The Legacy of Cal Ravenwood

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The Broken Sword
Posts: 120
Character: Alaric

The Legacy of Cal Ravenwood

Post by The Broken Sword » July 16th, 2021, 12:29 am



Cal Ravenwood

“"Evil Is Evil. Lesser, Greater, Middling... Makes No Difference. The Degree Is Arbitrary. The Definition's Blurred. If I'm To Choose Between One Evil And Another... I'd Rather Not Choose At All."”

- Geralt of Rivia, The Witcher

[[ Most spoilers redacted, but minor ones below - read at your own risk. DO NOT METAGAME! ]]

Theme

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Given Name: Caleb
Alias/Chosen Name: Cal Ravenwood
Birthdate: Unknown, approximately sometime between 1317 and 1320
Birthplace: Orphanage at Raven's Bridge, Ghaenthgrand



Appearance
Age:Late Twenties to Early Thirties
Height: 5'10"
Weight:167lbs
Eyes:Gray
Hair:Dark Blonde

Physical Description:

It is fairly easy to determine that he has not had a plentiful bounty in some time. His frame, though broad, seems to be starved of nutrition. However, one might come to observe the man's sharp vision, as he takes notice of the smallest details in his environment. And, his stride is purposeful, slow, measured. His demeanor guarded, but not militantly so. He's got a face that can easily be lost in the crowd, mundane as it is, but when he's not in the field, he removes the dark earthy tones of his craft for more vibrant hues. It is clear he takes his hygiene quite seriously, though he has a less-than-healthy habit of smoking a pipe, or chewing on a bit of straw.


Personality


General Health: At this point in time, Cal is underweight and malnourished -- having traveled so far with very little wildlife to keep his traveling companions fed on the road. However, aside from this, he appears to be healthy.
Profession: Huntsman
Faction Affiliation: None
Languages:Common, Yultish
Accent: Midlands
Roleplay Tools: None currently.

Personality Description: Cal is guarded about his past, but friendly enough -- quick to share a story, or a quiet moment beside the fire. He prefers the taste of wine, though rarely drinks enough to numb his senses.

Strengths: To be revealed...
Weaknesses: To be revealed...

Governing Virtue: To be revealed...
Governing Throne: To be revealed...

The Broken Sword
Posts: 120
Character: Alaric

Re: The Legacy of Cal Ravenwood

Post by The Broken Sword » July 16th, 2021, 12:39 am

Screenshot Archive




Cal's Rest

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Slaying the Swamp Creature

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Boom, Baby!

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Last edited by The Broken Sword on August 5th, 2021, 11:11 pm, edited 3 times in total.

The Broken Sword
Posts: 120
Character: Alaric

Re: The Legacy of Cal Ravenwood

Post by The Broken Sword » July 16th, 2021, 1:24 am

Ravenwood entered the tavern through the eastern door. A hand, wrapped in lengths of undyed cloth, lifted to unclasp the bronze buckles that kept the dusty brown tunic secured. He could hear the low din of conversation coming from the other side of the common hall, but the nearby hearth was more welcoming at this hour.

Reaching back, he unstrapped the quiver and longbow that hung across his back, and set it to lean against the chair as he finished removing the traveler's clothing that helped him fade into the woodland terrain that surrounded Fort Praesidium. A soft sigh lifted from the young man's lips, sinking into the large chair.

After filling a glass with his favored drink, a small leather journal was then produced.



What can be said of the Rumbling Pass and Fort Praesidium that has not already been spoken? I am far from the first to depart the gates of the military encampment, and won't be the last. So, what of it?

Rok. Lucien. Mikhail.

These are the names that I can recall coming across upon my first day in the Province as a free man. Many more shied away, or kept to their own company, and I cannot blame them for that. Strangers aren't generally welcome anywhere you go these days, why should the First Province be any different?

Rok is an older man, appears to have the build and temperament of a warrior. We shared a conversation by the hearth earlier. He professed a lack of patience and dedication to be able to master any craft. And, I could sense no lies there. He seemed friendly enough. Then there was Lucien, a military man with strangely white hair despite his youthful appearance. He offered me a waterskin, and some other items, as a welcome -- and mentioned that he was part of a unit known as the "First Torian", here to help re-take Tor. We spoke about gathering materials for their war effort. Which leads me to Mikhail, a friendly enough man I met at the bank. He is a bowyer and fletcher, seemed to have been keen on getting his hands on feathers as well. Perhaps there's a means to make a difference here after all, even if it's just chasing crows through the woods.


