[Req] The witcher

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Re: [Req] The witcher

Post by harbinger. » Sat Jan 18, 2020 6:53 am

It's fine! I understand completely :)
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Re: [Req] The witcher

Post by harbinger. » Sat Jan 18, 2020 7:52 am

Name: Cadeir Firvo

Race: Human/ Quarter-Elven

Age: mid-30's

Backstory: Cadeir Firvo was born in Tridam, a lone urchin until he found a home within a band of three misfits that called themselves the Sons of War. All of them were orphaned, by sickness or battles, it didn't matter- in that group, you were all family, no matter age, creed, race, or gender. Cadeir was better for it. Their group was one led by an 18 year old with knowledge beyond his youth, a man named Ceiclo. He cared for these misplaced kids like an elder brother would. He taught them honor and pride, stubbornness and compliance. He taught them what it meant to be born with the lowest of life prospects and make something of it.

Seven years later, and no longer a pup of 16, Cadeir finally felt like he could make something of himself, turn himself into the man he imagined his absent father would be proud of- wouldn't be absent for. He would hop from job to job around Tridam; one day he was a ship worker, the second he was a warehouse laborer. He made money and a name for himself that way. Every now and then he would reminisce on his rocky childhood with the now grown members of the Sons of War. The wise Ceiclo had become a ship captain at 25 and a father of three. The always sickly young Alma: a washmaiden at the local tavern. Scrapper Larnell: a married guardsman under Tridam's baron.

Cadeir was glad his family had found a niche for themselves, their contentment seeping into himself. He had no complaints with his life, happy for the future.

At least, until Tridam's Ultimatum.

Who would have thought that a few jailed bandits could bring about so much death.

The day started like any other: breakfast and work, a drink at the tavern and flirting with Alma. Though, that's where the normalcy ended. A peasant had burst through the tavern doors, screaming about fire and blood and bandits. Cadeir felt his throat close while the room descended into panic, people rushing out to the docks and others curling further into their mugs of ale, muttering prayers even as they sat and stagnated in their vices. Cadeir spared a short look towards Ailma before they both raced towards the docks as well.

There were fires crackling in spots on the docks, but what really gathered their attention was the barge atop the water. Pilgrims, notable by their frocks and the holy books on their belts, were lined up on the side of the boat closest to the main crowd of civilians on the dock. Armed and armored men circled them, like drowners to fresh blood, faces twisted into scowls or ugly grins. They were taunting them, taunting them all.

The baron was there, the first and foremost on the dock, a line of soldiers behind and around him. Among them was Larnell, looking grim and ashen-faced. Cadeir quickly realized why.

The barge was Ceiclo's. And he was nowhere to be seen.

Only when the leader of the bandits showed himself, was Ceiclo found. His golden head dangled from the fiend's belt, knotted beard swaying past the stump of his neck with the gait of the leader's walk, once-bright eyes milky in their dark sockets.

Cadeir hardly remembered what happened after; a rush of red filled his sight and a crushing weight seemed to collapse his lungs. Flashes sung through his stilted memory- an ugly smile, a gesture and then the pilgrims began to fall, one by one, into the dark waters below- the baron's fear palpable in the air, a hurried "Stop!" And then the slump of defeat in his shoulders.

The bandits got what they wanted.

Cadeir wasn't... right after the event, it was obvious to Alma and Larnell- he was the closest to Ceiclo despite being the newest to their brotherhood, so of course he wouldn't take his terrible death well. But they didn't think it would have had as extreme an impact as it did. The first few days were the worst, people rumbled in the streets, angry that the evil men had been let free without even a hint of punishment. Cadeir didn't eat, nor did he sleep those few days. He kept seeing milky eyes and bloodied blond curls. But the more the days went on, the easier it became to forget, to force the memories from his mind. Soon, days turned to weeks, to months, then to years, and while Cadeir found solace in the ways his friends lives had progressed- Alma had married and their firstborn was well on its way; Larnell became Captain of the guard and his eldest daughter was soon to be wed- Cadeir found himself growing weary of Tridam and the taint he found within it.

And soon, he ventured out with no warning to his oldest friends. Leaving only an old brooch of a bronze flame Cieclo had given him, placed upon the foot of his bed.

And they knew, Alma and Larnell, they knew what it meant.

Their old friend was lost to them forever.

Personality: Cadeir had always been a kind, helpful soul- a man ready to give the shirt off his back to someone else in need. These traits were cultivated by a childhood rife with need and poverty, the highlights of that life being the kindness of others. So he hoped to give back by being as generous as those that had helped him. Before Ceiclo's death, Cadeir never would have thought of violence as a means to an end, but remembering the red that stained the gold of Ceiclo's hair, of the blood on his face and the stump of his neck.

