[hider=Louis Hugon] [color=#88C393][CENTER][img]https://txt-dynamic.static.1001fonts.net/txt/b3RmLjcyLjFiOTdkZS5URzkxYVhNZ1NIVm5iMjQsLjAA/ferrum.extra-condensed.png[/img][/CENTER] [hr][table][row][/row][row][cell][center][img]https://i.imgur.com/BnmA85X.png[/img] [color=#807B84][sup]__________________________________________[/sup][/color] [sub][COLOR=SILVER]Louis Hugon [color=#807B84][sup]_______________________________________________________________[/sup][/color] 35 [color=#807B84][b]|[/b][/color] Male [color=#807B84][b]|[/b][/color] Southron [color=#807B84][sup]_______________________________________________________________[/sup][/color][/COLOR][/sub][/center] [hider=][indent][sub][b]▼ B A S I C S[/b][/SUB] [sup][color=#807B84]▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔[/color] [COLOR=SILVER]► [B]Height[/B][COLOR=#807B84] - 1.90 cm[/COLOR] ► [b]Weight[/b][COLOR=#807B84] - 100kg[/COLOR] ► [b]Build[/b][COLOR=#807B84] - Stocky[/COLOR] ► [b]Hair Colour[/b][COLOR=#807B84] - Brown[/COLOR] ► [b]Eye Colour[/b][COLOR=#807B84] - Brown[/COLOR] ► [b]Origin[/b][COLOR=#807B84] - Darrow[/COLOR][/COLOR][/SUP] [color=#2e2c2c]-[/color][/indent][/hider] [hider=][indent][sub][b]▼ S K I L L S E T[/b][/SUB] [sup][color=#807B84]▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔[/color] [COLOR=SILVER]► [B]Alchemist[/B][COLOR=#807B84] - Uses alchemy[/COLOR] ► [B]Tolerance[/B][COLOR=#807B84] - Possesses a high pain tolerance[/COLOR] ► [B] Brutish[/B][COLOR=#807B84] - Impressive physical strength[/COLOR][/COLOR][/SUP] [color=#2e2c2c]-[/color][/indent][/hider] [/cell][cell][b][sub]D E T A I L E D A P P E A R A N C E[/sub][/b] [color=#807B84][indent][i]With a stocky build, Louis is barrel-chested with a slightly protruding stomach. From head to toe he is covered in body hair, ranging from the dark hair on the top of his head which he combs back, thick eyebrows and a prominent mustache. More often than not, Louis has faint stubble around his jawline which rapidly devolves into a beard if he cannot get his hands on a razor quick enough. His nose is ever-so-slightly crooked and the lines on his face appear to be from decades of frowning. His body is littered with disfiguring scars that fight for prominence over his flesh. Just under his left buttock is a horrid purplish dent which oozes sickly fluid from time to time. He keeps this scar bandaged. His style can best be described as ‘unkempt and indifferent’. More often than not, Louis wanders the lands in dirty clothes. Bathing is a luxury for the idle, and Louis gets his hands dirty far too often to prioritise his cleanliness. He always has a distinct odour about his person that faintly reeks of rot, but it only comes up in certain winds and climates. His armour is a touch more hodge-podge than a professional, custom-made kit; a mixture of chainmail, metal plates and leather padding makes up a heavier but adequately mobile armour set for a more combat-oriented lifestyle. He keeps the functional parts as clean as he can keep them; his weapons are maintained well enough and the joints between the plates get scraped clean of the gunk that accumulates from fighting monsters. Divine knows when the cuirass last saw a good bath, and Louis tends to just buy new underclothes when the old ones become dirty beyond recognition. [/i][/indent][/color] [/cell][/row][/table][color=#2e2c2c]---[/color][b][sub]P E R S O N A L I T Y[/sub][/b] [INDENT][color=#807B84][i]Above all else, Louis is a humbled man. He's acutely aware of his limits and keeps an open mind. He approaches most challenges with an inquisitive nature, and his ample patience allows him to carefully pick apart any conundrum he sets his sights upon. He is soft-spoken and errs towards compassion, but understands the treachery of the swamps requires a firm hand and an air of scepticism towards strangers. Contrary to many aspiring wardens, Louis prefers peacefulness and introspection and in an ideal world he’d have settled down and had children. The swamps are not kind to idealists, however, and because of the way his circumstances changed, Louis was quick to change tact. It was Louis self esteem that was most afflicted by his disfiguring scar. Subject to the rumour mill, harrowed by the idle pains that it drew out of him and forced to care and clean for the wound by himself, Louis started to see himself as both a protector and an expendable asset. He worked hard to recover from his injuries and then some, but he did it to feel useful and wanted. He was shy and self-conscious of his appearance, so he began to make himself look menacing to detract from the slim possibility that one would notice his scar. He craves re-acceptance back into his old life with his old friends and his family, but is wise enough to know that he needs to move on. Because of this he is akin to a gentle giant; solitary and wary of strangers, understanding of another man or monster's plight, but capable of extreme violence if necessary.[/i] [/color][/INDENT] [color=#2e2c2c]---[/color][b][sub]O R I G I N[/sub][/b] [color=#807B84][INDENT][i] Sometimes, there is no definitive moment. Sometimes, a man just wants to make the world a better place. Louis was born in the sizeable townstead of Darrow, and oft found his father's fishery business beleaguered by slimy creatures that long ago discovered it was easier to gnaw on the heaps of dead fish on the pier than to chase and catch a single live fish in the lakebeds. When the wardens tried yet failed to cull their number, Louis started to look at the problem from a different angle; by leaving a smaller basket of the day's haul out for the beasts, his family could choose how much to give them; being primarily aquatic they were loathe to venture further into the settlement and would only devour the offerings left behind. The fishery flourished without the uncertainty of lost stock, and could prepare themselves accordingly for the breeding seasons and the icy winters. The creatures went hungry, but it kept their population down. The ones that tried risky ventures such as snatching babes from the shoreline or attacking washerwomen on the sands were swiftly dealt with, leaving the