Character

[FIELDSET="Stuff"]I'm aiming more on character concept (as a person not a 'class') rather than technical stuff. This is the first time I'll actually stick to the character backstory for the feats and classes. I think that would make it more suitable to RPing.

Good luck to everyone of us. :)
Will edit this post for the application/edits.


[B]EDIT: This wasn't my original app. I hope you were able to read the previous one, since this is just a saved draft[/B].
Today, November 30, 4 pm, GMT +8, while saving the "final version", I encountered some sort of database error, and to my luck the application got erased. :emb
This version of the app is far from complete (and still contains lot of typos and lacks a lot of detail), but since the deadline is today... :(
I hope I get accepted, though.

EDIT2: Now it's finally done.[/FIELDSET]

[I]Abandon all preconceptions, forget all beliefs, and reject all assumptions if you wish to understand.[/I]
-Introduction of the Shadowcat

Name: Wulfric Kain
Age: 18
Gender: Male
Race: Catfolk (Natural Lycanthrope: Weretiger)
Classes: Weretiger 2 /Tiger Form 2 / Ranger 4
Desired Profession: Animal Trainer/ Assassin / Tracker

[SPOILERBUTTON=Introduction][FIELDSET="The Village of Shifting Shadow"]The wind whispers to my ear the many secrets and mysteries that have long pervaded my mind. I grasp my own whiskers, even as the dying moon maliciously invites himself to this splendid affair. Beyond us all, in the midst of a dozen cloaks, on top of a pillar lays a child, a mere infant by my regard. Lit by the dim beams of moonlight, the mark of the slash of a tiger's claws are seen etched on the back of the sacrifice. A flash of light, then darkness. An abyssal roar, and then an unmistakable cry of a young boy.

[I]Even weavers of tales have reasons to weep, my dear friend.[/I]

This is a tale fifteen summers past and sixteen winters done. It was the eve of a new moon, the final whispers before the habitual rest of the full moon. Lights flickered in the distance; moonlight pierced our surroundings. The harvest was bountiful. The children were few.

Ah but for now, a background. Our village is as any other village of our kind, though I must confess I do have my reservations regarding our village name. The Village of Leaping Paws or the Village of the Shadowing Tail could have tickled my fancy, without a doubt. We have wandered the land of Nozdraigh for a significant period of time, and nothing much has changed. The elders have been effective in keeping tradition, however primitive we might be seen by outsiders. It is, as they say, always best to keep out of any foreign meddling.

The village is subdivided into four families, of which the four Elders are chosen.

Every two hundred-and-fortieth rebirth of the moon, the fittest and most healthy village child is taken to be offered as sacrifice to our god. It is always regarded with great pride whenever a child of one’s clan is chosen for the ceremony. It has always been a tradition, and always shall be.

Well, enough of that.

Now, a repudiation! Much could be said about my sanity, or lack of it, as I write these passages. I am known as a weaver of tales, and not necessarily a historian. Have you ever heard of “The Shadowcat”? How about “The Tales of Uvotherin the Shallow”? My, my, perhaps my only comfort would lie in the fact that most, shall I use the term, myths, are in fact merely glorified history. I am highly doubtful the most respected of whiskers shall be pleased were they to read this. I am, however, as many writers of our time, deeply bound to tell the world our story. The edge of my Feline tongue itches whenever I restrain myself from uttering our own stories.
If you know what I mean.

Although, I hope I am able to remember everything.
Indeed, it was both a frightening and majestic sight to behold, that evening of the dying moon. I felt the wind tickle the tips of my ears, and surely that was a sign of good things to come. The three of us that night watched as the healthiest child of the village, a member of my own clan, was lifted up by the Elder Most High and placed on the pedestal shrine. As was tradition, we closed our eyes as he chanted the words to call our god.

Darkness.
An abyssal roar, then silence. The unmistakable sound of fangs.
The eerie music of trickling liquid. With our eyes closed, we were but blind witnesses.

And then, by the nine heavens’ wonderful mercy,
a miracle.
Amid the streaks of crimson, in that clearing in the middle of the forest,
cries echoed.

You could almost hear the fearful whispers of the trees.

Moans.
The bawls of a newborn.


The Elder held the child in his arms, blood splattered all over his face, dripping from his chin.

Children offered to our god never survived. This child with the mark of claws on his back, this mere boy now embellished by the scar of fangs,
[I]How could he be an exception?[/I]

The awful thing about it, if I may say so, is that we still had no idea what really happened. We were innocent, witnesses without question. Then and there, I should have known about Chief Merrsissius.

Now, with the knowledge of all the conspiracies that built our culture, our traditions, with all the lies now visible to me in static clarity, now I know why that was our last ceremony of its kind.

