Appearance:

Name: Ingar Tuirseach of Skellige
Age: 37
Race: Human
Nationality: Formerly Skellige, banished unjustly

Personality:
Ingar of Clan Tuirseach tries to be a decent person when possible, which fate has given him little chance to be. He prefers the quiet solitude of a library or reliquary, delving into the past exploits of both heroes and legends, and the unsung men, women, even supernatural beings that shaped the world of today. Eager to share his findings and theories of both the past and present, he sometimes comes across as a bit excitable when it comes to such scholastic pursuits, and his sometimes unusual or unpopular theories might create friction between others and himself. Outside of such places of learning and knowledge, Ingar generally remains quiet, near the back of any group he might find himself with and reading or even writing in his journals, whichever is more feasible given the mode of transportation being used. He seems almost cowardly, shirking at the idea of fighting anything, seemingly unwillingly dragged into whatever trouble their might be, usually at the appeal of exploration overruling the sensibility of avoiding violence.

Ingar has a scathing hatred for Witchers, which he desperately tries to contain when in their presence, completely aware of the fact that they are not all the same but still wanting to submit to the ever so human concept of blaming the whole for the actions of the few. It is not for what they are that he hates them, but what their kind had done to him, a common misconception that most seem to get when they become aware of his feelings towards the aberrant humans. It takes considerable effort to not constantly remark, in negative light, towards such humans, loath as he is to call them as such, and it would not take much for him to lash out against them, using all his accumulated knowledge on them against them, as best as he could against such fearsome fighters. It would not take much to see his hatred of such beings, tempered and desperately reigned in by his otherwise quiet, even kind nature, a painful dichotomy for any party involved.

Ingar feels a natural rapport with outcasts, despite his clan birth, due to his banishment from the isles he had so fondly called home, and continues to do so. Perhaps because of this banishment, but the point stands he feels more comfortable talking and spending time with those outcast by the world, whether they be the sorcerer and sorceress kind that are burned at the stake, or the other sentient, but non human, races that band together to fight for their freedom. He often times spends his travels in their company over the company of other humans or, Gods forbid, Witchers, sharing stories of homes lost and better times, helping them with whatever he can, although this free aid often extends to other humans when they do not conflict with the well being of the other races that he often accompanies when possible, despite any peril to himself.

Flaws/Weakness:
Loathes fighting and combat, near pathological hatred of the Witchers and their ilk,

Strengths:
Near inhumanly quick and dexterous, well trained duelist (from his younger years prior to banishment) focused on ending a fight as fast as possible, incredibly knowledgeable in history, alchemy, medicine, and throwing knives (Learned on his travels for "sport")

Bio: Ingar was one of several sons born into the Clan Tuirseach, and while not in line for any noble station, did not have too harsh a childhood. Allowed to pursue his scholastic desires with little interference, other than his father's heavy insistence on his swordsmanship and dueling, since warrior or no, he would learn to defend himself at least. His early years were happy memories of his father's stern, yet fair, training, his mother spending time in the library with him, and the time with scholars and travelers visiting his father's humble, but fair, estate. His elder sons would march off to serve in the Clan's standing forces, leaving the youngest son to help his family at the estate, more equipped for the mental aspect of managing land then fighting a war. All this changed when their land was plagued by an Ulfhedin, servants and guards turning up dead after every full moon.

That was when a Witcher came to the town that hosted their estate, word of the beast spreading to his ears. He was, unbeknownst to Ingar or his family, a surviving graduate of the Cat School, and was there for other reasons, having taken a job to kill Ingar's father from a rival clan. He saw the chance to kill multiple birds with one stone, and collect quite the tidy sum in the process. He was hired on the spot, and not a moon later Ingar's mother vanished, a victim of the Ulfhedin. The Cat School Witcher was involved, the young man, barely an adult, was certain of it. Because he noticed one detail no one else had, or would listen to. He had arrived with a pair of iron shackles, and they were missing now. He explained it off as a lost item, something the mourning husband turned widow was quick to believe from the seemingly sympathetic Witcher. Ingar would find them planning and scheming like old friends, and he was forced to accompany the two out once the Witcher had found the den where the Ulfhedin had taken residence.

The Witcher claimed he needed the aid of them to hold off the lesser beasts it would summon while he fought the Ulfhedin itself. Ingar had been reading what books he could find on the mutant humans, and was convinced this was blatant lies, something his father, too lost in the honeyed words of the Cat School Witcher. But it was a fierce, long fight, the wolves almost overwhelming father and son as they put their training as soldiers to the test, something his father was proud to see had stuck in his son. The sound of the Ulfhedin finally dying was supposed to bring relief, and as Ingar's father turned the bag of gold over, hinting at him staying longer, the wounded, tired Witcher completed his other contract, lopping the head of Ingar's father off. Coupled with seeing the skeletal, half eaten remains of his mother, with a pair of all too familiar iron shackles still attached, during the fighting, pushed him over the edge and he threw himself in maddened combat against the Witcher.

