VIOLENT DEVOTION

basics

full name: olwen rosevear

nicknames: oly by close friends 

age: appears - 30, actual - 73

gender: non-binary (genderfluid)

pronouns: they/she

sexuality: bisexual 

positive traits: incisive, disciplined, perceptive, zealous, loyal, patient, empathetic  

negative traits: dogmatic, vindictive, obsessive, repressed, unforgiving,  cynical, ruthless

place of origin: cidaris

current residence: novigrad

education: aretuza 

occupation: member of the lodge of sorceresses, flower at passiflora

song: madness by ruelle

pinterest: x

biography

Olwen does not dwell in the past, especially that which occurred decades ago, in what they can almost convince themselves was another life. Adopted as the only child into a wealthy port-owning family in Cidaris, Olwen’s youth was soaked in salt-water and sunshine. Her parents, unable to produce a biological child, adopted her from a young, unwed mother whose family wished to keep the pregnancy a secret. As such,  Olwen had always been acutely aware of their acquired fortune in life. If not for their adoption they might have ended up like the waifs their mother pulled them away from— begging for bread near the docks, desperate for someone to care for them. It felt precarious, their life, and in an attempt to feel secure the child was the very definition of obedient and well-behaved. She spoke when spoken to, completed her lessons with an intense focus and dedication to excellence, and kept her emotions deep beneath the surface. And her parents, pleased with their intelligent and cooperative child, made sure Olwen wanted for not. 

They were seven years old the first time their magic expressed itself. Walking near the coast line, the water seeming to reach towards her unnaturally. And then again, with the hearth in their room, the flames matching the rhythm of their breath. Olwen hid it, noticed that the connection seemed to grow when she felt her emotions swell. Once, when the silverware began to rattle against the oak of their dining room table, Olwen bit down so hard on her tongue that her mouth filled with blood. Swallow it down. Repress, repress. But their secret chaos could only be tempered for so long. Eventually, at the age of eleven, it burst forth. It was something so insignificant— a game of gwent with her father. A storm raged against their keep, and Olwen, having always nurtured a competitive streak, lost the game after an hours long campaign. A surge of disappointment and anger boiled up inside them and in response the storm outside grew tenfold. Rain and wind blew through the windows, the fire by which they played grew beyond the mantle, licking at the family portrait above. For all the years that have since come and gone since that fateful night, Olwen has never forgotten the look on their father’s face — the confusion, the fear, the dawning recognition of who and what his child was. 

And their life would never be the same. There were already pockets among the population who found magic too chaotic, too powerful, and thus unwanted. Though the Rosevears were not outspoken against sorcery, they had no intention of harboring it in their home. The once tractable and undemanding child was now unpredictable and burdensome. For all the years of their carefully constructed character, Olwen had seen it undone in a single moment. Pledging to cover the cost of Olwen’s education at Aretuza, and a sizable trust when completed, her parents bid the child farewell and good luck. 

Aretuza, the magic it harnessed, and the sorceresses it housed, were perfectly positioned to fill the void left by their family, and soon became Olwen’s lifeblood. As always, they threw themself wholeheartedly into their studies. Late nights were spent pouring over forgotten tomes by candlelight, and hours bled away practicing, perfecting technique and incantations. She had an insatiable hunger for knowledge, for mastery over the very thing that stole her family, her life. If this is who they were meant to be, they would embody it completely. 

By the time they completed their studies, Olwen was at the top of their class, and known to help those who were struggling. They had a natural affinity for instruction, and knew then that they would not join in the political circus, advising kings and influencing the kingdoms. They embarked on a decades long tour across the continent, further honing their skills, learning what could not be taught within the academy walls, and discovering the complexities of the world. Twenty years ago they returned to Redania to become a rector at Aretuza. Known as a patient yet exacting teacher, Olwen poured all of herself into her students. Lessons were made to challenge and excite them, and though they might not describe the mage as warm, their dedication and deep care for their sisters and pupils was evident. 

When the rumblings of witch hunters and the Church of the Eternal Fire began to grow louder, discussions among the rectors of Aretuza became strained. Some wanted to continue on, others wanted to get the children to safety. Though it was decided that the academy would not close, Olwen, and a handful of others, decided they would dissent and smuggle some of the girls to Novigrad and beyond. Thinking it best to run small groups, Olwen set off with five of their students in tow. But halfway through their journey, a group of witch hunters caught their trail. In an ambush, one of their charges was captured and another slain, and though they managed to escape with three, the two lost souls have never left her, haunting her dreams and waking hours alike. After that Olwen hired a Witcher to accompany the group to Novigrad, and after they completed the mission, the mage returned to Oxenfurt to work within the Lodge of Sorceresses, smuggling her kinfolk to safety. But the person who joined this fight was not the same as they once were. Empathy has been eclipsed by rage. The patience that once guided their hand, now fights the need for revenge. And a ruthlessness, a hunger to inflict the pain they have felt, to do whatever it takes to protect the family that have found amongst their sisters, the magic that brought them home — it rules whatever temperance they had once known.