Wulfrik von Dunkelwald

[Mausman]

Theme:


Basic Information
Name: Wulfrik von Dunkelwald
Aliases: Witch Hunter
Gender: Male
Race: Aasimar
Age: 30
Profession: Witch Hunter
Faction: None known

Accent: Well articulated common. Educated vocabulary.

Physical Information
Height: 1m92
Weight: 85 Kilograms
Body build: Muscular, broad
Skin type: Rough
Hair style: Long, black.
Eyes: Stone-cold-blue.
Skin: Caucasian.
Body-markings: His torso is riddled in scars.

Gear
Wulfrik is dressed in a Puritan coloured black and white Longcoat. The coat is adorned with plating, protecting the left side of his neck, shoulders, arms and torso. Tall, black boots up to knee are what offers him meager protection, leg wise. However, his boots have sharp, silver spikes at tips at toes.

A broadsword hangs from his hip, it's sheathe reads "Suffer not the Heretic to live".

A small handcrossbow hangs from his other hip, a small quiver with silver bolts is strapped to his right leg. His trademark large hat and cloak make him appear a tad mysterious. His appearance is somewhat softened by his charismatic looks.

----------------------------------------------------

(Work in progress!)

[Mausman]

Nightall, 11, 1352


This area, is a cesspool. Half-blood orcs mingle with their superior races. Tieflings are abundant here as well, certainly more present than they are in Damara. One of those seems to be friendly enough with, even after knowing my thoughts about such bloodlines. As long as he continues to behave as he does now, I have no quarrel with him.

The Order was right, Witches are afoot in these parts, though not entirely as they had thought. They are not akin to the frail and reclusive ones we have back home. These actually require a great deal of effort and skill to beat. There is also rumor of a Coven. So far, I have yet to see proof of this Coven, but I shall keep investigating.

Some lady, claiming to have ties to the local Mages Guild, appeared to be rather concerned about what I would view as witch-craft and how mages are prone to be suspected unjustfully. I have nothing against magic, as I did explain to her. I am here to purge those who engage in blood-rituals and sacrificial rites. I do not rightly care if the local populace agrees with my methods. I shall make it point to keep to myself whilst working, clearly the locals here lack dedication to do the right thing, cleanse with fire, confess through pain...

I have gained a contact here, pleasant enough company. We have agreed to an understanding of working together. Another soul, is a she-elf who appears a tad lost in life. She at least has been somewhat helpful and neutral to me. I found her drunk on her rear-end in the city of Baldur's Gate the other night. I do hope she appreciates the room I booked for her drunken carcass, never have I carried a woman in my arms with such a hammering waft of alcohol spewing from her throat whilst exhaling. I care too much, at times.

[Mausman]

*Warning: Non-graphic suggestive theme at one point. Horror aspects.*

The Path of a Witch Hunter, often starts at a young age...




Wulfrik and Ysseult grew up together as brother and sister. Marcus, their baby brother, every day was in the care of Ysseult, as their mother and father worked the land of the farm. In truth, Wulfrik shared the same mother, though not the same father. Ysseult's father had been married, but plague had claimed her birth-mother. Wulrik never knew his father. His mother did not speak of him other than that he had to go out to war and never returned.

One day, Ysseult took the babe near the local woods and creek. The farm lay rather remote and was not producing enough to last come winter. Ysseult was washing clothing while their mother, Ulrike, took a moment of rest. Wulfrik and their father, Manfred, were working the fields. Wulfrik glanced at his father, whom was sighing as he yet again opened yet another corncob with rot in it's core.

Marcus was crying and Ysseult was trying to soothe him. She always did this by covering her face and asking out loud "Marcus? Marcus? where are you?" only to have the babe giggle in excitement as she uncovered her face whilst saying "There you are, my little darling!"

However...after the fourth time that fated day, the babe was gone, within a flash of an instant. Ysseults face was covered with an expression of pure horror as Marcus was nowhere to be seen.

The days after were filled with their mother's wailing and prayer. Constant prayer to their Ilmater. No matter how hard and long Manfred and his son, Wulfrik sought, the babe could not be found. As weeks progressed, they had given up on finding him alltogether.