Cadeir finds it much easier to reach for his sword.

Since leaving Tridam, Cadeir finds enjoyment in the silence, the color and faint shades of the greenery, and the new places to be found. Adventure and the excitement of new horizons had built a fire called curiosity, one that wouldn't be easily quenched. The depths of his inquisitive nature astound him at times- he had never once entertained the thought of travel or foreign experience- not since meeting his true family- not since making a life for himself. It seemed the Ultimatum had made deeper ripples in the still waters of his self than he had once believed- ripping open that contentment like a bloated rotfiend's stomach.

It had always been there, under the surface, a part of him knew that. Yet he still finds himself surprised by the way his feet find the path so familiar.

Some days, he thinks back on how Alma and Larnell had taken take his abscence, did they miss him? Hate him? The questions and subsequent guilt dog him, even into slumber.

He doesn't try to make friends; they're not easy to keep for a wanderer, but when he does, he guards them with a ferocity befit a starving bear and the loyalty to rival a good hound. Sometimes he wonders whether he's making up for the friends he left behind.

Appearance: Cadeir had been pushed around as a kid because of his size, slighter than the starved mutts that hung around Tridam's back alleys. An apt description, actually. He had enough fire to make up for his size though and his attackers most often ended up as battered as he was. As he grew, his lithe form filled out, manual labor from the jobs he would take up helped build his musculature until he became broad-shouldered and lean-limbed. Years in the sun bronzed his skin, complimenting his thick dark hair and the bright glare of his pale blue eyes. The odd jobs Cadeir had performed helped him gain an arsenal of tricks with a blade- learning further under the tutelage of an old Nilfgaardian drinking partner- who he suspected had once been a knight of rather high renown, once upon a time. Those odd jobs had also been the cause of a few accidents which left their fair share of scars.

His are mostly faded and thin- scattered across his shins, back, and hands- from hard life on the streets and tasks he had once taken as a bruiser. The worst wound he had gained had actually been a training accident- his first try with real blades when it came to sparring with his mentor. The Nilfgaardian had had a few drinks just before and his hand slipped on his sword, slashing a long, shallow line across Cadeir's face. It healed oddly, so the scar remained.

His wardrobe hadn't much included armor, at least not until he began traveling. He favored cheap but durable clothing; workmen's shirts, thick pants, and his old worn boots. The armor he picked up on the road consisted of what he could cobble together with what little coin he had and what he could scavenge from... unfortunate bandits. A rough leather doublet layered over a blue padded tunic, his pants tucked into steel-toed boots with scuffed steel plates covering his shins and the sides of his thighs.

He dressed like the bandits he despised, ironically enough.
"We are Harbinger."

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Re: [Req] The witcher

Post by WackyQuacky » Sat Jan 18, 2020 2:41 pm

Name:
Celestria Loveday

Race:
Witcher

Gender:
Female

Age:
25

Background:
From the day she was brought into the world, Celestria has be abused and unloved by both her parents. Broken down from a young age, she had been driven near to insanity by the loneliness she endured as she pushed from her home every morning with nothing but a rag dress and a tin, forced to bet for coins that she would never see. During the days, she roamed the streets, betting for money from every sympathetic soul she could and during the night, she would return him to her father and mother, people who would beat her if she didn’t bring home enough money. Seven years of torment passed like a painful, never waking nightmare, suffering every weather to beg for parents that never loved her and saw her as a tool to earn money until one day she returned home to men ransacking her house for everything they could. Her father had never been an honest man, stealing and promising things he had no intention of keeping. Now, the house she had felt trapped in for the first seven years of her life was being torn apart in front of her eyes and somehow, she felt free; Felt like that section of her life was ending even through the man who left bruises across her skin still stood, screaming profanities at the men and trying to drag them from his house. Before he had even noticed his daughter was there, she turned on her knees and ran as fast as she could towards the town, clutching the metal tin in her hands as she sprinted. Freedom spread in a smile across her face as she ran, ignoring the pain in her feet as stones from the rough cobble road stabbed through her tattered shoes. Her hair flowed out behind her in tattered ribbons in the dusk wind, the smell of baked bread and evening dew seeming so much sweeter that evening than it ever had before.

