Jarl Coolgruuf

𝔽𝕦𝕥𝕚𝕝𝕚𝕥𝕪: 𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝔾𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕥 𝔾𝕒𝕞𝕖 - Cyberpunk Political Intrigue Roleplay

Petrukov's insistence on a grand entrance had put Kay on edge the moment she heard of the plan and forced her to grab a taxi so as to avoid the crowds. Once there, she toted her gear by hand up to the suite, refusing any help. Doormen and bellmen alike offered to carry her numerous bulky duffle bags, but Kay adamantly refused, even snapping at a young man who made the mistake of trying to be chivalrous anyway. The surly hacker didn't even trust her own employer with her equipment, much less some random shmuck looking to make a quick buck from tips.

It took almost 20 minutes to fully outfit her adjacent living quarters and she still left two bags unpacked; those she left on her bed. From her pocket she retrieved two small pieces of electronic hardware. One she stuck to the door handle on side facing her room. The second she clipped to her waistband before locking her door, double checking the lock, and triple checking the lock was secure. As much as she didn't enjoy the idea of leaving her equipment partially unattended, she couldn't pass up free refreshments.

She somewhat regreted the decision to make her way down to the lobby when she spotted almost the entire election panel (the parts that mattered anyway) all in one place. Her ratty jeans and worn jacket were a bit out of place in a more affluent crowd, but she hoped to fly under the radar even with the worryingly dark circles and heavy bags under her eyes. If there was one thing Kay knew she could count on with politicians, it was how easily they forget people who aren't waving money or loaded guns in their faces. As long as she kept her head down they likely wouldn't notice hired help and leave her to drink horrifically bitter hotel coffee in peace off to the side.

The Witcher: Under the Shadow

Alright! This took longer than I expected, but here he is:

Hider

Art by Cristi Balanescu

Mean Mary - Dark Woods

Renar of the Wilds

Race: Human
Age: 47
Gender: Male
Birthplace: The woods just south of Dol Blathanna
Profession: Spy/Scout

Appearance

A man of moderate height with little fat but a great deal of lean muscle from a life spent in the wilderness and eating only what he can find or kill. Although he hasn't begun to gray yet, his face betrays his age with clear lines and weathering. As a measure to cut down on parasites, he tries to keep his face as clean shaven as his travels will allow. This often leaves him with varying states of beard length that can vary wildly within the space of only a few months. His are a deep, dark green much like his hooded cloak was many years ago, and set in a face of sharp, angular features. Cheekbones that jut out from his face like sheer cliffs and a nose that comes to a blunt point fit well with his angular jaw and gives him a countenance of roughly carved stone.

Renar selects his clothing from a balance of durability and cost. Leather boots, rough spun pants and shirt, and a plain hooded cloak would not make him stand out too terribly in any given crowd you'd find in the cities. What gives him away are his mannerisms. He doesn't speak very much and is prone to answering questions with nods or hand gestures if the question isn't complex. This quiet extends to his feet as well. He walks in near silence wherever he goes as his modus operandi and is prone to accidentally sneaking up on people who aren't paying attention. Another of his off putting habits is his complete lack of understanding for many societal norms. He's often impolite without malice, tactless without ill will, and lacks any form of subtly in conversation. He'll often avoid eye contact even when speaking directly to someone.

Personality

Reserved and blunt but surprisingly friendly... in his own way. Renar has a certain method of going about things and it's worked so far and he likes the way he does things. He is rather curious about many things and the ways of others, he just doesn't feel comfortable doing things the way other people do them. He enjoys the company of others, but you could be easily be forgiven for thinking the opposite. He's just not well versed in manners and more complex social interaction and isn't a fan of crowded or loud spaces. That being said, he tries his best. He even procured a Gwent deck. He's terrible at the game but he finds that opening with an offer of a card game helps break the ice even if the other person doesn't own a single Gwent card. On the job, Renar is dependable and incredibly thorough, often exceeding expectations. Nothing distracts him when he has a task ahead of him and he never relents until he finishes what he set out to do.

The Wild Man has a great affinity for the animal kingdom and is said to be able to call animals to his aid or tame a bear with a look. In reality, he just knows how to interact with most animals in a way to put them at ease, or at the very least not cause them to attack him. He has a great respect for nature and the creatures of the world and has spent many, many years learning how they live and interact.

Despite being almost illiterate, he's very clever and is almost always thinking about one thing or another. In addition, he's very perceptive and notices small details. Together, these two facets of his personality lend him to think remarkably quick on his feet. He may not be a classically learned man, but he's creative in his own way and often thinks outside the box and finds rather unorthodox ways of solving problems.

