Baldur's Gate : The Sword Coast Chronicles : NWN2 Persistent World

Wulfrik, Hunter ever, Hunter after

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.

Where once Wulfrik roamed, wandered in trademark attire that was the blackest of black with wide brimmed hat, in past, followed a sense of dread. The Hunter kept a ledger with information collected over the years about various individuals. Each of their acts foul and underhanded. Many have left these lands or lay dead... but given the troubles in the region. A Hunter's work never is quite done.

Wulfrik stood broader and far more muscular than he ever did. In the eyes of some perhaps still a handsome man. But forever gone is his charismatic presence. Hunter 'ere, Hunter after, preferred to wander as was his want. Listening to those who are downtrodden or forgotten. Siding with those in need. The Coast regained a presence that once was familiar.

The Hoarite Hound's armor, crafted to inspire a sense of dread, along with helmet that surely makes one think more of an otherwordly thing from the plane of Fey,might spark the memory of those who came to know his Fey-given Moniker.

It is said the man is looking to catch up on developments and might be open to invest in new bonds again...but with whom? A tale that surely shall be written among the Sword Coast Chronicles...

Pharaxxes, Ever Vigilant, gratefully eating the stew Wulfrik had prepared within the Halls of the Hunters. Was treated by a Melancholic Wulfrik...words from the heart offered to patient stone and dirt.

In hearthlit Sepulchre, where silent Assuran echoes doth dwell,
a soul sits, lost in it's own reverie,
Murmuring vulnerablilities, it fears to tell

Seen through mind's eye, a state...reflecting well,
Fragmented and whirling thoughts, a dissonant symphony,
In hearthlit Sepulchre where silent echoes dwell.

Symbols cloak the tales of fallen sisters and brethren we cannot quell,
Shadows dance, a mystic veiled mystery,
Murmuring vulnerabilities, it fears to tell.

Romantic dreams of a celestial-borne shell,
Yet we are bound to earthly melancholy,
In this hearthlit Sepulchre, where silent echoes dwell.

A chorus and lament of doubts, a silent scream and yell,
Seeks a soul for solace in poetic symmetry,
Murmuring vulnerabilities, it fears to tell.

In this world where we, sisters and brothers on path where most fell,
Their song playing on in quiet irony,
In this hearthlit Sepulchre, where silent echoes dwell,
Murmuring vulnerabilities, it fears to tell.

((Edit: Bio pic. Many thanks to Rask and Zeikari for the end result and taming AI))

A conversation upon cobbled streets of Baldur's Gate. A Hound and Aela


"Loss...t'is a crushing thing. A man offers only that his view is that it excists as love's darker twin.
One can only feel this deeply, wretched thing if one had something truly special and in it's own way.
This? is very much a compliment towards those who have gotten this from you.
Be proud of this, Aela. Love for others fills your heart yet. You have but to embrace it again and let go..."

A Revelation with bite of devil upon the soul

"A soul is very much alive, sitting on a bench, next to one fitting a man's description. A stone cocoon, to restore and mend. Then only to resurface and unite with the man he described."


Hunter 'ere, Hunter after, cast a rueful smile upon the Seer. Accepting the locket back with white tresses within.

"A Laureate once did state...she was far too eager to see potential demise and boggled the mind as to why he, a weapon against Devil-kind incarnate, was kept at bay to aid a Hoarite pupil..."

Iron gauntlet gripped the locket tightly as he rose to his feet and gazed at the sea, waves crashing against the cliffs near Candlekeep

"This one would suggest not to make that dec..."

As the Seer spoke, so was locket sent flying into the raging sea

"A man's burden no more. Seer. A man's love was true, but this...needless lie? Consider the book closed, forevermore. May they rot together. To disrespect the efforts of all whom were involved...to step with stride of boot upon all their hearts? No. She will hold no more power over a man's mind and heart. Nevermore..."

The Hunter calmly peered at the sea

"Her words...and interestingly enough from Erinyes as well, oft were -You are mine-. A heart is gladdened, A Wispling has no power anymore..."


After grattitude was offered to a Seer proper, did the Hoarite Hound stride forward. A silent storm within his heart, but a chained tether had been broken

When Tennets of Hoarite Dogma no longer only belong to humans...

Piir, Isang and Wulfrik regarded a startled chicken running into campfire, setting itself ablaze and with a cluck falling to the ground, deceased.