Upon finishing his thoughts, a smile crossed the young Midlander's lips, and his gray eyes were drawn to the hearth's flames where Cal lost himself in their hypnotic dance.

Last edited by The Broken Sword on July 20th, 2021, 7:17 pm, edited 1 time in total.

The Broken Sword
Posts: 120
Character: Alaric

Re: The Legacy of Cal Ravenwood

Post by The Broken Sword » July 20th, 2021, 7:15 pm

'It's dark...' Cal thought to himself, ducking under the walker's slow swinging arm, and bringing a slender iron blade up with a quick motion to pierce the monstrosity through a vital organ. 'They're more active when it's dark...' He tumbled backward, away from the creature, watching as it flailed wildly. Vital organ or not, this thing was not compelled to rest, a dark power flickering dimly behind its long-dead eyes. There were some that believed these walkers had been infected with the Torment, but these creatures lacked the speed, strength, and rage common among the Tormented. Something else was at work here, he was sure of it, elsewise, the disease likely would have spread from the countless number of adventurers and knowledge-seekers that trampled through the former resting place of these risen dead.

The walker lunged toward him almost lazily. It was an easy kill for the hunter, as he brought that slender blade around a second time, and cleaved the walker's head from its body. Rotting flesh and coagulated blood giving way easily to the arc of iron. He took a moment to consider the leaking corpse, and took to dragging the thing by the ankle to a nearby burn pit, where the withered flesh could be devoured by flame. And, in this moment, he paused to clean his weapon of the dark, sickly blood, tossing the soiled cloth into the flames as well.

Afterall, he wanted no part in whatever curse empowered the dead to rise again.




= = = = =


Later that night, he said beside the fire, reflecting upon his time in the First Province.


Gryhun. Dominic. Haze.

A list of names that continues to grow. Gryhun appears to be a capable man, though crude, and with the reputation as a prankster. I should remain guarded around him. Though, he was kind enough to show us a place called Kaelius' Rest, where an organization named KMA operates. He provided me with a bit of leather armor, and an obscenely large sword. In turn, my hunting has been somewhat easier than before. Dominic I only met in passing, though much of the man is a mystery to me, he does seem to project a sense of strength. The company he keeps is peculiar, but whose isn't? The tall female, I only learned is named Haze by someone calling out to her. I believe it was Lucien, though so many names and faces have left my memory someone muddled. It's good that I am writing all of this down.

Aside from learning these new faces and their names, I have spent some time delving into some of the local haunts where sightings of strange creatures is common-place in the First Province. Gryhun mentioned that they were compelled by some dark magic, likely pagan in origin. In truth, I wouldn't have believed him had I not seen it for my own eyes. Magic, it seems, is no mere folktale, told by the withering old to scare the young. And, I witnessed it for my very own, as I saw a purple-robed man, larger than any I've seen before, darting through the streets shouting some strange language and glowing brightly with it's effect.

And, I cannot help but remember what the young man at the tavern said to me before he disappeared:

'Cal, men can be monsters too.'


The Broken Sword
Posts: 120
Character: Alaric

Re: The Legacy of Cal Ravenwood

Post by The Broken Sword » July 29th, 2021, 12:40 am



Cal tumbled forward, rolling his right shoulder across the sodden ground. It was a miserable place, a festering sore boiling over with the malodor of decay. Still, the ground was soft underfoot, and it made the acrobatics of his stunt that much easier on his joints. He had ducked under the massive arm of bark and sinew, malformed and twisted by some strange pagan ritual, altering whatever natural beast had been sacrificed upon the altar into a monstrous behemoth that belched noxious fumes from spores upon its aberrant hide. And, as his tumble came to an end, Cal ended back upon his feet once more, sliding across the sickly muck that churned underfoot. The smell of wet earth and fresh decay assaulting his senses. It was no simple thing to be a hunter in these parts -- where monsters roamed with reckless abandon, feeding upon anything that could not fight back or flee.


'Shite, you're ugly!'



He taunted the beast, uncertain if it possessed the intelligence to understand him. A low rumbling growl was all that was given in return as it charged forward. Cal spun around a nearby tree, seeking to use it as cover, only narrowly avoiding the carnage as the beast slammed into it. The dark tree stood no chance as the soft earth beneath gave way to the monster's incredible strength which sent fragments of splintered tree in every direction. Cal barely had the chance to lift his left arm, pummeled by a few larger fragments that sent him sprawling backwards. He could taste iron in his mouth, and turned to spit a glob of blood aside.



'All bark an' no bite...'