She was so overjoyed by the possibilities that spread out before her eyes that she was blinded by where she was going. By the time she had come to her senses, she could no longer see the outskirts of the village beyond the peaks of the rolling hills that lay dark under the veil of twilight. The silver coins in the small tin can rattling seemed to fade into a deafening silence as she stood still in the middle of the dirt road. Even at a young age, Celestria had been worried by those around her about what lies beyond the confines of the village; Drowners, Nightwaiths and alghouls that killed sheep and cattle that wonder too far. The cold chill of the night flooded over her and sent chills down her spine. Hugging the tin to her chest, she sprinted towards the nearest tree, tucking herself between the gaps of the roots as best she could as howls echoed in the distance. A child’s imagination can be a wonderful thing but at that moment, the most terrifying creatures of the night crawled through her mind like they were already there, sinking their fangs into her subconscious where they stayed, plaguing her dream throughout the night for the brief seconds she could close her eyes.

As the morning broke, the monster in her head barely dispersed with the coming of the sun. Celestria’s head felt foggy as her body uncurled weakly from is ball and crawled from the gap that had been her shelter from the bitter nightly winds. The energy and joy that coursed through her veins just the evening before was replaced with fear and regret. She through about returning to her father and mother, despite being beaten and starved, at least she wouldn’t need to worry about monster attacking her in her sleep. Overwhelmed by the emotion in her heart, she pressed her head down to the grass by the knees and wept into her skirt, wishing for someone to help her although she saw no one along the road.
Through the sobs and wails of her cries, she felt a hand touch against her shoulder, the grip rough but nothing she wasn’t used to. Lifting her head from the grass, she looked into the eyes of a lady, her auburn hair curling around her face as she smiled down at Celestria. Her voice was calm and inviting.

“Sweetie, are you lost? Come with me” With her eyes glazed from the tears, Celestria followed her without question, finding peace with the woman even without knowing a thing about her. The two walked for a while, time passing by with no real reasoning as a daze of dark purple seemed to engulf her vision and replace the dirt road that spanned out before her with the walls of a broken castle. Around them stood men and women with swords and axes, striking mannequins with force and watching them crumble and break. While looking around in wonder, the lady took Celestria to a man standing with his arms crossed as he surveyed the fighters.

“I found you a new recruit.” His eyes looked downward towards Celestria then back to the lady, no emotion showing on his face.
“She seems weak already. You want your gold so badly that you don’t care what happens to her?” The woman nodded and passed Celestria’s hand over to the man, snapping Celestria from her dazed stare at the fighters. With a sign, the man took a few coins from his pocket and passed it to the lady, shoved them into her pocket. Celestria was then dragged though castle walls, panic washing over her as the huge castle doors shut behind her. The trails of grasses felt like fire through her veins, twisting her mind and beating her body worse than any whip across her back. Screaming and begging would not make it stop as it went on for what felt like months. Never being able to sleep from the pain that broke her spirit and poisoned her blood.

When she emerged from the castle, she was broken, her skin no longer looking alive and her eyes no longer their emerald colour. At seven-year-old with no emotion behind her eyes, skinny as a stick and with knowledge beyond her years. The pain had dulled but the happiness she once felt hadn’t returned. Straight from the torture of the trial into training without a second for her muscles to stop their aching, she was given a sword and told to fight.

After years of training, a twenty-five-year-old Celestria had grown into a beautiful lady, taking missionary requests from anyone and everyone, be it monster or human targets. There she stood, a Witcher with a cat pendant hanging from her neck and two swords on her back. An emotionless mutant compared to the innocent child that died eighteen years ago.
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Personality:
Celestria is like your typical Witcher in most regards, an emotionless killer with very little wants or need in life. Without the feelings of hunger, tiredness, pain and lust, she would be nothing but an empty shell of a person with a sword attached. She has more morals than others in the School of the Cat, with limits on who she would target, excluding children and pregnant women.
Her swordsmans skill exceeded the expectations for female witchers and especially one of her stature of fragile form when she was a child. It was easy for her to beat many of those from the School of the Cat, becoming known as the Panther of Novigrad.
The only thing she has ever really cared about was her horse Freya, a beautiful black mare that stood as tall and proud as Celestria and loyal to the core, refusing contact with any other human. Celestria looks after Freya more than she cares for herself, spending money on anything that she though Freya would like and decorating her to the highest standard. Celestria is rather wealthy, considering that she will take jobs that not many other would, and wearing the highest-grade armour and weapons.

Appearance:
Her emerald eyes that she had as a child have been transformed from the trials into those of the Witcher, that iconic golden cat eye that now matched her blonde locks. On the back of her completely black armour, she carried the silver and steel swords.
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Last edited by WackyQuacky on Sun Jan 19, 2020 10:45 am, edited 1 time in total.