History

Renar was born in a shaded clearing miles from the nearest settlement to a traveling hermit and an unknown father. The young boy showed none of the same talent as his mother, but he learned quickly the ways of the forest and how to survive far from luxuries such as oil lanterns and agriculture. She taught him how to hunt and forage and even the art of falconry, a skill usually reserved for nobility. They traveled together for several years, enjoying no company but that of the animals and each other. Eventually, his mother grew sick and died. Renar misses her to this day, but it was her time. For years after, he traveled the lands from the Dragon Mountains to the southern tip of Nilfgaard and back. He mostly kept to himself, only stopping by towns to buy extra provisions with labor for especially long journeys. It wasn't hard for folks to pick up on how odd the man is, but he didn't bother anyone and worked honestly for what little he bought so that was enough for most to leave him be. In this solitude he gradually perfected the arts of animal handling and learned the ways of the wild creatures as he slowly migrated south over many years.

He always preferred the quiet and stillness of the forest to the noise and crowds of the cities. All the hustle and bustle of civilization can easily overwhelm him. It was by his 30th year that he decided to settle down in one spot and found a section of forest to his liking just north of the Nilfgaard empire in the shadow of Tir Tochair. Unbeknownst to Renar, this area would soon become a hotspot for military movements. Tir Tochair provided a perfect landmark for navigation in the same way one can follow a river, units could simply keep the mountains to their right and make progress. Renar quickly found himself helping mercenary companies and dignified knights alike move up and down the continent purely out of a desire to get them out of his home. The faster they moved, the less time they spent making noise and trampling all over the nice, soft fields. He just wanted to be left alone, but he would soon find himself suffering from success.

His natural talents for scouting and navigation soon spread by word of mouth and Renar's little corner of the world became an increasingly popular highway up until the Northern War. It seemed every week some Nilfgaard company would come stomping through his home and making a ruckus. He did whatever they wanted him to from scouting to the occasional act of espionage and even outright sabotage just to make them leave. If one good thing came out of the constant parade of sensory overload was the compulsion of some of the officers to give him coins. Renar never understood money or why people valued it so much, but he knew enough that if he gathered enough of these coins and gave them to a blacksmith, he'd give him very nice tools in exchange. A stone axe is all well and good, but it can't compare to the ease of using an iron hatchet.

These monetary goods only offset the annoyance of dealing with soldiers for a few more years before Renar had enough and fled north to escape. Much to his dismay, his reputation precedes him and it was mere months before his services were "requested" by none other than King Foltest. In exchange for a pardon for the crime of aiding Nilfgaard and committing treason against a kingdom he barely knew existed, Renar was ordered to accompany the expedition or lose his head. The Wildman isn't afraid of death, but he'd much rather die from old age than a headsman's axe.

Skills

⯇ Animal Handling ⯈
⯇ Bareback Horse Riding ⯈
⯇ Falconry ⯈
⯇ Navigation ⯈
⯇ Being Terrible at Gwent ⯈
⯇ Wilderness Survival ⯈
⯇ Stealth, Sabotage, and Skulduggery ⯈
⯇ Game Hunting ⯈
⯇ Tracking ⯈
⯇ Trapping ⯈
⯇ Sling Use ⯈

Specialty: His skills as a forward scout are supreme. Terrain and weather seem to hold no sway over him as he moves across the land like a shadow and disappearing just as quickly. Some believe him to be a sorcerer or even a ghost, but he is only a man with a finely tuned set of skills.

Equipment

Weapons:
⯈ Sling

Armor:
⯈ Gambeson Shirt

Utility:
⯈ Hunting Knife
⯈ Dried provisions (7 days)
⯈ Cord (50 ft)
⯈ Falconry Glove (right handed)
⯈ Hatchet
⯈ Whetstone
⯈ Various pouches and pockets
⯈ Water Skin
⯈ Gwent Deck

Other
⯈ A mare with a chestnut coat and no name
⯈ A young hawk he simply refers to as "Hawk"

Misc

⯈ He's not a fighter and would much rather flee than face someone in a direct fight.
⯈ Provided he's not working, Renar rises with the sun and sleeps when it falls. Early to bed and early to rise.
⯈ He's not a picky eater by any means and readily eats overcooked, burnt, unseasoned, and down right bland food with gratitude.
⯈ It's hard to tell because he never writes anything, but Renar is ambidextrous.
⯈ He refuses to touch things without wearing gloves unless it has to do with animals

The Witcher: Under the Shadow

@POOHEAD189 I'll get started on a sheet right away :)

The Witcher: Under the Shadow

@POOHEAD189 In that case thank you for even considering! My idea is a human (non-Witcher) scout/spy type character who lives and breathes for the wilderness. A borderline druid without the magic. He acts as a guide/informant for various armies and mercenary groups when they pass through unfamiliar territory and even does scouting/spy work for the right price. He has a certain way with animals of the non-monstrous variety and has spent nearly half a century living in and exploring the summits of the Dragon Mountains to the holds of Nilfgaard. He doesn't plan to seek retirement any time soon as he assumes he'll eventually die of sickness or a bad fall as the creatures of the wilds do; why rebel against the natural order?