[B][first page of a letter addressed to “Valafar” from “[I]Merthas of the Kain[/I]” (no other page found)][/B].[/FIELDSET]
[/SPOILERBUTTON]

[spoilerbutton=Background][Fieldset=History]
[I]Illusions of magical monstrosities will always exist whenever there is an unexplainable confusion of sorts. Surely it is any being's instinct to blame the supernatural, to give a temporary meaning to an undefinable instance. To give an illusion of progress, it is always necessary to place at least a tag, a working definition to anything. It is only when something is attributed identity do allusions to development actually begin. [/I]

[I]And perhaps, that is their purpose.[/I]

Wulfric was born into the Village of Shifting Shadow, a small catfolk village located in a compartmentalized area between the plains and forests of Nozdraigh. His parents were expecting triplets during his birth. However, perhaps due to insanitation or just misfortune, he was the only child who survived. It was clearly an unproductive season for the village—only one other was born during that year.

Wulfric lived a fairly uneventful childhood. He was an odd child in many aspects, though in ways exceptionally keen in learning. His parents were always very protective of him, and he attributed this to the fact that he was their only child. He had few friends, and most of his childhood acquaintances he knew solely because of his parents. It was during his childhood that he met Sylvia, the only other with the same birthyear. She was the Family Elder Merthas's daughter; she was but a season older than him, and they got along as brother and sister.

He was told long before had the capacity to ask that the scar on his left arm was due to an accident during birth.
[I]Besides, what other reason could there be?[/I]

As he reached adulthood, the age of 12 as prescribed by the catfolk society, he was trained by his father, as many others, to be a scout and efficient hunter for the village. For a period of time, he held this position with much enthusiasm, his mind bounded by the simple economy of his home. He honed his skills, and he showed exceptional perception and wit in the field. He developed an intense love for nature, hunting animals only when necessary. As Wulfric learned the ways of the hunter, Sylvia learned the ways of druids and tale-weavers.

That was before the changes.

During the fourteenth summer of his life, merely two years after his coming of age, Wulfric began to neglect his hunting duties, to the expressed dismay of the community. He developed a gross pattern of mood swings, highlighted by monthly disappearances.

Every month, as the full moon rose over the sky, he unwillingly transformed into a tiger.
Every birth of the full moon gave him new life, life in the literal form of a creature, a life alone for three days each month, a life under the constant shadow of the invisible moon and the pale glare of the indifferent sun. He did not know why.

The markings on his body also changed significantly; the stripes on his body grew darker, more fierce. The mark of claws on his back increasingly became more defined. It was soon obvious to the members of the village that all was not well. Despite concern from the elders of the village, and constant interrogation by his parents, he told no one but Sylvia.

Even the Elder Most High--[I]no. especially the Elder Most High[/I]--voiced out his concern.
[COLOR=Green][I]Is there... something you want to tell me, Wulfric?[/I][/COLOR] asked Chief Merssissius one day, just as Wulfric returned from his monthly disappearance. It was twilight, and they talked alone under the shade of a large tree.
Without looking at the elder, he said, [COLOR=Red][I]I am sorry, and with all due respect, I cannot tell you.[/I] [/COLOR]
The Elder of Life looked at him fiercely, his eyes burning with frustration. [COLOR=Green][I]No, Wulfric. I am sure I will be able to help. Our god has blessed me with knowledge, and I believe that it his Will for me to help you. We both know of your past, Wulfric; you have been, shall we say, granted life by our god. You must not put that to waste.[/I] [/COLOR]

[COLOR=Red][I]Then maybe you would like to go first, Elder. It appears you already know what I am going through. Maybe if our god actually existed I would believe you.[/I][/COLOR] Wulfric looked at the elder's eyes, his intentions clear.
[COLOR=Green]
[I]And now you even question our god?! What insanity has manifested in you, boy?[/I] [/COLOR]

[COLOR=Red][I]I would hardly call this insanity. Please stop this nonsense, Chief Merssissius. You should know me well enough to not underestimate me. You have taken control of our village long enough, and I suggest you stop.
And yes,[/I] [/COLOR] said Wulfric, his hands slowly transforming into claws, his feline face now emblazoned with the features of a tiger, he said softly, [COLOR=Red][I]it does take one to know one.[/I][/COLOR]
The trace drops of moonlight lit the visage of the two tigers as they growled at each other. The smaller leapt, running towards the village.

Barely a year after the start of his transformations, Wulfric was charged with the murder of the second highest Elder of the village, the fierce huntress Nershrissa, family Elder of the Talon. Aside from this, numerous killings were reported in the surrounding villages in their land, and at that same time, Chief Merssissius disappeared without warning.