fat, docile ones that simply waited for their next meal. The other tradesmen followed suit but the surplus of coin generated in that interim had put Louis' family in a comfortable position. It was the success of this compromise that began Louis' preparation to become a hunter - not for the fame or the glory, not even to slay monsters, but to provide long lasting, sustainable solutions to supernatural problems that plagued the Southron confederacy. Louis certainly had the means. With the disposable income, his parents could afford tuition for their son. When he wasn't poring over books, he was bulking up since his diet was primarily protein from fish and there were plenty of opportunities for manual labor in exchange for coin. He replaced broader education such as geography and history with more pragmatic fields of study and during his teenage years he’d never be seen without his bestiary in one hand and spade in the other, helping the old widow down the street with her garden. Since he was not too foolish he also studied alchemy - at least, the absolute basics of it - to cover himself if he ever received an injury or needed some sort of remedy to a sickness. But he was spread thin and only received a meagre understanding of all of these things. The only toils that blossomed during puberty were his compassion and his physique, becoming a bulky young lad eager to make a difference. For a time, Louis’ fledgling career went passably well. Morsfield and Dalen’s Well began to recognise his face, and he wasn’t too hasty in making a name for himself so he kept to small contracts and would give back the advance payment if he suggested to bring in the professionals instead of relying on his limited skillset. He saw his own fair share of setbacks - thieves and bandits that would snatch his belongings whilst he was trudging through the marshes, and a litany of petty wounds, splinters, scratches and sprained ankles that came with the rough and tumble of going toe-to-toe with some of the minor creatures in the wilds. His greatest achievement, in an ironic twist of fate, similarly became his worst mission of them all. Nine years ago, Louis was tasked to investigate a presumed haunting; a job that he would have typically left to the Wardens had he not finished researching banshees and ghosts just two weeks past, and believed himself ready to expand his capabilities through practice. An endeavour into the spectral side of the swamp would have been an excellent addition to his repertoire and most ghosts, when they are not malevolent, can be reasoned with. What he found in that derelict manor was not a ghost at all but a demon. Louis fought the creature off to the best of his abilities using salt and what little blessed trinkets he had on his person but not before it inflicted a terrible wound upon the back of his thigh, just below his left buttock. He took the head as a trophy and the rumours rippled across the confederacy. The victory was a fluke and the consequences were grievous. Were it infected, Louis would have fared better. The demon’s final bite was cursed; the flesh never fully healed, and the affliction would not spread but cause him pain and torment ever since. For almost a year he was out of commission, trying in vain to rid himself of the curse. The bite would weep purplish ooze incessantly and send dull, aching throbs throughout his body. Louis had to rely on his alchemy to lessen the pain and cover the stench but no mage, witch, or priestess that he came across could find any way of removing it save for digging out large swathes of muscle from his leg. For a while, it seemed like Louis’ career was over. By next spring, he had returned to his duties. Though he wasn’t as spritely as he was prior to the injury, Louis had developed a tolerance to the pain and found ways to manage the symptoms. If anything, it had only hardened his resolve. He lived and breathed for the work as a means of distraction. He was no longer so naive and forgiving, as the twinges of irritation had soured his mood a little. But he was stronger now for he could withstand hardier blows and take on larger monsters; after all, what could possibly match up to a demon? It was perhaps not his previous experience as a monster hunter but his dedication to the craft that had caught the eye of a Blackwarden recruiter. When given the opportunity to learn from true masters and continue his work in a wider network of hunters, Louis could not have been more honoured to accept the offer of apprenticeship.[/i] [/INDENT][/color] [color=#2e2c2c]---[/color][b][sub]E Q U I P M E N T[/sub][/b] [color=#807B84][INDENT][i]A basic set of alchemical supplies and tools. A longsword. A mace. A silver dagger. His patchwork armor. A hooded, waterproof cloak. A standard southron bestiary. A small potions manual, with several pages devoted to reagents. Dried rations. A flask of water. Gauze, wound dressing and antiseptic. A half-empty tub of pain-numbing poultice. A flint and steel. An unlit oil lantern. A towel.[/i] [/INDENT][/color] [color=#2e2c2c]---[/color][b][sub]O T H E R[/sub][/b] [color=#807B84][INDENT][i]The curse wound is around the size of his palm. It is a patch of purple, uneven flesh akin to a skin graft. There are five puncture wounds, now only a centimetre or two deep. They used to pierce some capillaries but the leg has healed around them, leaving only these small indentations. Nevertheless, they ooze a foetid mauve gunk. The pain is not too dissimilar to a sprained ankle. Louis can walk and run like he used to but will feel the aches increase in severity afterwards for several hours. The Pros: High pain tolerance, memorised the reagents and process of creating pain numbing poultice, capable of shrugging off minor wounds in combat. The Cons: Distinct scent of rot makes him easier to track, long periods of running or combat can make Louis less agile and speedy in the aftermath, constant maintenance of the bandages and dressing is required or the aforementioned stench will worsen with exposure to the air. [/i][/INDENT][/color] [color=#2e2c2c]-[/color][hr][color=#2e2c2c]-A Template by Load Wraith[/color][/COLOR] [/hider]