Ulrike grew bitter towards Ysseult, blaming her for the loss of the babe. No matter how much Ysseult would plea and try to explain, her mother would not hear it.
Ysseult was given harsh labour during winter and Wulfrik could not stand it. They were but fourteen seasons old together, but Wulfrik made some make-shift torches from their woodstock, saddled his father's horse, grabbed the sharpest knife he could find and set out into the forest, taking their dog, Max, along with him.

Wulfrik was determined to find out their baby-brother's fate, and have their mother understand it was not Ysseult's fault, riding out into the woods. Night came to fall and Wulfrik lit a torch. His search, lead him to a ramshackle hut, which had smoke coming out of it's crooked chimney. The door opened slowly with a creak...Wulfrik's breathing became shaken.

A woman, dressed robes that revealed all of her comely shapes and curves, came out of the doorstep and smiled at him oh so alluringly.

The sensation in Wulfrik's stomach was one he had never known before...a pull, butterflies...along with something far more primal. The woman beckoned him with a welcoming smile...

Wulfrik dropped the knife. Max, however was barking like mad, for he saw something entirely different from what Wulfrik was seeing...

An old, ghastly looking hag stood there, smirking wickedly at the young boy.

"Come hither, you handsome, handsome young man!"

Mesmerized, Wulrik strode closer, slowly. He did not even hear the yelp Max made when it was butchered by something unseen and dragged into a pit to be devoured instantly.

Suddenly, Wulfrik's gaze blinked rapidly as he snapped back into the here and now, appaled by the sight in front of him as he yelped and flinched back, falling on his rear.

The hag cackled madly and drew closer to him.

"Scream all you want, my dear boy! you might not be a newborn like your brother, but your life-essence shall aid me none the less! "

Wulfrik frantically swiped from left to right with his torch, keeping the ghastly old woman at bay for a few moments, until she cackled oncemore and suddenly, the torch extinguished...

Wulfrik got up and run as fast as he could, cackles appeared to come from the entire forest. He managed to climb upon horseback and rode off, braches thwapping and whipping his face. He rode until he fell into the darkness of exhaustion...

It had been two days now, Manfred, Ulrike and Ysseult had been worried sick. Ulrike's mental state began to decline steadily, she was certain she had lost yet another child. Never before had her faith been so shaken and tested. Never before was it this weak...

Manfred tried to re-assure her. Ilmater fortuned those who suffer after all. They had to endure...preservere..he would aid them, no doubt.

Ysseult grew angry and bitter with Wulfrik not returning. Ilmater had forsaken them, their farm produced nothing but rotten crops. Her father could not hunt to save his own life.

She deserved better in her own eyes, she too deserved a filled belly, a decent, non-leaking roof over her head, a warm, happy family, a pretty dress...

As her faith began to waver, she began to notice a lady, dressed in black, strolling along the river, at times. The lady did not speak, her raven black hair gorgeous as the wind caressed it, only a warm smile given everytime she passed Ysseult when she was washing clothes again.

Wulfrik had came to after exhaustion had claimed him. Not knowing where he was, he survived by pulling moss from stones, sipping on them for water. He had seen father doing that. He managed to find a large branch, which he crudely made into a spear with a sharp stone he had found. The river nearby had salmon in it, trying to swim upstream, which made them a perfect, near still target. Salmon and moss kept him on his feet, grass and water from the creek his horse. Until he managed to find a roadsign to get his bearings and sped back home.

Dusk set in and as Wulfrik came close to the farm he called home, billows of smoke filled the air and cackles could be heard in the distance. When Wulfrik finally arrived, the entire farm was ablaze. Goats and chickens ran away in panic through blazing fields. No reply came when he cried out for his parents.

A giggle came from his right, which caused his gaze to shift into that direction.



There stood the same hag he had encountered in the forest, alongside Ysseult, who was holding a torch along with a wicked smirk on her face.

"Y..Ysseult? No...why? what...how?"

Wulfrik could not speak, his voice would not allow him, his words came out as hoarse squeeks as his step-sister turned away from him, laughter coming out of her mouth as she walked alongside the hag, whom cackled and gave Wulrik a lingering smirk over her shoulder, as they vanished out of sight.

