mother and she knew. She knew they were coming for her as they had come for her mother. All her mother had ever done to help them, to heal them, to rid them of disease and death because the temples took ever more than simple folk could afford. Every time it was the same. The whispers, the cold glares, the hate in their eyes when they realized the nature of her mother's blessings. The lives she saved that those pious white robed priests ignored for want of the glint of gold. She knew they would, it was always the same, wherever they fled, wherever they lived, they always turned on them. Rowan's tears burned along her cheeks as she felt death swirl and cling to her mother's cooling corpse. She breathed it in as she imagined her mother, and her mother's mother had before her. Rowan thought "...weak! They had tried and help these sheep, these ungrateful, cowardly, self righteous peasants!" Rowan roughly wiped her eyes with the heel of her palm and stared angrily through the shack’s walls at the mob outside as it gathered its courage to finally storm the flimsy door. She stared unflinchingly at her mother, while malice pure enough to wilt the very grip of death lit her eyes. She stared with rage, hurt, and fear and she would make them pay... by all the gods she would and she would never fall to her mother's weakness, to her kind hearted ways! She would live! She would live and make them all pay!! Her mother's corpse began to slowly twitch and rise with the flames of her daughter's hatred.

Motivations

Rowan is driven by one goal and only one... to master death. To embrace her family's gifts and to make any and all who cross her pay. She came across this group she views as a means to her ends... or as the russians say... "useful idiots". Though she plays her role as a innocent, one with a talent for darkness, but otherwise well meaning and kind? In reality she is little more than hurt, rage, and a lust for power behind a innocent child's form and face. She keeps her mother to remind herself of the folly of kindness, the slavery of empathy, and the singular end of all good endeavors.