Cathal
Posted: Sun Apr 22, 2012 5:13 am
Character Name: Cathal
Age: 19 years old
Race: Half-Elf
Height: 5’9”
Weight: 155 lbs.
Physical Description: Warm, aquamarine gems rested in his eye sockets and gazed out upon the world. They contained entire seas, oceans filled with contentment and ease. Gentle youthfulness radiated from the oceans in his eyes. Gentle dunes, smooth curves protected the oceans from all sides. His face contained no sharpness – all contours were fluid and gradual. A mat of soft brown hair masked his forehead from view, sweeping sideways just above his brow. His jaw, though slightly pronounced, melted gently into his neck, which melted gently into his torso, which cascaded downwards and separated into his legs. His upper-body was met by a pair of shorter, thick legs. Cathal frequently wore a simple, practical tunic. It had once been white, but years of wear had rendered it darker, now almost tan. His tunic covered his upper-arms, about halfway to his elbows, and fell loosely to the middle of his thighs. He tied a braided-leather belt around his waist, which held several small keys and a water-pouch. A pair of worn leather boots protected his feet from the ground, though he might as well have gone barefoot for the meager protection that they offered.
Possessions: Cathal had few possessions which he considered valuable. The first and perhaps most important was his “Basic Guide to Treating Wounds.” It was kept almost religiously on his person, and he referred to it often. It had clearly been read in entirety countless times – its pages were worn and repaired, and had marks written all over, either of his questions, or experiences he had had with certain procedures. The second of his important possessions was only slightly less important. He carried with him a quarterstaff made of knotted wood. It had no significance other than making him feel comfortable. He couldn’t even pretend to fight with it, nor did it bear any taboo magical power. However, when he carried it strapped to his back, he felt some illusion of importance, of position, and of security. Among few other things necessary to survive, Cathal had also crafted a makeshift first-aid kit which contained mostly linen bandages and a draught of his own creation which had limited success as a pain-reliever.
Strengths: Cathal had an insatiable sense of curiosity. He maintained an element of boyhood that was sometimes lost in adolescence: he was always in awe of the world around him. Perhaps as a facet of this, Cathal was a quick learner, and very kinesthetically minded. He only had to be told or shown something once or twice for him to remember it well. Because he placed such a high value in learning, Cathal was also very literate, and could easily learn things from books that he might not be able to learn otherwise. This was less preferable, though certainly not out of his reach.He was a good healer through sheer hard work and determination alone, and sometimes was able to subconsciously connect to some segment of the Astral Plane which aided his healing somehow, either by speeding it up or more potent. This is rare though, and completely untrained. It usually required a significant emotional attachment to the work itself.
Weaknesses: Cathal was almost entirely pacifistic in nature. He believed that violence was never the solution to any problem, and as such, made it a point to refrain from physical or verbal violence as much as possible. This choice left him almost completely defenseless if he were to be assaulted or caught in a fight. Though he would put up as much struggle as possible, he certainly has no formal training in any forms of combat - nor would he ever wish to learn. Cathal made his work fixing the wounds of others, not adding to them.
History: Cathal was the product of a one-time relationship between his human father and an elven mother whom he had never met. His father had told stories late at night of an “elven mistress” who had stayed with him long enough to bear their child, and then disappeared without a trace. His father, in all the years of Cathal’s childhood, had refused to reveal more than this. He became eerily silent and very distant upon discussing Cathal’s mother. Over the years, it became something of a moot conversation: Cathal knew that if someday his father felt like discussing his mother, then they would discuss it. Until then, it was pointless to bring it up. That day never came, however.
Cathal's father was very laid-back and relaxed. He rarely quarreled with others, finding contentment wherever it was to be found. They both were content with getting by – they led a perfectly simple life. Few complaints were to be had, despite a definite lack of glamour and fortune. Cathal grew up where the phrase, “Everything is just fine,” was idiomatic to mean a whole spectrum of things from bad to good. Perhaps this foundation of contentedness was what allowed him to connect to other people so effectively. He was soft-spoken, though had no trouble starting or perpetuating a conversation with a stranger. He had seen violence perhaps too often in the city of Marn. This, combined with other factors of his upbringing, had a profound effect on him as he grew up. It was all in peoples’ faces. He couldn’t bear to see the look of helplessness on others’ faces. When they thought that hope was lost, or were beaten to the ground. When he was fairly young, Cathal had sworn never to fight except in self-defense, and even then only if it was entirely necessary. Rarely had this promise been challenged. Sometimes, however, he had nightmares of what were to happen if he ever found himself in a fight which he either could not prevent, or could not win. He tried not to let it bother him, though he found it almost constantly lurking somewhere in the back of his mind.