Confusion danced upon each one's countenance, but only to be confused further as a secondary chicken chased something unseen, pecking. Company of cat that seemed tethered to Piir, opted to chase as did a Hunter. A cloud of feathers and blood suddenly shot out of nearby bushes, causing the Hunter to draw blade proper...

There was an eerie silence before a dance of leaves and vines began to collect around the cat. Hunter 'ere, Hunter after, having his experiences with those from beyond the veil, did not pause long to collect the cat in arm and hand it back to Piir. The man switched his speech to the pleasant ring of Sylvan and beckoned, asked, for the Unseen to become Seen.

A choir of cackles and laughter is what the initial answer was upon the winds. A vile vine emerged on the spot where the cat would have been, it's barb clearly meant to kill. A pitter-patter of a score of feet then rushed towards fields of dead, and a Hunter gave chase with Piir in tow.

A wand tapped...the unseen being forced to become seen. A boon offered too, to Piir. A nestling of capricious fey, huddled in canopy, grinning far too wide for most people's comfort. One of them blatantly appearing in front of the Hunter.

Words were exchanged, the dialogue offering the barbs from Feykind, angered that a Grove, many years ago, had been sundered for mere use of building and kindle. A need and urge for repayment by making local people suffer. The Hunter offered, verbose, to resolve this matter somehow, to appease. Cease needless slaughter of people who never had a thing to do with this ordeal, their children and travellers.

A blue shimmer lingered nearby the Hunter on ground, a gauntlet moved to touch it...for a Hunter must -See- and -Listen-. A chilling voice upon the wind, scolding the score of Feylings and the one that stood as their "Leader" foremost. It scampered off akin a child told off by it's mother.

Chilling voice reached out a Hunter...words that hinted that it has been too long since a living soul sought to appease and pay respects. A task beset upon Hunter, let trees be planted in region, so that when civilisation has run it's course and has receded, as is the way in this world. In return the offer that people and travellers in region be left alone and not done harm.
A promise that a Hunter is now beholden too...the search for Druidic allies began. A frown and line of worry upon his countenance as a small Rat kept reminding him that nothing may persist in growth in those lands. A thing to look into.



"Spectres and Gods adrift in the wild, mournful wind
Vast cycles unfold across the span of æons
Colossal keeps consumed and left as burial mounds
And even stars will fade into empyrean shrouds"

"Revenants watch from cold cosmic towers
Glimmering eyes of jade bear final witness"

"The trees shall be planted, a wrong corrected. The Tennets of the Doombringer are not reserved for humans alone, Daughter of Winter"

Bridges built with a Court of Cold Touch


There was a first chicken that startled, setting itself ablaze...a secondary, exploding in a cloud of blood and feathers. Hunter 'ere, Hunter after. Stood with Piir and Isang. Perturbed at this sudden violence towards animals. It was later discovered that this was the work of Folk from beyond the veil...and lead a man, with Piir to a location that revealed the small batch of cretins whom were responsible. A conversation was struck, the Hunter knowing the old tongue well of their kind. A promise made, to see them calm and offer less harsh a winter to travellers and locals both. Piir set off to align Sane, to plant trees as per promise.

A week and a small amount of days later, did a leaf, frozen, come to descen upon Hunter 'ere, Hunter after. A puncture by claw or blade within it. Wulfrik, along with Destin, set off to see what the summon may mean, for that is what Wulfrik decided it would be. Marked trees and lumberjack found. A dreadful conclusion made by a Hunter...the felling of that which was promised to be left alone. A sollution found, laced and entwined with promises...trees remained unfelled and a watchful eye remained on the area to sunder those of ill intent...

Against the grain, against the odds.

It already had been a taxing time for Hunter 'ere, Hunter after... it all began with a ritual, borne out of kindness, during the Darkest Red, Crimson of Moon. A gentle offering to the little ones, huddled in shrubbery near Candlekeep, after Beastmen attempted to sacrifice him to the Beastlord.

Beaslord's minions sundered and a warm exchange made betwixt a Raven of that Grove and the Grim Hunter. A ring with hue of deepest blue, a token of recognition. He finally created something of his own. A bond borne of kindness. Something that would grow rather than withered or sundered.

