Age: 32
Appearance: A tall, well built man, his most noticeable feature is his Albinism, which makes his skin and hair snow white, and his piercing blue eyes. He has a rugged, stern face, saddled atop a well-muscled body, trained through years of coffin-making, corpse-burying, and grave-keeping. He has a weary look on his face, barely fazed by all but the most surprising and terrifying of circumstances. His face has mutton chop sideburns, and he dons a short Mohawk under his hat. He holds many scars from accidents at work and run-ins with grave-robbers and the undead, his most noticeable being a scared gash across his throat, which makes his voice gravelly and causing him to cough often.
Biography: An outcast due to his skin and his father's profession, the local townsfolk always steered clear of him, unnerved by what they believed to be a walking ghost, and some particularly bold townsfolk would taunt and tease him, in an attempt to get the beast to react to them or cause him to leave, and bid good riddance to the walking dead man. He once was saddened and angered by this treatment, but has now become resistant to this abuse, preferring to work with his mortician father than deal with that petty nonsense. He would ride along with his father, picking up those without graves to properly put them to rest, as all should be, no matter who it was.
The day he became a Witch Hunter was when the vengeful dead rose and reeked havoc on his town and grave. The angry dead all rose at once, and destroyed and maimed all they came across in an attempt to make right their own death. It was complete chaos, houses were burning, men were ripped to pieces and driven mad, and the mortician and son were caught in the crossfire, helpless to make the situation any better. They barred themselves in their workshop, in an attempt to ride through the storm, but the dead eventually found them, and drug them out to stand in front of their own made graves. While there, an odd thing happened. Unlike with the others, they hesitated, and bickered over how they should deal with these two. Some argued they were living, so they should die due to their affiliation with those who killed them. Others said they should live, because they were the only two to properly lay them to rest. Yet still, others said the mortician should die, but the son should live, because they believe he was one of them.
The bickering grew and grew, until violence broke out, and they began to fight and murder themselves over there fate. While this occurred, the mortician and son snuck away, and they almost escaped, if it weren't for one of the dead noticing them running away, and rallying his kind to chase after them and take them captive once again. The two went far, but in a twist of fate, a wild knife lodged itself in the mortician's leg, causing him to trip and fall. Before the son could register this, the dead quickly got to the two, and began to beat and slice into the two, overcome with rage.
It was then that the mercenaries came and laid waste to the horde, and it was a terrific war indeed. In the end, the undead were decimated, and the stragglers were taken to be executed individually. Ronald was mistaken as an undead, and the father, in his last bit of strength, pleaded to the mercenaries to spare him, spare his only son. They then learned he was living, and they casted him out, bruised and battered, and left him and his father to themselves. His father died from his wounds, with his strength sapped though the ordeal, leaving Ronald alone.
Ronald, after mourning, buried his father, and began to wander amidst the plains, dazed and disoriented, and losing blood quickly. He was on the verge of collapse, when he then met his savior. An old Witchhunter walked to the gravely wounded Ronald, and pointed his gun at his forehead, and began to think, should he kill this man, put him out of his mercy? "Who are you?" Said the Witchhunter. Ronald replied "I am Ronald, I have been wandering for hours, trying to find help, I am hurt". "Hours? The way you are now? Damn, you one tough wretch, that you are. How old are you?" "... I am 30. I worked with my father in a graveyard. I made the coffins and buried the men. They then rose, and I" "Shut up you. ... 30? That's a bit old. You may work, though, have the potential, anyway. Let's get ya fixed up, and let's see what you can do."
2 years, and much training later, Ronald has been tasked with a hunt. This is to be his final test. Should he pass, he gains the title Witchhunter, and the he truly begins his new calling. Hunt and slay monsters, so that no other man may have to go through the massacre he went through.
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Topic: [Age of Strife][Chapter 1][Prologue, Ronald & Colben] Signs up in OOC (Read 964 times)