A grin flashed across the young man's bearded features. His teeth stained red with blood seeping from a small laceration. It was the least of his injuries from the hunt. Again, the beast barreled forward, charging him without a care. Unable to retreat, Cal charged forward, dropped to a knee and slid beneath the beast, the twin blades in hand carving it's soft underbelly open. It wasn't a deep wound, but it was enough to cause a pause in the beast's momentum. Slowly, the creature turned toward the ranger, kneeling in the muck as he was, and it gave a confused groan as a small tendril of smoke began to rise from below. There, a small bomb had been placed. Cal raised a finger wagging it slowly.


'Ah ah ah... it's time you lighten up. '



An explosion rocked the small forest that surrounded the swampland, sending a murder of crows into the sky above, calling out in panic and confusion as a blaze erupted and consumed the swamp beast. Cal was well on his way back to the Fort before the last of the creature's smoldering body was reclaimed by the swampland.



= = = = =


Much as he always did, Cal cleaned himself up and returned to the Hearth and Hale to reflect upon the day's ventures.



Graelynn. Furio. Vera.

Graelynn and Furio, I met upon the road -- they assisted me with dispatching a couple of these strange swampland creatures. It was mentioned that they belonged to a nearby Parish. They were most considerate and kind. And, it seems a sad thing to note that this is not such a common thing in the First Province. Still, it gave me some hope that not all is lost. We spoke for a short while, and then I returned to the Fort, where I discovered Vera Silvercrest by sitting upon her lap. I can still feel the heat in my cheeks from that encounter. How foolish I must have looked! She was kind enough, and did not tease me overly much; instead she spoke to me of herself, of Flynn, and of the First Torian. She was most kind, and offered to hunt with me should the opportunity arise. I think, perhaps, that this province is full of surprises. And, such kindness cannot go without notice, lest we become the very monsters we hunt.


The Broken Sword
Posts: 120
Character: Alaric

Re: The Legacy of Cal Ravenwood

Post by The Broken Sword » August 1st, 2021, 2:22 pm



A cloud of dust, kicked up by a handful of horses, traveled lazily across the ruins of Riverside -- cloaking the structures against the waning sunlight. Still, light refracted strangely across the floating motes, casting an eerie gloom across the gathering crowd. Cal remembered seeing the figures emerge from the rolling dust storm, where a giant of a man followed the ladies of the de Ravin Parish. His grey eyes widened slightly at the sight. He made a casual quip about the Parish breeding giants, to which someone replied that 'They grow them big in the West.' He didn't know if that was true or not, never having crossed the mountains into the Blacklands.

Doctor Hanlon provided a rudimentary map of their target. It was a standard recovery operation, with minimal resistance expected. She was adamant about leaving the trees alone, though he did not really understand her meaning until the group gathered on the western edge of the haunted forest. His grey eyes scanned across the burned remnants of the forest. Scorched earth and blackened bark greeted the Doctor's small retinue. The charring must have happened some time ago, as no residual heat seemed to emanate from the forest, but a faint scent of charred wood lingered on the summer's breeze. It might have been a pleasant smell had it not been intermingled with the decay of decomposing bodies of the lost. Sister Joan was only one of the dead, but she warranted recovery, where as these nameless others were far too gone to move.

It was as the Doctor had warned. Little enough stood in their way, and what had, was easily dispatched by the array of experienced fighters that answered the call. Sister Joan's body was found in short order, within a small grove that others warned possessed a strange power. The giant was not certain why the group had come, ignoring Sister Joan's body and asking if they wanted to fight an entity known as "The Hag". Cal's brow knitted inward slightly. Though it was imperative that he put as many of these monsters in the ground as possible, he thought it unfitting to soil the memory of Sister Joan and put the retinue at undue risk.


' Have some respect for the deceased.''


He chided the giant. There was a quite murmur of agreement among the living. Luckily, those who were allowed to take hold of Sister Joan's body had worked quickly, and they departed. Cal was glad to leave the haunted forest behind. Not out of fear, after all there had been little enough resistance to their presence, but rather, for reverence of their duty. He looked to Lucien, who had led the way in, and out again. The man seemed deeply effected by the loss of this woman. A side of the imposing Legatus that he had not seen before. It earned the man a measure of Cal's respect. Little else stood in their way, as the group transported Sister Joan to a small church on the edge of a place that the others named Highfield. Cal saw nothing but a few quiet buildings surrounding a vast but barren field which carried with it the reminders of the fire that had once gutted the settlement.

A pleasant ceremony in honor of the dead soon followed, and those that had known Sister Joan spoke in her memory. Cal too, felt compelled to speak, not in any knowledge of who Sister Joan might have been in life -- but, rather, in the quality of the character bound in those who answered the Doctor's request for assistance. It gave the young man a sense of hope, and he told them as much.