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Re: [Req] The witcher

Post by lowlaville » Sun Jan 19, 2020 9:34 am

Name: Alaric Aamon Branwen

Race: Higher Vampire

Gender: Male

Age: 2000+

Appearance:

Image
Background:

Like many of his kin, Alaric appeared on The Continent during the conjunction of spheres, and became one of the few Higher Vampires that were trapped and did not return home 1500 years ago. Where he was from, he was a relatively ordinary existence, but the Continent was of a contradictory nature. As chaos engulfed the continent and the lesser factions including humans vyed for Supremecy, the Higher Vampires like Alaric who were used to an existence of solitude continued to exist as they normally did.

Personality:

Alaric is perhaps a bit too fond of humans, choosing to live, eat and dine among them. Lesser beasts drew attention, unlike he. Alaric is the shadow that you feel on your back, he is the whisper in your ears and nothing bad ever happens in his presence, that is to say, he is clean, willfully cunning, never leaving a trace of his victims to be found. Witchers were pesky of course, and that's why he wouldn't let anything draw attention to where he lived. And by the time he was done with a settlement that could take a few human generations, there was no one left standing to speak of it, not even bones, just walls and roofs, desolate, empty and often ripe with loot for those to come afterwards.

Powers: (excerpts from wikipedia)

Physiology:
True higher vampires can look exactly like a human being and can even evade detection from a witcher's medallion, only revealing themselves at their own convenience. Higher vampires are also incredibly intelligent, and possess numerous - and often individual - abilities. Unlike their lesser cousins, higher vampires do not need to drink blood to survive; however, the consumption of blood offers an experience not unlike the consumption of alcohol.[1]

They have an ancient and distinct culture, but the exact details are well hidden from the gaze of mortals. What can be said for sure, however, is that all intelligent vampires celebrate the full moons as an important holiday during which they tend to raid villages and get drunk on blood.
Combat Ability:
An exceedingly rare opponent for a witcher, higher vampires possess nearly unmatched strength and intelligence among all foes one could face. When they are transformed into their bestial state, evasion is key to surviving the encounter, but this is made difficult due to their speed. Higher vampires also favor striking while invisible, appearing only when they are an eye blink away from sinking their claws into a victim.
Classification(s):
Many experts include alps, mulas, katakans, bruxae, and nekurats as members of this group. These species indeed possess several unique traits not shared by their lesser cousins, and thus are commonly called higher vampires. They are resistant to sunlight and most can mask their true natures and pretend to be human, which aids them in hunting or evading pursuit. Many are also capable of transformation and possess telepathic powers, making them formidable foes. Despite all these abilities, however, they are not true higher vampires.

Genuine higher vampires are a separate, extremely powerful breed, commanding great powers are sometimes unique to particular specimens. They are masters of the art of camouflage and in most cases appear nearly identical to humans. Only their their teeth, and the fact that they cast no shadows and have no reflections in mirrors, can reveal their true nature. I have even met one higher vampire whose presence did not trigger a reaction from my witcher medallion. Besides being supernaturally fast and agile, higher vampires can also assume the form of a giant bat, become invisible, and use their gaze to mesmerize their victims or put them to sleep. They are invulnerable to sunlight, fire, and silver, and have unbelievable regenerative powers which allow them to return to life even after beheading, dismemberment, or incineration- though in such cases the process may take many decades.
Unique Trait: Chaos Manipulation
Alaric's unique trail allows him to manipulate the chaos that flooded all worlds during the conjunction of the spheres. He requires no chants and there is no casting delays in his spells, only requiring to keep two things in mind, what he want and what he offers in exchange. The law of equivalent exchange means Alaric doesn't often use magic. His abilities as a higher vampire is often sufficient enough to defeat even the strongest foe. He reserves his magic only for such a time that he needs to teleport away untold distances.

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Re: [Req] The witcher

Post by WackyQuacky » Sun Jan 19, 2020 10:46 am

I'm going to post a starter in the roleplay. Anyone who hasn't posted a character sheet yet can join in when it's up

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Re: [Req] The witcher

Post by lowlaville » Sun Jan 19, 2020 12:04 pm

WackyQuacky wrote:
Sun Jan 19, 2020 10:46 am
I'm going to post a starter in the roleplay. Anyone who hasn't posted a character sheet yet can join in when it's up
Cool, will wait for it!

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Re: [Req] The witcher

Post by WackyQuacky » Sun Jan 19, 2020 1:22 pm

That's my starter posted up

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