Profile
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Cymbeline
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- pronouns She/Her
- species Equine
- occupation Witchfinder
- age 25
- height 16.3hh
burn the witch.
Mist threads between her feet, the dawn barely arrived. The road was muddy beneath her feet, seemingly endless in the swirling mist. A strange moment of eternity, as if this road would stretch forever. As if this moment could last forever.
She looked to her left and right, at the others who walked beside her. Witchfinders, each and every one of them. Her people, her home.
Something curled in her stomach, oily and dark. They were saving lives, thats what really mattered. It didn't matter that the next target...
Either way, a witch was a witch.Personality
- Respects Authority, for the most part.
- Strong Willed, to a point. Finds it easier to have a strong will when she is following orders.
- Strong Morals, which often clashes with her desperate need to impress those she views as Authority
- Doesn’t know how to walk her own path
- Lots of self doubt, despite her confidence.
- A conflicted bean.
WC: 58
History
CW: Blood, Injuries, Implied Unaliving
“You are a warrior, Cymbeline. Act like it.”
The young girl looked up at her father and nodded, standing again and picking back up the sword. So they went again, and again, and again, until her form was perfect.
“You are not the son I was hoping for, but you will be strong.”
***
“Here, wrap your hands with these.”
The teenager looked at her mother, her kind features clouded with worry for her daughter. She took the cold compresses, soaked in herbs, and wrapped them around her bloody knuckles. Her mother looked around worried, before placing her hands over her daughters. A soft light emanated from them, gentle healing magic.
“Don’t tell your father.”
***
“Again, Cym.”
The name was not said with affection. Her father didn’t like the feminine name her mother had given her. Cym, at least, could go either way. The dummies of monsters stared her down, but she did not fear them. Not as she hefted her sword and swung again.
“Burn the witch.”
***
“I will miss you, my sweet girl.”
Her mother’s teary eyed face. Her father’s proud one. The Witchfinders waiting at the gate. Where had the time gone?
She did not hug her mother, though she wanted to, desperately. She didn’t even think about hugging her father. His words echoed in her ears. If only he knew.
“Find those filthy mages and bring them to justice.”
***
“Here is your next mission.”
The familiar words, the pride of another job well done. They were protecting people, saving lives. It was a wondrous rush, the thankful and teary eyes of those who called them. The sweet words of praise, the satisfaction at another job done. Then the sinking dread, the guilt. And the words that would change her life.
“It is a witch spawn. Find it, and deal with it.”
***
WC: 304HTML by Eggy, modified for Anathema ARPG
