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 Posted: Sun Nov 03, 2013 8:19 pm
Welcome to the profile of Katrana Prestor and Grosvenor the Wolf Hunter Please do not post here. If you have questions, want to plot, or rp, please PM me! •|| Table of Contents ||•
The Chosen
The Roleplays
The Guardian
The Choosing
The Timeline
The Companions
The Extras
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Posted: Sun Nov 03, 2013 8:27 pm
• || The Chosen || •
|| ”Quotey Quote” ||  • Details • Name: Katrana Prestor (Given Name: Kathryn Anabella Prestor) Meaning: None. Katrana Prestor is an NPC in WoW, and she uses that name instead of her given name basically to hide. Gender: Female Age: 30 Height: 5’8” Weight: 140lbs Guardian: Grosvenor Country of Origin: Sunderland Occupation: Wolf Slayer/Game Hunter Skills: Swordplay, Hand-to-hand combat, Hunting, Bad-Mouthing Likes: Dislikes: People asking her to remove her mask Roleplay Color: Slategray • Personality • Katrana is a hard-nosed b***h. She has seen a lot of bullshit in her life, and tends not to take any herself. She keeps the majority of her face hidden by a white mask and isn't quick to answer anyone that asks why. This gives her an air of anonymity, and many don't know that she's the only survivor of the Prestor household. She is to-the-point and does not mince words. She does not drink, she does not party, and she does not socialize, except on rare occasions with like-minded individuals. She sees being a Chosen as a job, and her Guardian tends to agree. Kill the wolves. Protect the innocent. It is not some glorious purpose that makes them special snowflakes.
Though she wanders the lands hunting wolves(a very unladylike profession) she doesn't forget her station. She rides Grosvenor in hunting leathers and trousers, but as soon as she is able, she changes into a handful of beautiful but sensible dresses that she carries in the saddlebags strung across Gros' back. The mask never leaves her face despite her attire and tends to elicit varying responses. Her mindset makes living in Sunderland difficult due to the extreme gender inequalities, and because of this, she spends the majority of her time abroad, though her estate is still kept in order by the faithful family housekeeper, who is the only other person that survived the attack that killed the rest of Katrana's family. • History • UNDER CONSTRUCTION///// Katrana Prestor used to be a noble lady, one that....saw things. Spirits, monsters in the forest by her estate. In her early twenties, every member of her entire family was slaughtered by Gwyn's monster wolves(including her young husband), and she herself was caught in the fire that broke out in the stables she was hiding in. Ever since, she has wandered far and wide in lands beyond Sunderland, to hunt wolves. They are merely normal wolves, but her grief, hidden behind a stoney facade and concealing mask, does not allow her to see the difference. It wasn't until recently on a brief visit to Sunderland that she was Chosen, and her Guardian, feeding off her grief and pain, follows her wherever she goes, wearing the wolf tails of his Chosen's kills about his proud neck. They have wandered abroad for over a year, but upon hearing the tales of monster wolves once again terrorizing Sunderland, the pair has returned seeking proper vengeance. • Plots • She absolutely hates Soibhan. I'm so excited to play this out.
She is the last of her noble house, and widowed to boot. This makes her(according to Nyx, who is helping me with all the title nonsense) Katrana, Countess of Blackweald, OR a Dowager Countess? Nyx wasn't sure.
Her estate is tentatively named Blackweald. Also she has a butler named Alfred emotion_awesome • Important People •
Name: Description • ||____________________________________________|| •
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Posted: Sun Nov 24, 2013 6:26 pm
• || Roleplays || •
|| "Quotey Quote" || + Sensible Fellow | Katrana x Edgar | MoonRazor | Palisade | In-Progress
+ There is Only the Hunt | Katrana x Thomas | Nyx Argyros | Ravensgate | Finished + Rp Name | Name x Name | Who With | Location | Status(In-Progress, Finished, Abandoned, Plotted • Roleplay Count •
2 • ||____________________________________________|| •
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Posted: Sun Nov 24, 2013 8:36 pm
• || The Guardian || •
|| "Quotey Quote" ||  • Details • Name: Grosvenor Meaning: Norman French for Hunter Gender: Male Stage: Adult Chosen Katrana Prestor Roleplay Color: Gold • Personality • Grosvenor is a no-nonsense buck that lacks any sense of humor. He has a duty to protect his Chosen and avenge her pain. He takes almost a perverse pleasure in killing wolves, even if they are of the normal wolf variety. Dreaming Roleplay Listing:
+ RP Name | Name x Name | Who With | Status(In-Progress, Finished, Abandoned, Plotted)
• ||____________________________________________|| •
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Posted: Sun Nov 24, 2013 8:53 pm
• || The Choosing || •
|| ”Quotey Quote” || Text Text text • ||____________________________________________|| •
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Posted: Sun Nov 24, 2013 8:55 pm
• || Timeline || • || "Quotey Quote” || • Events of 1797 •
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Nov. | • ||____________________________________________|| •
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Posted: Sun Nov 24, 2013 9:49 pm
• || Companions || • Name - Animal [x] Description from the character's PoV • ||____________________________________________|| •
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Posted: Sat Dec 14, 2013 9:46 am
Extras
The Story That Won
Long ago, in an age when spirits warred and monstrous beasts roamed free, there lived a hunter. Like most of his ilk, he was a simple man – neither sainted nor grasping – and his goals were equally modest. He wanted little more than to provide for his family and protect his village from the spirit wolves; and he was skilled at each of these. His arrows flew swift and true, killing game and warding off the monster-wolves in equal measure. So true were his arrows that he never had to waste more than one on a target – his aim was lethal.