[I]Who was there to blame but the abomination? The creature whose mark of claws could easily be distinguished?[/I]

Fifteen years after the ritual, the sacrifice that lived was banished from the village. The two remaining elders argued, and at the end they made a terrible and difficult decision .
One of them could not withstand the irony.

The wise storyteller Merthas, the Kain family Elder, the Elder of Trade, told Wulfric to seek aid from the wisest healers of the continent. With his daughter Sylvia, Merthas accompanied Wulfric. They broke all ties with the village of Shifting Shadow.

They knew little beyond the simple trappings of their village, and as they were plotting their journey towards Gazria, the continent's capital, unbeknownst to them, Wulfric of the family Kain had become a wanted criminal. Bounties were put up for his head, and the three were forced to travel in hiding. With threats constant, Merthas had an inkling what to do.

Dire occurrences often permit dire consequences.

Due to what Merthas called necessity, Wulfric was soon drawn to the hands of the Scions of Valafar. Sylvia accompanied him. They were taken in, and Wulfric began his treatment.

Merthas disappeared soon afterwards.
[/FIELDSET][/SpoilerButton]

[Spoilerbutton=Personality]
Personality Domains: Chaos, Animal (and a dash of Trickery)
[Fieldset=Transformed]
[I]The path to understanding is often riddled with mazes of treachery. It is pitiful indeed that we are led to dismiss everything we undertake as necessary.[/I] -Uvotherin the Shallow

Wulfric, in Feline, means “reaching the heavens”. Kain means “to eat”. He still hasn't learned why he was called “He who devoured the high heavens”.

Wulfric is one who could be said to be grounded in his own beliefs. He has an intense desire to prove himself. He could be a charming person, quite attractive due to his racial features. He can be an eloquent speaker if he wishes; however, he doesn’t talk often unless it is required of him. If he just puts his heart into int, he may find it relatively easy to mold the minds of people to suit his desires.

Merely three years ago, he was but simple-minded, knowledgeable only about his own town. Nevertheless, spending three years in the capital made him aware of the rest of the world, and he absorbed every detail of it. More or less, the beliefs of the Scions of Valafar has been inscribed into his mind, albeit unwittingly.

Seriousness has always presided in his Wulfric's mind. The hastiness of catfolk has been lost on him. He is a man in search of meaning. He is conflicted about what is truly right and what is truly wrong. His goals are often conceited; he won’t mind helping others if it would benefit him. His personal relations are mostly about improving his image for the Order; it is his belief that if he acquires enough respect, he would be free to leave. He forces himself to believe that the Order has not affected his way of thinking, and that he still views the world in clarity.

He is motivated by the desire for power, not necessarily the power to control other people, but the power, the ability to make a name for himself. And perhaps, if given enough time, if he is permitted, with the assurance he shall never again lose control of his alternate form, he may clear his name and return to his hometown.

Only Sylvia understands him.

[FIELDSET=Stripes of Character: Three years ago]
[COLOR=Red][I]So... this is goodbye?[/I] [/COLOR]
He looked different that day. Perhaps it was the tears in his eyes or the black cloak draped over his body, I don't know. Silhouetted against the red and violet gaze of the dying sun, trodding over the pale to bright hues of green grass, Wulfric, the Exile of Kain spoke softly, whimpering even.
[COLOR=Red][I]Have we no other option?[/I] [/COLOR]
The strength of Wulfric seemed to have faded. He looked weak. He looked fearful.

Not looking at me, his eyes attached to the ground, he says,
[COLOR=Red][I]What do we know of the Scions anyway?[/I] [/COLOR]

[COLOR=Red][I]Of course not. Do not worry, Wulfric. A few years, and everything shall be alright.[/I] [/COLOR]
The sitting figure of my father Merthas sees me; he sits a few feet away from Wulfric.
Waving, he motions for me to come closer.
[COLOR=Blue][I]Sylvia[/I][/COLOR] , he says, and at that moment my father Merthas places his hand on my shoulder. Conjuring a flute, he makes music with such mastery that I'm brought to tears.
[COLOR=Blue][I]Accompany Wulfric. You both need each other. I, however, must leave. I still have tasks to accomplish.[/I] [/COLOR]

[/FIELDSET]

[FIELDSET=Spots of Character: A day ago]
[COLOR=Red][I]My father? What about my father? Worlds may pass before I see him again, and now you wish to speak about him?[/I] [/COLOR]
The Feline voice speaks harshly, offensive even.

[COLOR=Blue][I]Why, did you not have good relations with your father?[/I] [/COLOR]

I blink upon hearing the calm, soothing voice. Even behind the wooden door, perhaps even across the planes I could recognize that voice. I listen to the two voices. It seems they have been talking for hours, their voices tired and raspy. Wishing not to disturb, I press my ear against the door.