Wulfrik, overcome by grief and sadness, rode to Valls and knocked on the gate of the Church to Ilmater, where he was taken in as an orphan after his tale.

Years passed by as Wulrik aged towards his eightteenth year. He had taken up a job at the local smithy as an assistant in the shop, learning the aspects of various weapons, though not quite grasping smithing itself. A particular man, called Ulrich von Dunkelwald, was a returning customer. The man brought his silver blade in for repair and sharpening every so often, along with the plating of his armor parts. Wulfrik learned that the man was called a Witch Hunter, the type of people best avoided due to their grim personalities and lack of humor. People who actively sought to destroy undead, witches, warlocks, lycans and other sources of corruption and tied to a secretive order.

Wulfrik grew fascinated with the man and began to gather courage to one day ask the man where one could learn to become a Witch Hunter...

[Mausman]

People of Note, thus far.

Whilst I am not that inclined to write down names, since my memory is more than adequate, for the sake of the Order, I shall describe those of note thus far as I am beginning to learn the lay of the land, so to speak.

A merchant of some renown has been rather helpful to me. He appears to have acces to a Djinni, which goes without saying makes him one that dabbles in bargains with fickle creatures. An incident during a barter, the other day, revealed him to dabble in black arts. He claims to wield them to better understand how to ward against the very dark arts others use.

The man appeared...genuine. There was no hint of lies on the man's face, yet he does dabble in the dark arts...I have heard of hunters who had dealt too long with corruption and melded with the thin line between light and dark. Adapting grim rituals to better slay their targets and put undead to rest. I confess that the idea of it's effectiveness does sound alluring. After all, what makes me different from my sisters and brothers, is that I do not shun doing the unorthodox to do the task we -must- do.

Someone to keep an eye on, be it for usefulness or, should he turn out to be a liar, snuff out.

One of Devil-blood origins also appears to take interest in me. He admitted having a conversation with some Paladins about my person and how they apparantly have taken interest in me. I am not certain I enjoy this interest, whilst they mean well, I do not consider myself a welcome party towards Paladins. Whilst I operate according to my own code, I often find their codes and behaviour...dull. Those that I -have- heard speaking so far, seem incredibly taken with the notion of tolerance towards all races. Despicable, truly. Why they allow orc-filth in civilised towns and cities is truly beyond me. I believe I saw one of them aiding in the battle against that accursed Sembian army. Unfortunate event of being in the wrong place at wrong time. Some referred to me and others as heroes, I am -not- a hero. I simply think it not right to have Mr Mirrorshade losing his inn to a foreign populace. Furthermore, the locals seem pure enough, therefor vengeance against any harm towards them was warranted. Hoar be praised.

However, this Orc, aiding, is likely a stunt to gain favor and further weasel their way into society. I will certainly not fall for it.

A dull and blunt savage Elf is the one who caused the interfering with my barter with aforementioned merchant. He...seems to have a problem with being adressed on rude behaviour and persists in calling others -pup-. Also quick to hint at violence. I shall train him into a decent conversational partner yet, someday.

[Mausman]

Reckoning


- A young man, dressed in a puritan black and white longcoat, stands with torch in hand. The flickering of a blazing fire lights his countenance. At his side, an old man, wearing a long, drab-brown longcoat, adorned with grim relics and holding two severed heads by the hair nods once-



"I knoweth this to be hard for thee, boy mine. But thy Sister could not be redeemed whilst alive, for she hath renounced her faith and hath becometh wicked beyond return. The elderly Witch succeeded in tempting her heart with promises most hollow."

-Wulfrik's jaw was clenched as he watched the body of both his sister and the witch that had caused their misfortune to begin with burn to cinders. A myriad of emotions... sadness, anger, relief, sorrow, coursed through his core, but he could not falter now. He did what he had sworn to do, even if that meant to end his own sister's life.

"My heart knoweth this, Father . Yet I can not deny my heart doth bleed because of this. She, turned to wickedness or not, wás the last of my own blood. May her soul be cleansed by the fire..."

"I loved thee marvelous well, Sister mine. Thy now have met thy fate."