One of Cathal’s most distinct memories was one of shame and embarrassment, which he never came to understand. His father worked in the Industrial District, doing some low-level job which had to do with producing electricity. He never really understood what exactly his father did – technology had always seemed far too complicated for him. One day, however, he came home with a burn on his forearm. It was a purple color towards the middle, and faded to a bright red on its perimeter. His father was very sensitive about it, and seemed to be in constant pain. To try and be of assistance, Cathal offered his father several wet bandages. “It’s not a cut. Bandages won’t do anything,” his father told him patiently. He insisted. Finally, his father surrendered, hoping that at least the water would provide some sort of comfort. For an hour they sat, as Cathal carefully wrapped the wound, his focus uninterruptable for the duration of the task. “Does that feel better?” Cathal would ask. “Is that comfortable?” Supportively, his father would nod, regardless of if it was true or not. After he was finished, Cathal’s father gave him a grateful nod and a pat on the back, and they both went off to bed. The next morning, however, Cathal’s father was astounded to find that he had no pain in his arm. Carefully, he removed the bandages that his son had so diligently applied, and again was surprised. The burn, which had been nearly unbearable the day before, had disappeared entirely. Before he left to go to work, he woke up his son with the simple words, “Never do that again.” They never again spoke of the occasion, though Cathal remembered it forever as if he had done something wrong or inappropriate. He never understood the true meaning of what he had done at all.
Later that evening, Cathal caught a glance of his father's exposed forearm, and couldn't help but feel a sense of pride and satisfaction in what he had done. He couldn't explain it, and he would certainly never try, but that didn't by any means stifle the wide grin which spread across his face. From that day on, despite a sense of guilt that he carried with him, Cathal continued to try and learn how to treat wounds - minor and major. He certainly wasn't bad. He would offer help to a stranger by offering to wrap a wound, or offer advice on how to treat a rash. He knew that somehow he would learn how to be better at his craft, and he would be able to help people as much as possible. Someday.
Cathal lived the rest of his childhood quietly and unobtrusively. He went through the school system in Marn and was neither excellent nor delinquent. His father had been in deteriorating health for the latter part of his youth, and Cathal's best efforts were insufficient to sustain him forever. In the last months of his his life, communication between Cathal and his father gradually decreased, until there were no longer words to be said between them. He passed peacefully one night while they were both asleep. In the morning, Cathal took his father to the far side of the Ofriyu Mar and buried him on the riverbank.
Cathal lives alone in the Residential District of Marn. He offers his services from home as a simple healer to support himself, and gets just enough business to support himself with little money to spare. This doesn't bother him, he is content. He has a somewhat suppressed yearning to continue his training as a healer, in order to reconcile the guilt that he still maintains from his father's death. Perhaps someday he will continue to pursue his training and go on to become a great healer.
Age: 19 years old
Race: Half-Elf
Height: 5’9”
Weight: 155 lbs.
Physical Description: Warm, aquamarine gems rested in his eye sockets and gazed out upon the world. They contained entire seas, oceans filled with contentment and ease. Gentle youthfulness radiated from the oceans in his eyes. Gentle dunes, smooth curves protected the oceans from all sides. His face contained no sharpness – all contours were fluid and gradual. A mat of soft brown hair masked his forehead from view, sweeping sideways just above his brow. His jaw, though slightly pronounced, melted gently into his neck, which melted gently into his torso, which cascaded downwards and separated into his legs. His upper-body was met by a pair of shorter, thick legs. Cathal frequently wore a simple, practical tunic. It had once been white, but years of wear had rendered it darker, now almost tan. His tunic covered his upper-arms, about halfway to his elbows, and fell loosely to the middle of his thighs. He tied a braided-leather belt around his waist, which held several small keys and a water-pouch. A pair of worn leather boots protected his feet from the ground, though he might as well have gone barefoot for the meager protection that they offered.
Possessions: Cathal had few possessions which he considered valuable. The first and perhaps most important was his “Basic Guide to Treating Wounds.” It was kept almost religiously on his person, and he referred to it often. It had clearly been read in entirety countless times – its pages were worn and repaired, and had marks written all over, either of his questions, or experiences he had had with certain procedures. The second of his important possessions was only slightly less important. He carried with him a quarterstaff made of knotted wood. It had no significance other than making him feel comfortable. He couldn’t even pretend to fight with it, nor did it bear any taboo magical power. However, when he carried it strapped to his back, he felt some illusion of importance, of position, and of security. Among few other things necessary to survive, Cathal had also crafted a makeshift first-aid kit which contained mostly linen bandages and a draught of his own creation which had limited success as a pain-reliever.
Strengths: Cathal had an insatiable sense of curiosity. He maintained an element of boyhood that was sometimes lost in adolescence: he was always in awe of the world around him. Perhaps as a facet of this, Cathal was a quick learner, and very kinesthetically minded. He only had to be told or shown something once or twice for him to remember it well. Because he placed such a high value in learning, Cathal was also very literate, and could easily learn things from books that he might not be able to learn otherwise. This was less preferable, though certainly not out of his reach.He was a good healer through sheer hard work and determination alone, and sometimes was able to subconsciously connect to some segment of the Astral Plane which aided his healing somehow, either by speeding it up or more potent. This is rare though, and completely untrained. It usually required a significant emotional attachment to the work itself.