[COLOR=Red][I]As good as relations get, I'm afraid. Do not ask.[/I] [/COLOR]
The harsh voice replies coldly.

[COLOR=Blue][I]Do not misunderstand me. I only come bearing news.[/I] [/COLOR]
[COLOR=Red]
[I]I have no need for news, old friend. What is the purpose of knowledge if one cannot act upon it?[/I][/COLOR]

[COLOR=Blue][I]Can't? or won't, Wulfric. You know very well you could leave anytime.[/I] [/COLOR]

I hear the unmistakable sound of a fist against wood.
[COLOR=Red][I]Please watch your words, old man. I have spent years pondering my situation and dreaming of freedom; you need not tell me what do you. Clearly you've lost the need for logic.[/I][/COLOR]

[COLOR=Blue][I]You speak of logic, yet you know not the word.[/I] [/COLOR]
The voice of my father is now cold, a troubling addition to the eloquence of his voice. He speaks with such finality I am glued to the door in suspense.

Footsteps, the swish of a cape. The door opens and I am thrown to the ground.
[COLOR=Blue][I]I'm sorry, Sylvia. Please take care.[/I][/COLOR] Without looking at me, his face obscured by his cloak, he exits the shop.

Wulfric helps me up; he bites his lip, seemingly holding off any emotion.
He opens his lips as if to say something, then sighs. He holds me in his arms.
[/FIELDSET]


[/Fieldset][/Spoilerbutton]

[Spoilerbutton=Description][FIELDSET=Visage]
[I]The claws on my hands, the mark of claws on my back and the scar of fangs. How should they matter if one knows not their meaning?[/I]
Members of any family of the Village of Shifting Shadow have distinct markings on their backs. In the case of the Kain family, each newborn child is tattooed with the mark of a tiger's claws.
Wulfric lived up to his name; his height of five feet is impressive for his kind. His eyes are black, with just a hint of crimson echoing beneath the pupils. His eyes have the distinct shape of a cat’s, yet with the cold warmth of a human. His tan skin is laced with markings of catfolk; by his latest count, he has exactly twenty-three stripes on his whole body, including two harsh stripes on his face. His black hair laced with streaks of yellow is knotted in dreadlocks, with stray strands covering his ears and forehead.
He is slender as most of his kind, yet muscular and compact just like a hunter should be. His hands are lean and dexterous, with sharp claws at the end.
The scars of four fangs on his left shoulder are the part of his body he most reviles, and he does his best to conceal them. His usual outfit is a bronze-colored shirt with a black lefthand sleeve just long enough to conceal his scar.
[/FIELDSET][/SPOILERBUTTON]

[SPOILERBUTTON=Miscellaneous]
[FIELDSET=Unsent Letter]
[FONT=Palatino Linotype]Wulfric of the Family Kain is henceforth cleared from all crimes.

Former Elder Most High, Chief Merrsissius of the Family Hinga is convicted for the murder of Nershrissa, deceased Elder of the Talon.[/FONT]

[I]See, Wulfric, my son. You may come home now.[/I]

-Excerpt of an unsent letter found on top of the cupboard of the deceased Silvirius Kain. With attached Parchment clipping. Dated one year ago.
[/FIELDSET]
[FIELDSET=Recent History]
Kain has mastered his ability to transform into a tiger at will. Finesse aided by natural strength has given him many an advantage in every occasion. With his fighting proficiency, he is now a hunter worthy to be feared. The improvement, however, came with a price. He has been trained by the Order to be an assassin. With the ability to transform into an animal, he proved to be effective.

[I]Surely, no powerful man would fear a mere animal.[/I]

For three years he has been coaxed to make people disappear and never return.
Apparently, he was taken in by the Order just after the outbreak of the Antagonist War. Due to his uncontrollable condition, he was hidden from the public, trained secretly under the dark corners of the Dreaming Tower. He was given no information whatsoever regarding the war, and the obedient child he was, he asked no questions. His desire to be cured took precedence over any logic he should have employed. He was given tasks to terminate certain people, and he readily obliged. At first he was hesitant, but after being fed the knowledge that his transformation may take control of his body, he followed orders.

Everything is about choosing the lesser evil.

Now, three years after his inception, he works as an animal trainer for the Order under the animal master Brom Westwind. He earns his everyday living behind the counter of a simple pet shop in Gazria. Business could never be any worse, but what choice does he have? He lives with Sylvia, who thoroughly disapproves of his true line of work.

He is only starting to think about his situation. Interactions and the freedom of control does wonders, apparently.
[/FIELDSET]
[/SPOILERBUTTON]