-The old Witch Hunter, nodded, grimly, before he turned on his heel and spoke-

"Prithy, come, my Son , I shall now be thy blood. For even if thou did not came to be of my seed, thou art like my own to me. Thy learning hath gone fast and knoweth I am proud of thee. T'is not an easy path we walk yet one that is required in this world. Shining lights amidst darkness. Thou heart, is brave, for not many dare to walk it. Let sorrow and loss not clasp thy heart, knoweth thy hath set thy sister free from wickedness. Thou hast done a deed of light..."

-Wulfrik inclined his head with deep respect towards to old man as he put his hat back on. With torch in hand, he began to set the abode they had found his sister and elderly witch in on fire, which quickly began to grasp around it, consuming the thatched roof swiftly, as both Wulfrik and Ulrich set off on the journey. With heavy step of spike boots, Wulfrik walked the path alongside his adopted father. The pendant of Hoar dangled slightly as he strode on...-

[Mausman]

(( Disclaimer: Death, loss and possible plot hook for DM's))

The Gaping wound of Vengeance

The sound of a slow thunderstorm echoed throughout the woods. Wulfrik and Ulrich had been lying in wait for almost a day now. Nightfall was upon them, the distant howl of wolves was the only sound that mingled with both thunder and raindrops...


Ulrich had been clear up front. This would no doubt be the most difficult assignment yet. Fellow hunters, in couples, lay in wait in different positions, surrounding an old ruin.

The ruin had been an Abbey once, which had was raided and burned by a local group only known as the Cloven Hoof. They ransacked Churches and Abbeys, killing the people inside, taking the riches, food and anything of use and left it behind, burning.

Ulrich had been looking into this group and learned that their victims, at least the ones not burnt to a crisp, had puncture wounds in their necks. There was not much left to guess after that, other than how they managed to set foot on this ground and be invited? Likely they used mesmerized thralls...regardless, investigation had revealed they had made their lair here.

Orders had been clear. Silver bolts in Hand-crossbows, Blades of silver, holy water, crosses, stakes and torches. Some of the more crafty sisters and brothers brought Alchemist fire with them.

No prisoners would be taken, if a thrall could be liberated, The Order would attempt, but if it proved too dangerous, no efforts were to be spared to eradicate the entire brood.

As night became dawn, the Order moved in, like a pack. The more fleet of foot Hunters, sneaked close and took care of the thrall guards at the entrance. Alas, there was a make-shift wooden tower with a guard posted. A swift bolt ended the wretch's life.

Once the Order moved in towards the entrance, Ulrich peered inside. Darkness, ofcourse...

A torch was lit and the first duo of hunters entered the ruïns. They quickly descended into the darkness, disappearing around the corridor. The next pair made ready to descend once torch had been lit, however, a rumble and pair of bloodcurdling screams could be heard further down. Ulrich's nostrils flared and the order proceeded inside alltogether.

Around the corridor were the two hunters, impaled by a contraption that had shot from out a wall. One of them gasped and grunted as he died, the other had been killed instantly.

Wulfrik felt darkness clutching at his heart, being the less seasoned Hunter among them. He had thought his sisters and brothers invincible, steeled with conviction and purpose, however, this very image hammered his heart with the harsh truth that death, was a very real thing for them as well.


"Steel thy hearts, my sisters and brethren! no time to lose, we hath no element of surprise, this, shall be grim fighting indeed! we push on!"

Ulrich barked the words, as he lead the charge through narrow corridors. Pressure plates triggered every now and then, claiming yet more lives of hunters, thinning the order swiftly, until a hall of dining was entered.

In there, a line of armed thralls stood ready, along with a few vampire warriors, their twisted faces revealed their horrid nature.

Without pause, what was left of the Order, charged, vials of holy water thrown, blades coated with flames, as combat broke out.

In the back of the hall, a slow clapping could be heard. The imposing, towering figure of a heavily iron-clad individual could be seen. It's eyes glowing red in the shadowy back of the hall. A large cloak made it's appearance all the more imposing, along with the huge blade it carried on back.