One particular night, deep within the forest, the hunter came across a rare, pale wolf. He was not a greedy man, but neither was he immune to beauty. He did not hunt wolves unless they first threatened the village, but he coveted that coat of pale fur. So he let his arrow fly – but lo! The pale wolf had scented him and reared back. The arrow slashed across her eye, but did not hold firm. Instead, the wounded beast fled into the forest before the hunter could make a second shot. Though the hunter tracked her for many days, he could not find her. At last, he was forced to turn back, but he did not forget her.
It was impossible to forget her.
Upon his return home, the hunter found that his beautiful wife had been attacked by a wolf. But this was not just any wolf. It was a pale wolf with a freshly-blinded eye, his wife told him as she cried. And this was not just any attack, for the hunter’s wife had lost an eye of her own, her beautiful face ravaged. Enraged, the hunter’s ambitions sharpened to a single purpose – find the pale wolf he had failed to slay and kill any wolf that crossed his path.
It was not too many weeks later when the hunter found his first victim. It was not the pale wolf, but its fur was light, and the tip of its tail reminded him of his prey. He slew this wolf in a single, swift shot and claimed its tail as his prize, looping it about his neck like a macabre trophy. The very next night, his son was found dead.
Wolves had killed him.
This, of course, only made the hunter more determined, even as his grief and rage grew in equal strength. The next wolf he found was a little thing – not even fully grown – but there was no mercy in the hunter’s heart. He slew it like the other and took its tail too, hanging it beside the first.
His daughter was found dead in her bed the very next morning. No one had even heard the wolves come to claim her; the doors and windows had been sealed.
There were whispers amongst the villagers. Surely the hunter was cursed. It must be some kind of vendetta of the spirits. For every wolf he killed, his family suffered for it. How many more before he ran out of family and the wolves came for the rest of the village? His wife begged him to stop, but the hunter refused. If only he could kill the pale wolf, he was certain it would all end. But he did not find the blinded she-wolf. Instead, he found and killed half a dozen others, and for them lost a sister and brother and nieces and nephews, and still he could not see reason. He was obsessed.
Finally, he found a great, dark wolf. He was a handsome creature with brilliant amber eyes, but the hunter was beyond caring about aesthetics. Though it took three arrows to slay the stubborn beast, he emerged victorious, with another tail to add to his collection. In his madness, the hunter had failed to realize that he only had one member left in his family. When he returned home, it was to the sight of his wife’s shredded body. What scraps of reason he may have clung to fled at the sight. He buried his wife in a cemetery full of too many fresh graves and fled into the forest himself.
It was not so very long after that when the pale wolf found him.
The hunter stared at her, then raged against her. If only she had shown herself a week ago, a month ago! If only she had died when he had first seen her! Then, she could not have taken his family from him! From her one good eye, she-wolf stared back. If only you had not coveted my fur, she seemed to say, you would not have taken my family from me. But the past could not be undone. There was only the here and now, and that was something they could agree on.
Man and beast fought, neither willing to give ground. The hunter had gained much experience these past many months, slaying wolf after wolf…but then, the blind wolf had been practicing too, killing human after human. It was a fierce battle. It hardly mattered who drew first blood, for neither would escape unscathed. On and on they raged, neither tiring. On and on they fought, neither seeming to notice their injuries. Lunge, strike, snap, shoot, neither willing to surrender until – there! – the she-wolf grasped the hunter’s throat between her powerful jaws. But as she stumbled back to take him down, a deep red blossomed ‘neath her breast. The hunter’s dagger was lodged there, his aim finally true. A hoarse laugh escaped him as the she-wolf bit down harder with the last of her strength.
They were found the next day by the few brave souls curious enough to venture into the wood. It seemed the curse had ended the only way it could – with the death of both beast and man, their bodies locked together by their last acts of vengeance. The wolf killings ended; all the wolves had died or been driven away by the hunter.
For the little village, life returned to normal...or so it seemed. Some whispered that every night, from deep within the wood, they could still hear an eerie, mournful howl, or they would catch glimpses of two pale shapes running endlessly through the trees. When asked what the shapes were, the answer was always the same...
The Blind Wolf and the Wolf Hunter.
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