Lothaire Beaufort

The Cursed Hunter

⌈ "To have one's wishes come true always comes with a price." ⌋

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Theme ♪

⊰ ꑛ ⋅ ꂑ ⋅ ꋫ ⋅ ꒓ ⋅ ꇓ ⋅ ꆂ ⊱

General Information

⌈ ''... and so the hunter was fated.'' ⌋

Name ❖ Lothaire Beaufort
Age ❖ Twenty-eight Summers
Nameday ❖ Eighth Sun of the Fifth Astral Moon
Gender ❖ Male
Race & Clan ❖ Elezen | Wildwood
Height & Weight ❖ Six fulms, Six ilms | Two-hundred & Twenty-three ponze
Birthplace ❖ Ishgard | The Dravanian Forelands
Occupation ❖ Chocobo Trapper | Hunter
Combat Profession ❖ Bowman | Spearman
Alignment ❖ True Neutral | INTJ-T
Orientation ❖ Heterosexual

Lothaire is a huntsman that has faced many struggles in his life - betrayal, loyalty, death, sacrifice. Through these experiences, the hunter has learned to wear a mask. Concerning outward appearances amongst a proper crowd, the young elezen is an outgoing and compassionate man, speaking and holding himself to a standard similar to that of his clansmen.

Operating on a live and let live philosophy, he actively tries to avoid conflict when possible. But if put into a position where someone actively threatens his life or someone else's, he has no qualms with shooting an arrow first and then dealing with the aftermath later.

His depression is something he actively disguises, choosing instead to focus on his duties to his close comrades and clan above all else – a force that has protected and brought him back from the brink time and time again. This has culminated in a strong sense of loyalty and willingness to sacrifice everything to keep him from those moments of weakness, even if it means wading through chaos and potential death; a strong desire to protect and repay his 'debts'.

History

⌈ ''Stay mad! Last one back is a stinky vilekin!~'' ⌋

Lothaire was born a bastard of Ishgard. His mother at the time surrendering him to the savage hunters of the Dravanian Forelands when he was an infant. A formidable huntress took in the boy, nurturing the hatchling like one of her own. He spent his fledgling days foraging for the clan, climbing the colossal trees that shelters the forelands for fresh produce; in addition to the responsibility of the chocobo pens where he felt most at home, making sure their feathered companions were kempt and presentable for trade.

As soon as the boy was capable of hoisting a crateful of gysahl greens over his shoulder, he was procured a traditional caelumtree bow to start his trapper training at a young age. He grew fond of the tool, his prowess eventually surpassing his peers by virtue of his cunning precision.

Once out on a hunt with his banded clansmen, Lothaire was separated from the pack by an enchanting song he could hear from the Hundred Throes and back. The canopy of towering trees around him withering the further he strayed, an illusion. That day he faced a cruel entity that changed his life for the worse; a force he battles with every passing sun.

⊰ ꑛ ⋅ ꂑ ⋅ ꋫ ⋅ ꒓ ⋅ ꇓ ⋅ ꆂ ⊱

Out of Character

❖ Player Information

Hallais! For starters you can call me Loth or Jo, either is fine. I'm 21+ and I accept most themes as long as it's fun/interesting and provides some succulent character development. I generally like to roleplay my characters somewhat grounded, but I welcome and value high-fantasy elements/stories equally.

I live in Norway, so the timezone differences might complicate things if we decide to set something up. Though I am willing to make a few sacrifices for a session if I'm feeling rebellious with my schedule.

Discord

Hooks

Tailfeather ❖ Having spent the majority of his life in the Dravanian Forelands, his name is well-known amongst his people.

Dragonsong War ❖ Lothaire was conscripted to aid Ishgard in their time of need. Serving alongside the noble Temple Knights against the Dravanian Horde.

⊰ ꑛ ⋅ ꂑ ⋅ ꋫ ⋅ ꒓ ⋅ ꇓ ⋅ ꆂ ⊱

Appearance

Unkempt, greying chestnut tresses hang loosely from his head just a few ilms past where jaw and neck meet. The locks – coarse and dry – rest on either side of his face; the notion of brushing regularly a trivial one to him. Despite this, a semblance of hygiene is notable from the faintest hues of caelum fruit that cling to its strands. Signs of stress have begun to rear its head in wrinkles that crease the corner of the man’s verdant-green gaze – years of constant conflict wearing at his visage and form. A thick broad nose juts from his face, imperfect from numerous breaks throughout his life. From below, a pair of lush and well-maintained lips give way to a weary smile – it framed by a jaw stubbled and unshaven only just under his lips. His skin and facial hair retain a similar scent to that of his tresses.

A few superficial scars mark the man's left cheek – two thick slices carves his eye, accompanied by a few crude cuts beside it – veiled underneath a mysterious draconic mark that branded his visage.

Lothaire was a man born and built for his profession, having spent most of his life chasing and hunting down prey. His back is broad and covered with lean musculature, a construct from years of wielding a longbow and spear in combat, his chest: covered with a lithe forest of hairs, densest over well-defined pectorals before tracing down across a mostly flat, but athletic abdomen. A closer look reveals the vast amount of scars he earned from handling chocobos, various claw-marks lining both his torso, developed arms and hands.