It emitted an amused chuckle, thought it's tone did not determine wether it was male, female, or even man, it almost sounded as if multiple voices formed the chuckle itself. It appeared rather amused at the display


Wulfrik found himself engaged with one of the thralls and swiftly spun away from the incoming blade. Wulfrik rose his blade to strike the blade adrift from it's swing and slashed downward to cleave the Thrall's opened left-armpit, rolling forward after that to ready himself and take in the situation.

Sisters and brothers fell, as did their enemies. It was chaos. Wulfrik noticed how Ulrich leaped forward with a deep, booming cry.

The entire display, slowed down in pace, in Wulfrik's perception. Screams echoed, darkness again, clawed at his heart. It all began to feel pointless...dread, instead of determination, began to fill him.

(( Those sensitive to depression/melancholic music, don't listen. Ambient Black Metal about the sheer pointlessness of it all, but the music truly captivates how Wulfrik falters in this bit of story from his background))

The Order had been defeated...they could not hope to win this, what was the point? clearly Darkness was stronger here than light. Wulfrik, was frozen in place, trembling and could not but watch as the imposing figure in the back simply drew it's blade and with one fierce strike, cut both Ulrich's legs from out under him. Wulfrik's battered form flew forward and chrashed onto the cold stones of the floor with a howl of pain. He grunted in agony as he reached for both cross and stake, as he attempted to drive the wooden object into the heart of the beast. A pitiful -thunk- was all that could be heard, as the stake made nothing more but a scratch and light denting of plate...the beast doing nothing but laugh as it reached for Ulrich's coat and lifted him up akin to a limp doll. With a ferocious demeanor, it dived it's mouth towards Ulrich's neck and feasted on what was left of Ulrich's blood...

Wulfrik was taken by surprise as a plated boot on his chest sent him flying backwards, hitting a wall. Adrenaline rushed and brought back his alertness, right in time to roll away from hacking axe. Wulfrik reached for a torch, still held lightly by a dead sister on the floor.

With a cry, Wulfrik lunged to attempt and set the cloak of the attacking vampire ablaze and then thrusted the torch into it's open mouth as it shrieked.

Wulfrik, panicked, looked towards Ulrich's broken form, whom, with his final strength, pulled a large bottle of alchemist fire and with tired, agonized grin, smashed it onto the floor.

The intimidating foe then shifted into a form of mist, unable to be seen in the darkness with naked eye, as Ulrich's dying, maimed form fell into the blazing fire that erupted from the shattered vial.

The nearby tapestries easily lit up in it's wake, as did a carpet on the floor. Old, wooden furniture swiftly began to serve as food for the fire, creating an inferno in the former dining hall.

Wulfrik was overcome with sadness, fear and dread, as he turned to run. He tripped during running, but managed to crawl back up and flee into daylight.

He ran, ran as far his feet could carry him, before he collapsed against a tree and broke down into tears, near primal in it's nature, akin a newborn. Fatigue then swiftly claimed him into a state of slumber, only to wake up under a sundown...

Sadness and defeat surfaced and overwhelmed the young hunter again, but enough survival instinct lingered that had him stand up and carry himself back to the Order's tower.

Once Wulfrik reported everything back to Quartermaster Reinhart, The young hunter was granted time to rest. Reinhart was the one highest in rank left, and took up the role of leadership. The Order had to heal from this gaping wound and such would take a great deal of time.

The days following the dread and defeat, Wulfrik stared at the silver cross and Wooden pipe Ulrich once had crafted for him. The pipe was long and it's end was shaped like a bear. It's face had a stern but warm demeanor in it, which reminded Wulfrik of Ulrich, the man who had taken him in as both apprentice Witch Hunter and son. Now, Wulfrik found himself alone again in life, none to call family or close friend, mentor...



The silver cross, Wulfrik ordered to be smelted and reshaped into tips of crossbow bolts, enough for a full quiver, as he swore the Oath of Vengeance. Bitterness clutched his heart, as he demanded a more harsh training from the former quartermaster.

Reinhart agreed and a year passed, until he ordered Wulfrik to him.

"Wulf...I will be short and plain about this. You are assigned to the Sword Coast region. Rumor has it there are Witches afoot there and forming some cult. You will investigate and purge with fire.

Now understand, local law and authorities, will not be happy nor understanding of our code and dedication to the cause. I know you prefer to work alone, but do look after yourself, mhm?