Weaknesses: Cathal was almost entirely pacifistic in nature. He believed that violence was never the solution to any problem, and as such, made it a point to refrain from physical or verbal violence as much as possible. This choice left him almost completely defenseless if he were to be assaulted or caught in a fight. Though he would put up as much struggle as possible, he certainly has no formal training in any forms of combat - nor would he ever wish to learn. Cathal made his work fixing the wounds of others, not adding to them.
History: Cathal was the product of a one-time relationship between his human father and an elven mother whom he had never met. His father had told stories late at night of an “elven mistress” who had stayed with him long enough to bear their child, and then disappeared without a trace. His father, in all the years of Cathal’s childhood, had refused to reveal more than this. He became eerily silent and very distant upon discussing Cathal’s mother. Over the years, it became something of a moot conversation: Cathal knew that if someday his father felt like discussing his mother, then they would discuss it. Until then, it was pointless to bring it up. That day never came, however.
Cathal's father was very laid-back and relaxed. He rarely quarreled with others, finding contentment wherever it was to be found. They both were content with getting by – they led a perfectly simple life. Few complaints were to be had, despite a definite lack of glamour and fortune. Cathal grew up where the phrase, “Everything is just fine,” was idiomatic to mean a whole spectrum of things from bad to good. Perhaps this foundation of contentedness was what allowed him to connect to other people so effectively. He was soft-spoken, though had no trouble starting or perpetuating a conversation with a stranger. He had seen violence perhaps too often in the city of Marn. This, combined with other factors of his upbringing, had a profound effect on him as he grew up. It was all in peoples’ faces. He couldn’t bear to see the look of helplessness on others’ faces. When they thought that hope was lost, or were beaten to the ground. When he was fairly young, Cathal had sworn never to fight except in self-defense, and even then only if it was entirely necessary. Rarely had this promise been challenged. Sometimes, however, he had nightmares of what were to happen if he ever found himself in a fight which he either could not prevent, or could not win. He tried not to let it bother him, though he found it almost constantly lurking somewhere in the back of his mind.
One of Cathal’s most distinct memories was one of shame and embarrassment, which he never came to understand. His father worked in the Industrial District, doing some low-level job which had to do with producing electricity. He never really understood what exactly his father did – technology had always seemed far too complicated for him. One day, however, he came home with a burn on his forearm. It was a purple color towards the middle, and faded to a bright red on its perimeter. His father was very sensitive about it, and seemed to be in constant pain. To try and be of assistance, Cathal offered his father several wet bandages. “It’s not a cut. Bandages won’t do anything,” his father told him patiently. He insisted. Finally, his father surrendered, hoping that at least the water would provide some sort of comfort. For an hour they sat, as Cathal carefully wrapped the wound, his focus uninterruptable for the duration of the task. “Does that feel better?” Cathal would ask. “Is that comfortable?” Supportively, his father would nod, regardless of if it was true or not. After he was finished, Cathal’s father gave him a grateful nod and a pat on the back, and they both went off to bed. The next morning, however, Cathal’s father was astounded to find that he had no pain in his arm. Carefully, he removed the bandages that his son had so diligently applied, and again was surprised. The burn, which had been nearly unbearable the day before, had disappeared entirely. Before he left to go to work, he woke up his son with the simple words, “Never do that again.” They never again spoke of the occasion, though Cathal remembered it forever as if he had done something wrong or inappropriate. He never understood the true meaning of what he had done at all.
Later that evening, Cathal caught a glance of his father's exposed forearm, and couldn't help but feel a sense of pride and satisfaction in what he had done. He couldn't explain it, and he would certainly never try, but that didn't by any means stifle the wide grin which spread across his face. From that day on, despite a sense of guilt that he carried with him, Cathal continued to try and learn how to treat wounds - minor and major. He certainly wasn't bad. He would offer help to a stranger by offering to wrap a wound, or offer advice on how to treat a rash. He knew that somehow he would learn how to be better at his craft, and he would be able to help people as much as possible. Someday.
Cathal lived the rest of his childhood quietly and unobtrusively. He went through the school system in Marn and was neither excellent nor delinquent. His father had been in deteriorating health for the latter part of his youth, and Cathal's best efforts were insufficient to sustain him forever. In the last months of his his life, communication between Cathal and his father gradually decreased, until there were no longer words to be said between them. He passed peacefully one night while they were both asleep. In the morning, Cathal took his father to the far side of the Ofriyu Mar and buried him on the riverbank.
Cathal lives alone in the Residential District of Marn. He offers his services from home as a simple healer to support himself, and gets just enough business to support himself with little money to spare. This doesn't bother him, he is content. He has a somewhat suppressed yearning to continue his training as a healer, in order to reconcile the guilt that he still maintains from his father's death. Perhaps someday he will continue to pursue his training and go on to become a great healer.