The Witcher: Under the Shadow

If it's not too late, I'm down for Witcher shenanigans

Mobile Suit Gundam: LIFELINE

Dannie's voice dripped with malice and perverse glee as it came through the commlink.
"I want the alarms on. I want them to know I'm here."
Recompense moved into formation with the rest of the assembly, shock spear in hand. The hum of her mobile suit's Franken-reactor could be just barely heard by any suits directly adjacent to her as she rolled her shoulders.

All systems were optimal and she was more than ready to tear someone apart. She blew smoke from her nose as she worked the controls and double checked the harness keeping her locked into the seat. Everything was set, now she just needed something to break. She raised her shield in anticipation and brought her spear parallel with the ground. Her spear was a frightful thing, all cobbled together with a mess of electronics welded to the length of it, the last seven feet or so arcing with electricity as though the weapon itself were hungry for battle.

Dannie herself could hardly wait. There was nothing in existence that brought her more happiness than using her mobile suit. By herself, she was a crippled ex-pirate with no marketable skills that didn't involve violence. When she was strapped into the cockpit, she felt almost invincible. She might not have been a drug user, but she had an addiction of a different sort.

An Earthen Lament

Ragna of Stronghold Hjalmarsson

---

Art by Max Hugo _____________________________________ Ragna ___________________________________________________ 21 | Female | Southern ______________________________________ The Drums Of War Beat From Within [+] ▼ B A S I C S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ► Height - 6'1" ► Weight - 190 lbs ► Build - Athletic ► Hair Colour - Blonde ► Eye Colour - Green ► Origin - Stronghold Hjalmarsson, Southern - [+] ▼ S K I L L S E T ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ► War Master - Tactics And Weaponry ► Strength - Body and Mind as Steel ► Muscle Memory - Fighting Without Thinking ► Wilderness Survival - One With Nature -

D E T A I L E D A P P E A R A N C E Even at a glance, Ragna is noticeably large for a woman being both tall and broad shouldered. Her musculature is well defined and her skin is marked with scars, especially along her arms, that stand out against her fair complexion. Through all this, she still holds a savage beauty with her fiery green eyes and long blonde hair. Her perfectly curved cheeks and soft lips would have made her an easy choice for marriage were they not so often obscured by a mask of bone and warpaint. Beauty is of little concern to her, only the task she was born for. She decorates her mask and hair with dyes made from crushed berries and wildflower. Similar to her favorite mask, what little decoration she affords herself is taken from past victories. Around her neck she wears of necklace of teeth and fangs ripped from the mouths of beasts and monsters who were weaker than herself, but not by much. Her waist is adorned with bones of men and women alike who challenged the barbarian in a way many before had failed to. Her pauldrons are fitted with the horns of great and terrible monsters that threatened the very existence of her people; horrors too great for her to conquer alone. The rest of her clothing is purely functional and everything has a purpose for why it is the way it is. Her scale mail armor is a compromise between the slashing protection of chain mail and the blunt force resistance of plate. She is prepared for everything. Her greaves give her just protection where it is needed most without slowing her down. The pelt across her shoulders is thick enough to provide some protection, but also makes adequate bedding should the need arise.

---_{P E R S O N A L I T Y}

Pragmatic, decisive, relentless, and a bit frigid. Ragna has never known peace, only momentary rest as it is needed to keep her at peak lethality. While not outwardly paranoid, she is always visibly ready to throw herself into battle at a moment's notice. She is assertive without being combative, prepared without paranoia, fearless but not reckless. Ragna was meant to be the perfect soldier, a living weapon for someone else to use and direct as they saw fit. She is not a person, merely a complex weapon rack. A dog that protects the flock from afar without question or complaint. Perhaps as a symptom of her upbringing, she does not suffer weakness lightly and seethes at incompetence. Honest mistakes are one thing, but prolonged or repeated failure without improvement sets her blood on fire.

She lacks expressiveness, to put it mildly, and has great difficulty in social situations that aren't a direct prelude to some sort of directed or cooperative violence. In truth, she's not very social and being at such a standstill that one has time for casual conversation is extremely uncomfortable for her. She may work well with others but she's absolutely abysmal at doing anything besides work.

