THE LIE ~

NAME. UTP AGE & BIRTH DATE. 25+ SPECIES. Witcher FACTION. UTP. OCCUPATION. UTP.

They told you that you had to hunt for magic; they never said you had to be good, and they never said you had to be fair. This power suited you and if the law said that you couldn’t have land of your own, or a title, then all you had to do was find a way around it. That was where you excelled; maybe you couldn’t lie, but that didn’t mean you didn’t know how to say what people wanted to hear. You got your land, you got the house, and you were in the business of fear so you made sure that those around you and those under you kept their lips sealed. Your exchange was fair, they didn’t die, and their family wouldn’t go to the mines so long as they didn’t do anything too loud. When others came knocking, they saw a trusted ally, a fellow witcher who understood the kinship that came with being a poisoned fiend. Bribes came in handy when other methods failed; your nation put you through hell and dragged you back to the other side. Fewer and fewer went into those trials, and so fewer and fewer emerged from generation to generation. The fact was simple: witchers didn’t go to the mines; Iskaldrik needed you a lot more than you needed them, so they could slap your wrist all they wanted. That land you worked for, the stately house, in a fortnight, it was gone; swept away by the sort of monsters you hated by virtue of your training. Witches. Mages. Whatever the Aetherians had called themselves once, they took your home, and this was an unkindness you would someday repay.

CONNECTS

N/A.

NOTES

TQH: Troupe 1 - Refugee

THE GAZE ~

NAME. UTP AGE & BIRTH DATE. 25+ SPECIES. Witcher FACTION. UTP. OCCUPATION. UTP.

Worthless child. Stupid kid. Unwashed urchin. You heard it all before you remember knowing your name. The gutter was where you were born; they might have taken your hands for thieving and picking pockets to get by had magic not manifested around you. A whisper that roared into a scream when the witchers dragged you to their tower; there, you tossed and turned as they dripped poison into your veins. There, you killed the heart of the gentle creature to cut out a werewolf’s tongue, and there you grew up as the children growing alongside you died one by one. Witcher. Thug. Brute. Iskaldrik hadn’t given much thought to what you’d be when you completed your training; they didn’t care what sort of person was left because you were hardly a person. A shell and a weapon, less a heart and more something broken. Their name came to your tongue like a whisper and a prayer; they looked at you and saw more than the monster tied to your title. They didn’t know the child within who still had dirt under their nails, who’d never known what it was to taste something prepared with love. Your life together was a secret thing, you’d had secrets before, but this one was personal, giving you so much to lose. They were the closest thing to a family you’d ever had, so when Aetheron attacked, and you saw magic reduce them to ash before your eyes, there went the only person who ever saw you as more. There went your reason to be good and your reason to be kind.

CONNECTS

N/A.

NOTES

TQH: Troupe 1 - Refugee

THE SWORD ~

NAME. UTP AGE & BIRTH DATE. 25+ SPECIES. Witcher FACTION. N/A OCCUPATION. Kingsguard

Noble son of Yggdrasildal. Your parents were important enough to stand alongside the High King himself; you were a friend to the children of the court, and together, you were all just kids. Kids who barely knew what it meant when magic fluttered about you, but your parents knew. You’d seen magic amidst the royals with your own eyes, but you kept your tongue tied, their secret kept. Whispers tied you to your parent's curse, only a witch could birth a witch, so your father was sent to the mines and you were pulled elsewhere. In later years, you’d learn your mother remarried, someplace far away from the Court. Some place where she didn’t have to carry the weight of your crime. Poison flooded your veins, pooled like fire in your heart as they scorched away what could have been and replaced it with what was. Those who couldn’t cut it, didn’t; they died screaming in their beds, and some nights, you thought that death would have been kinder. Magic was a danger and a threat, one that needed to be hunted and found. You knew that; you knew how the elvhen could creep in in the dead of night to poison children. Monster hunter and beast slayer, you saw the brutality of orcs, the uncontrollable nature of banshees, and the wild of magic left unchecked. Mana had broken the world once, you rose as a silver blade to stand against it. Prowess and loyalty placed you at the side of the King himself, his protector, even when he took to lying ill and dying. Vigilant and hunting, Aetheron struck, and you saw your charge protected, your noble purposes forever unfinished.

CONNECTS

THE VIPER: Graduating class

NOTES

TQH: Troupe 1 - Refugee