At his prime, without having just come off fighting so deadly a foe as a Ulfhedin, he would have handily dispatched the devastated young adult. But, even a Witcher's wounds took some small amount of time to heal, and for her stamina to return. Coupled with the mad strength of adrenaline and grief, Ignar was able to lay low the, albeit badly injured and worn out, Cat School Witcher. He took his medallion, as a memento of what happened in that place, and was taken into custody shortly thereafter. Luckily, with only his word left, it was a hard case for the head of Clan Tuirseach to decide what to do with the orphaned boy. But, due to the publicity the event now had, and the obvious, scathing words from Ignar on the case, pressure from outside the Clan left no choice. He was banished, sent away from Skellige forever, only to return upon pain of death or circumstances dire enough to risk such a death. Ignar was devastated, alienated from all he knew, and forever banned from the land he loved. He fell into the company of, upon arriving on the shores of the mainland, exiled Elves that took pity on the mourning human after capturing him and hearing his tale.

Ignar's fascination, however juvenile it might have been, was oddly welcomed as he spoke fondly of his time spent learning and studying, hating the fighting his family so eagerly engaged in for glory and other such things. This step into the door, as it were, would blossom as they crossed with other bands, Ignar's name and face more known among the roving bands of Elves, his company eventually shifting to Dwarves and other races as well. A particularly roguish elf taught him knife throwing, claiming it was merely for sport, but wanting her friend to be able to protect himself from a distance. Ignar still keeps an eye out for her when crossing with bands of Elves, in the hopes of catching up like they do every time they meet. Ignar would not spend all his time in the company of non humans, though, and would spend quite some time working in cities and with humans, avoiding Witchers when word was they were about.

Ignar would seek out knowledge on their kind, though, learning more and more about everything that was known about them, when possible. Ignar would gather an impressive, for a non Witcher, amount of knowledge on their kind and how to best defeat one, hard as that was, and while he hoped it would never be needed, he was ashamed to admit part of him was eager to test that. His sheer knowledge and drive to find more would bring him to the attention of certain figures, one such being Dijkstra who sent his agents to recruit the banished Tuirseach man, far more wizened in his long years of study and survival after his banishment than the wide eyed young man being thrown to the world and its wolves, in some cases literally, and he agreed with little convincing needed. It was another chance to learn of the world, and something as legendarily unknown as the Wild Hunt, well, how could he turn that down, despite the danger?

Other:
Banishment from Skellige weighs heavily on his conscious most nights, keeps the Witcher Medallion of the Cat School Witcher he killed. Really, really does not like wolves and their kind.

Themesong: Die - RWBY Vol. 2

Name: Areir of Velen
(or Aderyngolau, roughly translating to Light Eagle)
Age: 73 (28~ equivalent)
Race: Witcher
Nationality: Nilfgaardian

Name:
Anath (birth name, Namina)
Age:
has no idea, but thinks shes in her 30s
Race:
elf
Nationality:
No idea
Personality:
Anath is someone who enjoys playing games. A need for knowledge she is quick to adapt to environment, and act on what would be the best for her personal interests. She's never been one to sugar coat things. She will call people out, so long as she knows she can make a quick escape. Breaking through locked doors, stealing jewels and exploring the cities are her pass times. Often climbing to the roof tops to enjoy her time alone, a book open on her lap, and a stick of charcoal bringing out her thoughts.

Though she is actually far more intelligent with mathematics and history. She never lets it on, instead to save her own skin she dresses herself as a young boy. Finding that there are many people who treat her better because of appearance alone. "Folk tend to take a boy more seriously than a woman when in this line of work."
She's not someone to loath or love someone based on race. If a witcher came through her doors offering help. She would take it, she knows she can't afford to turn down a hand that she can trust. She treats any lord or lady the same as she would a peasant, if your useful than your a friend. If not, than you won't even gain a second glance.

Flaws/Weakness:
She's hopeless in close range combat, her small stature has made her rely on speed and reflexes. But if her opponent grabbed her she is done for. Telling the truth often gets her into trouble, saying the wrong thing to the wrong person.
Sometimes, too trusting, giving help to the wrong person. Is not the best with team work ever since her brother was killed. Lashes out when cornered. Will usually run from battle. Seen as a cowered.

Strengths:
Quick/agile she is as sure footed on the city roof tops as she is in the streets. A good sneak, and a good thief. knowledgeable in history, mathematics, and basic alchemy, she always has a thirst for knowledge, is good with animals. Weapon of choice is a dagger and cross bow and is a semi good shot.

Powers:
Closest thing she can call a power, is that she is still alive.