After the ceremony, they gathered at a pyre to burn the woman's body. Cal always thought that such funeral rites were beautiful, but he could feel the sorrow radiating from those gathered -- and quietly retreated into the night to settle at his favorite spot in the tavern.




Today, we recovered the body of Sister Joan. She was a friend of the First Torian, and I think, to many others in the Province. And, while I did not know her, it seems that I could understand some measure of her character reflected by the values of those that came to see her memory honored.

I did not know her; but, it seemed the right thing to do. No one should suffer to be forgotten. And, the living should be allowed to mourn their loved ones. It is a precious part of our humanity that I dare not lose. Without it, we are little better than the monsters we claim to oppose.

It is of little importance, in comparison to those we have lost, but a man the others called Thaddeus joined the group; he was clearly known for his particular set of skills. The man glimmered brightly with strange lights and spoke a foreign language to that effect. This is what Gryhun must have meant by magic -- even now it brings a chill to my bones. I hope this man isn't of the same mind as the villainous cultists we have seen raising the dead. Though, I suppose only time will tell.

The Broken Sword
Posts: 120
Character: Alaric

Re: The Legacy of Cal Ravenwood

Post by The Broken Sword » August 5th, 2021, 11:28 pm



It was dark, but then again it was always dark in this forsaken place. Especially here, southeast of the haunted forest of Tenebrae. Here, nestled between a ruinous fortification and an overrun logging mill, a copse of dark and twisted trees cast large shadows across the blood-sodden ground. The soft groaning of the risen dead kept most of the wildlife at bay -- aside from a few adventurous carrion crows that pecked at the decaying bodies like a veritable smorgasbord. Today, the groaning of the dead was interrupted by the sound of steel slicing wetly through flesh.

Cal Ravenwood was doing his daily rounds, which involved ensuring the horse routes remained relatively safe for travelers heading north. And, the ease at which this task was completed was increasing with each passing day as the young Ranger learned more and more about the monstrosities that inhabited the First Province. Today, he was equipped with a few new toys, courtesy of the market stall provided by the Kaelius Mercantile group.

He charged in, having consumed an elixir which made sprinting through the dark possible. A two-handed sword, well-balanced, and gleaming with deadly intent danced between his gloved hands -- carving a valley of crimson gore that splattered heavily to the ground in its semi-coagulated states. A grin played across the young man's bearded features. No longer was he horrified by these revenants. In fact, he seemed to get an unhealthy thrill out of carving through the dead. Perhaps it was the feeling of freedom and control that brought him joy -- or perhaps something darker still.

Whatever the case may be, the young man had gathered a horder of the risen to test one of his new tools -- a simple ordinance, crudely faceted to a thick bottle. As he parried a blow, he dropped back, bringing one hand away from the large blade, and tossed the bottle admist the horde, and within seconds the risen were reduces to a smoldering pile of twisting charred limbs, blackened fingers twitching toward the sky as if to reach for something.



' Hahaha.. now that was a blast.'



Having tested the efficacy of the crude device, he quickly departed the accursed vale, seeking the quiet sanctuary of a familiar establishment.

The Broken Sword
Posts: 120
Character: Alaric

Re: The Legacy of Cal Ravenwood

Post by The Broken Sword » September 1st, 2021, 3:31 pm



He sat beside the hearth, delicate parchment clutched between the leather clad digits of his left hand. A sharp breath rattled through his chest, as the words sank in. The parchment slipped from his hand, sweeping gracefully toward his lap. His heart, what was left of it, was torn asunder. Lilith was dead, murdered by a diabolist that enjoyed the protections of the Fort's sheep. Her last days had been agony, her body wracked by debilitating pain wrought by a coven that was murdering scores of faithful Decusians. Yet, even through the torture of facing her mortality, of enduring the death of her friends and family, Lilith had thought to write some final words for him -- words that he did not deserve, but needed to hear anyway.

He had read the words perhaps a dozen times.



Dear Cal,

The happiness of your life depends upon the quality of your thoughts. Everything we hear is an opinion, not a fact. Everything we see is perspective, not truth. Waste no more time arguing about what a good man should be. Be one.

- Lilith


Emotions burned through him like a hungry flame, seeking fuel. And, he could see nothing beyond the pain, beyond the need to avenge her life.


' Rest, Lil, it's my turn to hunt monsters.'

Reaching down, he plucked up the blade resting beside his chair, and made his way into the dark night. Searching.

