Aliases: Hound, Wulf, Gargoyle, Cù Sith
Gender: Male
Profession: Bringer of Poetic Justice for the downtrodden.
Faction: Hunters of Vengeance
Accent: Well articulated common. Educated vocabulary, speaks in third person more often than not.
Physical Information
Height: 1m92
Weight: 85 Kilograms
Body build: Muscular, broad
Skin type: Rough
Hair style: shaved sides and back, tied up in bun, Salt and peppered hair.
Eyes: Stone-cold-blue.
Skin: Caucasian.
Body-markings: His torso is riddled in scars, back covered by scars of whippings, zig-zag scar on left side of nose, running down his cheek up till beard on line of jaw. Eye on left has turned milk white glazed and is severely marked by scarring above and under.
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(Heads up! part in post with violence ahead!)
As rain poured down on cobbled street of hamlet, so did wander a Hunter ever, Hunter after.
Lead-lined ledger, ever patient, ever willing to lend it's pages to fill with names and wrongs tied to these names, was caressed by singular digit of indexfinger along it's edge.
Lightning struck and thunder bellowed in stride, the light providing a brief sight of gathering across of the Hunter and naught but the sound of rain upon rooftop and stone persisted for a few beats of heart.
Singular eyed gaze of a Hunter drifted over the four individuals. Whom, in turn, gazed back at the Hunter.
"We ken ya kind, Hunter. Friendly piece of advice...sod off while ya still can, yeah?"
Lips curved into a smile upon countenance of a Hunter before he spoke in a retort.
"A man is aware. Regardless, he stands here."
Singular eyed gaze oncemore drifted over the four.
"Marcus Bannister, Andreas Schultze, Jacob Andor and Smythe Barkley. A man recalls telling them to better themselves after last our paths crossed. Names not removed from lead-lined ledger, in hopes one day a man could when he heard of the joyous day these men, cretins all, bettered themselves. But alas...still peddling forbidden substances to broken youth, still coercing others to partake in deeds dark and even stooping as low as downright murder of a young man who spoke out against them for bothering a lady.
The Hunter clicked his tongue
" ... Wulfrik? Sod who battered Patrick's face to a pulp? We ought ta remodel ya face propah this time.
In dark of night, blades and clubs drawn and unstowed, only to invoke a soft chuckle from Hunter ever, Hunter after.
"Mnnnh, remodel it? Rest assured, lesser beings, there is no more harm to do upon a man's countenance than already has been done by men who actually posed a threat. Why the weapons? Can we not dance instead?"
A fond smile formed upon the Hunter's countenance, as he assumed a dancing stance, as if holding partner proper. To song unheard save in his own mind, Hunter ever and after, began to dance as if in ballroom.
" ... Whot in tha blazes are ya doin' ya berk? Dance us ta death like a faireh? "
A chuckle clamored from the Hunter then as his dancing did not cease.
"Mnnnh, adorable. Do you hear that, dear? The Cretins feel threatened by movement of hips and think t'is an insult to carry moniker of Fairy...blessed be the simple of mind. Care to dance onward together and show these curs their place my Wyssri'piir?"
"Let us, Laywamaw"
To others, a Hunter would be seen as addle-minded. Dancing with not a soul in his arms. In mind's eye of Hunter ever, Hunter after, a man danced with Elven Lady with tresses of pure white. A fond memory indeed. Twirling, dropping whilst catching her dramatically in arms...though, in reality. Large blade was wielded and came to slash viciously upon man after man. Blood splattered and gushed over cobblestone in cadance to music in mind of Hunter. Each movement in dance executed with perfection and grace, until at long last, men of dark intent and lack of betterment, lay dead and broken upon stone.
Rain poured and mingled with crimson. Firm step of boot to be heard, as a Hunter left in silence.