You will keep me informed of your progress there per usual methods. That is all"

And with that, Wulfrik set off towards the Sword-Coast, with little information to go on, armed with his wit, knowledge and beliefs, and a dear, dear oath of Vengeance still to fulfill...

[Mausman]

Clouds


It had been two days now without any sign of his contact. Worry began to show on his countenance. He had heard where she was last seen entering, and tales about women entering that building were told in hushed tones and implication of non-consentual behaviour from one of his marks residing in that accursed building.

Diplomatic immunity...the Hunter knew full well what it meant and caused his mind to work overtime. The Hunter stared at the hearth in front of him as billows of smoke formed underneath the brim of his hat, the faint glow of his pipe could be seen as he took yet another drag

"Stubborn, stubborn girl...now what will I do?" The Hunter spoke to himself, his gaze absent minded, as myriad of ideas swirled in his mind...though a knot also did form in his stomach, when a small voice of fear in the back of his head began to invoke darker images of what might have transpired in the meantime...

[Mausman]

Reunion



It would seem my associate has returned to me...I confess not entirely being at ease with her persistance that nothing has transpired, regardless, I shall keep her close. It is odd how one can establish bonds in new places.

[Mausman]

Contract


I find myself in my room in the Friendly Arm. I am currently under contract of a Lady. She appears of certain standing, or at least certain wealth. Headstrong and a sharp tongue. She required an escort to see four tasks achieved. Thus far, she appears to be an intelligent, cunning and somewhat haughty woman. Not entirely without humor. Be that as it may, she harnesses powers of magic from the blood. I have no verdict as to wether she is wicked or no. As Always, I shall be on my guard. For all we know, this time it might actually be a decent person...

[Mausman]

Mirror, mirror, on the wall

The Zhentarim brokered their truce. If anything, they are on par with the Thayans now, when it comes to entrance to the city. The main difference being, The Khazark enjoying his...diplomatic immunity and his fortress of Sollitude where he can behave as he sees fit, away from prying eyes.


I fear I hath displeased the Harpers by taking my precautions at the meeting. I care little for it, I would not be me had I not seen to it someone kept eye on me to ensure no ambush was about to happen.

Sister Rabbit is troubled, I can see and both sense it. The task before her is one not many envy to take upon their shoulders.

I must speak with Talas, soonest chance...

Lady dear who insists on my moniker, "Hound" hath proven to be a most interesting conversational partner who even dared to be as bold as to take mirror in her hand and attempt to make me look at...all this from another perspective. Seldom do I concede a point to another, yet this time, there was enough mutual respect to allow such a back and forth.

There was a moment of humor that made ice melt and I welcome the chance to work together.

I...understood Katrianna is currently standing as a representative from Cormyr. Some people are skeptical about this. I know not what the deal is, but seeing her in such a role amuses me greatly.

I must meet Sunniva soon as well, give back to her pendant that she hath bestowed upon me to ensure my safety. Bless her. In a world so dark and grim, it would seem I am a rich man after all.

I also must work towards meeting the Darius brothers, unfortunate that I was needed elsewhere, direly, missing their mission I was to partake in.

[Mausman]

Brotherhood



My choice to share hidden talents mine with Brother mine, Talas and a Sister of the Sunite faith, hath been a good decission.

Talas...rare is the sensation that I resonate with someone. His friendship, it is appreciated. His Brotherhood, valued.

The humor we share brings forth a merriment that is sorely needed with all that appears to go on around us. I...understand better now, where his path might come from. Loss of wife, must have cut deep.

I hope Sentinel can mend the situation with the Orc-blood, but if need be, I shall stand and defend brother mine.

[Mausman]

Lessons

A Druidess hath been most pleasant in her interactions with me. Not one, but no less than two lessons from her were promised onto me. I offered her to think of what she would have me to in return.

One lesson hath been an imperative portion on my path. It appears, the Vampiric Cult in the mansion, is led by a Lich. It's phylactery is yet to be found...so it returns time and again. At least now I hath seen how it and it's servants can be subdued.

I must confess, the Druidess hath a captivating presence, commanding even. She hath my respect.