The Broken Sword
Posts: 120
Character: Alaric

Re: The Legacy of Cal Ravenwood

Post by The Broken Sword » November 3rd, 2022, 4:35 pm



Thorn rested idly within the young man’s loose grip. The taper of her sleek form glistening with the brackish vitality of the beast lain out before him. It was yet another notch earned – though, not one he cared for. You see, Tenebrae, he was told, was once a beautiful and vibrant forest. Her towering wood having offered shelter to many creatures.

That was before the Thrones had engulfed the provincial countryside in perpetual war. Before the struggle between Decusian and Pagan spilled across her glades with blood and flame. No, the creature before him was no true monster, but something misshapen by the conflict. Twisted like the mortals that had tainted the wildlands with their hatred.

We did this…

Ravenwood thought to himself as Doctor Solomon worked his craft nearby. The wet sounds of the abomination’s flesh being manipulated doing little to entice him deeper into Tenebrae. Yet, what good was the crimson and gold that cloaked his shoulders if he could not serve the people? The answer, a haunting emptiness, gnawed at him as he turned away from the grisly work. Later that night, he would revisit the nightmarish visions he witnessed beneath the blighted canopy.






I am haunted by revenants of the past – names and faces which fail to fade, and whose words still cut as keenly as the razor’s edge. “Men can be monsters too.” At the time, I had thought the words to be an exaggeration. It strikes me now that there can be no greater truth. And, yet, even as I might despair and turn aside my blade for a plow – Lilith’s words follow me even now. ”Waste no more time arguing about what a good man should be.” Perhaps I am here, in this place, with these people, because we can be the difference – or at the very least, perhaps by my life, or death, I can ensure the survival of those that will lead us out of this darkness.

I don’t know.




The Broken Sword
Posts: 120
Character: Alaric

Re: The Legacy of Cal Ravenwood

Post by The Broken Sword » November 18th, 2022, 2:31 pm



Cal perched himself quietly upon the watchtower looking over the ruins of Briar's Hollow, the bow Raven's Talon and several dozen black-fletched arrows within reach. In truth, he preferred the night's watch; it felt as though he made a difference in the lives of those back home. His thoughts were never on 'home' for very long though, not out here anyway. The dead made for terrible company.

He had read somewhere that they never stayed dead on account of all the magic permeating the area. It seemed like a reasonable explanation at the time; but, truth be told, it didn't really matter why they haunted the streets of Briar's Hollow. As long as they stayed there.

Cal's ashen depths swept over the thatched rooftops of the town.
'A few well-placed barrels of oil and we could rid ourselves of this infestation.' He thought, not caring to speak the words out loud and draw the attention of the meandering swarm of undeath. Nor would he raise the suggestion to his command; not that he knew who that was anyhow. In fact, the night's watch wasn't even an official assignment -- the recruit had just sort of fallen into the routine on his own accord. Afterall, if there was one thing that Cal hated most, it was monstrosities left unchecked.'The Legate would know, but it seems a foolish thing to bother the man with.'

Finally, the first rays of light began to bloom over the brackish water that clung to Briar Hollow's docks. The strange light refracted eerily across a mist that rolled slowly across the bay.
'And, so my watch has ended...'He whispered coyly, plucking up the worn bow and half-filled quiver before descending into the early morning fog.

Later that morning, his uniform cleaned and set aside -- Cal donned his 'streets' and plopped down on the ladder-stair that accessed the wagon he was renting. It was as good a place as any to write down his thoughts.



Briar's Hollow remains active despite our best efforts to cull the horde. Daylight seems to quell their numbers somewhat; but, with the bells of the darkest hour, an army rises. It would be a simple thing for some lost soul to use this horde as a cudgel against their enemies. Yet, such a weapon would be short-lived against the walls of our operation. I do hope that never fails -- too few of us truly stand against the dark. The shuttering of her doors would be a blow to the people of Fort Praesidium.

Further, I don't know what I would do -- do I dare live comfortably in the shadows of fallen heroes? Do I set aside my heart's desire to see the ill-blooded driven from our Republic? What purpose would my sword and bow have, if not to serve the people? No.. I am here to slay monsters.. and I leave the festivals and dances to those with fairer hearts.

There is still work to be done.


He set aside the leather journal, and leaned back so that he could peer upward at billowing smoke that threatened to overtake the clear skies. There was a chill in the air that the autumn sun could not burn away. But, he preferred it over the sweltering heat. It wasn't often that Cal Ravenwood was not dashing across the province, clearing roads, and maintaining the balance -- and, it made him uneasy to think about. If he wasn't a shield in the night, what was he?

Who was he?

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