And then? Aela happened. Her anger, albeit understandable but by no means justifying her action, resulted in powerful magic in form of Hellball sent skyward. Insulting a False Thunderer. The Fury smiting the Grove nearby as a retort...it's stones and statues Sundered. It's Guardian, Harrowthorn, but a dead husk now. The light of Wulfrik's ring faded the moment the Grove had been sundered...and his only true Brother in Faith saw. -He saw- the look in the Hunter's Grim gaze. Injury sustained in the deepest of forms as he regarded the destruction...

An attempt was made to have Aela correct her wrong, pay her debt towards the Grove, only to have her end in a yielding which severed her from the Weave. Poetic Justice? Perhaps, but her debt still was not paid to this Grove...

Then, a foul heart, a dark and conniving sort, went as far as to falsely claim he'd appease and silence a storm, by aiding in twisting and corrupting the wounded ground into a foul place of worship. Whispers speak of how the Hunter raged and bellowed at three men...a skirmish that ended in both sides injured and withdrawing. To be followed up upon by a Ritual of Lune and Ryke, aided by Piir and Deirde, thwarting the False Thunderer. A cult of his, Sundered by efforts from all who partook.


And then there a Hunter stood...nightsky and rain adorned the Heavens, as a Half-blood Dragon stood before him. Blackest of Black, Greatsword firmly gripped, after a Hunter made promise to not let him leave after confessing the deaths of innocents. The wind carressed skin...both warriors stood with an eerie calmth, betraying the years of experience either had. But alas, as is such with short lived races...did a Hunter stumble into a well placed feign by the Half-Dragon. The fight lasting not more than mere twelve seconds. Each of these seconds feeling akin a lifetime. Would any have laid eyes on their battle, one could write manusscripts. Steel sparked against steel, the biting into flesh and blood of crimson and darkest dark splattering the forest's ground. The Half-Dragon wide-eyed, for he had not been cut in two hundred years...The Hunter? Wide eyed...for a flash of pain gripped his entire body as left leg flew aside, severed. Balance lost and agony sundering the body. His arm rendered useless swiftly after.

Drifting in and out of this world, Hunter 'ere, Hunter after, was thrown upon the Bridge of the Friendly Arm. Leg thrown upon him, words laced with goading intent...


"That was -great!-, take note of my Mercy, warrior! FEEL that anger! The Hatred! The Pain! FEED FROM IT And grow stronger! I expect you to fight me again. Do not make me regret this!"


"And so it came to Priestess Mirrorshade, invoking the heftiest of healing magic, to restore a Hunter...physically, at least. The mending succeeded, though the Hunter felt disconnected from his body. It had failed him and anger lingered, along with shock of what transpired. Another blow to the psyche...how many more could he take? Meeting with many at Temple of Mystrans, the man left, exhausted. It is said he was looked after by an Elf with tresses of brightest white. Alas, the gaping wound of all that transpired these few weeks, had not been closed. There was but one in the city of Baldur's Gate that had the potential to help a Hunter overcome that. The most humble of souls. A force so strong that she could sunder the Dark with her silent and purest of presences. Akin a wounded soldier whom was crawling to a healer, so did a Hunter, now crawl to her. Small and vulnerable...

(( Shoutout to all my evil peoples who are part of this, Wulf's friends and dear ones and SoulCatcher for making Wulf pick up his teeth from the floor. <3))



"Come save me from the burning
Ride against these dire times
Versus all apathy and disregard
Yielding new hope to all the fallen ones
To all the silenced, to those unheard
A sign of hope in peaceless times
A shining light among the darkest nights..."

A true Hunter never Kneels



"Don't be afraid, I'm by your side
So strong in mind, we'll take their hearts by storm
And no amnesty for all their felonies"

Wulfrik peered at his halberd. It now thrummed with a new energy, ever since he claimed the essence of Hatred from Castus with it and in part, this resonated stronger, at times, within the man. This world kept taking and taking. The Grove...innocent lives. Now one of his dearest, if things would go awry.

Fate was a fickle mistress, yet again. Forced into uneasy, albeit temporary alliances with those he'd rather cleave open and bathe in their blood, than to suffer their breathing to persist. At this moment, there was no other option than to stay on this path. Hunter 'ere, Hunter after, would bide his time...bide his time indeed. Punishment would wash over those, to them as they'd earned...