---_{O R I G I N}

23 years ago, a young Blackwarden by the name of Cristopher lead a band of fellow wardens against a cult of necromancers that had been the scourge of Stronghold Hjalmarsson for the past year. Ásgeirr paid the full price of the wardens' services outright, but made a promise the day before the group departed his lands. He promised them one day he would send them a warrior like no other. A warrior the likes of which the Southern Marshes had not seen in a thousand years and would not see again for a thousand more. He swore on his own life that he would see to it that the Cristopher would receive this warrior as his very own apprentice. Merely wanting to be polite and not thinking anything would actually come of it, Cristopher accepted the offer, much to the delight of Ásgeirr. What the Jarl did not know, was his warden friend would die four short years after this arrangement by the fangs of a ravenous ghoul hidden in the dark of a cave.

True to his word, the Jarl set about crafting a plan to create the perfect warrior for the Blackwardens to mold. He debated endlessly with his war council about the perfect set of skills a lone combatant would need before learning to fight monsters. They talked for hours about the sort of training and mentality such a warrior would need. It was two long years before they unanimously agreed on a plan. The first step, was creating a child born of strength with the heat of battle coursing through their veins. Ásgeirr was a fearsome warrior without equal in all the surrounding kingdoms so it made sense he would father the child, but who would be the mother? His wife, Ylva, while a wise and lovely woman was by no means fit for battle. In secret, the Jarl conspired to make a bastard who would rise to greatness.

He spent two days fasting and communing with his ancestors before they revealed to him the mother of his ultimate warrior: shield maiden by the name of Rúna. She readily agreed to the plan and to keep the affair secret. Only Ásgeirr, Rúna, and the Jarl's cousin and War Master, Hadvar knew of this part of the plan. The cover was the shield maiden's lover having died in a recent quarrel with a neighboring lord. What no one counted on was the startling resemblance to Ásgeirr within months of the child's birth. His hair, his stature, the fiery green of his eyes were all there and Ylva saw. She hated the child and how her husband's time was swallowed whole by his bastard. This had little effect on young Ragna, however as she rarely saw the woman.

As soon as she was able to walk and speak, Ragna was put through training both constant and brutal. Her days were spent strengthening her body and mind while her nights were spent learning learning the art of combat. Some days she was trekked miles out into the marsh and told she could not return until the next full moon. Other times she was awoken in the dead of night with a war cry and thrown a blunt sword to defend herself with. She learned tactics and how to survive on her own against impossible odds. Her trainers constantly reminded her that her purpose was to be the perfect solider, a warrior in service to a great and powerful man she would only meet when she was ready.

All of this training and preparation came to an end on the eve of her 20th birthday. She was congratulated by the man she still did not know as her father and he embraced her once before sending her on her way. It was the happiest day of her entire life, but she waited until she had left the stronghold to express it. A warrior must be calm and collected in all things after all. The journey took five long months but finally she arrived at the doors of Cristopher's stronghold of origin. At first, the Blackwardens didn't know what to make of this strange barbarian covered in bones and dye. It took some time but eventually they managed to figure out what was going on and informed Ragna of her "master's" death. Ragna's entire reason for existing is the fulfillment of a promise made before her birth to a now dead man and she has never fully processed that fact, even now.

Still, she managed to reason that her ultimate purpose was to serve the cause of the Blackwardens and they in turn decided it would be foolish to pass up a recruit such as herself. She had no guiding principals of her own save for "follow orders" and she had little to no knowledge of how to fight monsters other than "hit it 'til it dies". The former point was meant to be a positive, but has become her greatest weakness. She fights within her training and only within her training. Her technique is flawless and her will is unshakable, but if something happens outside the purview of what she already knows she quickly finds herself in trouble. In short, she lacks creativity. The greatest hurdle in training Ragna is teaching her to think for herself.

---_{E Q U I P M E N T}

Weapons

► War Axe
► Grosse Messer
► Throwing Axe (x3)

Armor

► Scale Mail Cuirass
► Leather Greaves
► Steel Shin Guards
► Steel Pauldrons
► Wooden Shield

Utility

► Flint and Steel
► Knife
► Hide Cloak
► Water Skin
► Dried Provisions (7 days)
► Whetstone
► Small Hammer

Misc.

► Tooth Necklace
► Mask
► Assorted Bone Adornments

---_{O T H E R}

As many residents of the Southern Kingdoms are, Ragna is incredibly superstitious. She's superstitious to the point where she keeps a hammer with her at all times to "hinder the dead", as she puts it.

-

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-A Template by Load Wraith

An Earthen Lament

@Inkarnate lmao

So is the discord invite pm'd?

An Earthen Lament

ooooh boy gimme those grimdark shenanigans

Gonna make an apprentice from the Southern Marsh like W A Y south
so far south he thinks the first thing you do to a dead body is knock out its teeth so it can't bite anyone if it rises again. A young man with a powerful aura of boogaloo about him.