Title: Cat witcher, Feline, the Feline of Fox Hollow.
Ethnicity/Race: Aen Seidhe elf.
In the year 1179, Abel was born in the village of Fox Hollow in Toussaint, a vassal state of Nilfgaard. Since his mother died shortly after giving birth, he was raised by his father on a farm on the outskirts of the village. Nightmares plagued him as a child, nearly every night he woke covered in sweat and screaming. Visions of blood and death, inhuman howling and the cold black of loneliness. It would be decades before he learned that he had prophetic dreams, though he would never learn how to truly read them, as they were far too muddled.
1188. At age nine, his father went out to hunt. No more than half of an hour passed before a scream ripped through the air, and next he knew Abel was sprinting into the trees with empty hands. He found his father laying in a small clearing, covered in blood and ripped from claws, bone exposed yet still breathing. Running to him and falling to his knees, he was too stunned to do anything other than stare and gasp, fragments of his previous nightmares flashing through his mind.
Hearing the rustle of leaves he came face to face with his father's killer, a creature he would later learn to be a fiend. It was large, larger than most, a set of long scars covering one side of its face and rendering an eye useless. When his father's hand gripped his arm and he told him to run, Abel did so. Without hesitation he turned and fled, the monster's roar following after him along with the pound of feet. He did manage to escape, though only barely, the beast giving up its chase once Abel broke from the trees. However, the memory would forever live stark in his mind and in the scars that would form on his back.
He didn't stop running until he reached his home, though that place was far from safe either. It was burning, razed from a candle that he had carelessly dropped in his haste to find the source of the scream. Part of him didn't realize that tears stained his cheeks, part of him didn't care. No one tried to help and he could do nothing, so by the time the fire died and the ashes settled there was nothing left.
After the death of his father and the burning of his home, Abel traveled to Beauclair, the capital city of Toussaint, surrounding the Palace of Beauclair. Since he couldn't find anyone who was kind enough to give him a ride, he walked, somehow managing to get there without being attacked.
For five years, he lived on the streets and slept in the back alleys of Beauclair. Making his living any way he could, by working for whoever would hire him, he often found himself with less than desirable jobs. He quickly grew into a striking lad, however, and learned how to have a tongue to match. It worked to his advantage, as he often found himself needing to charm someone into giving him a place to rest, or to talk a young rebellious noble out of their wits so that he could make away with their coin. His nightmares never left him, and was plagued with the same one for over five years. Every night he dreamt of pain gnawing at his bones, the smell of vomit and sickness heavy on his senses, hoarse screaming and the clash of metal meeting metal.
At age fifteen his fortune took yet another drastic turn. Upon finding a trio of human men cornering an elven woman behind an inn when he stepped out, he couldn't bring himself to ignore it. Because of this decision, he soon had a knife in his hand and blood on his knuckles, his lip split, and three men at his feet either unconscious or gasping. The woman had fled during the fight, and what greeted Abel when he caught his breath was a pair of glowing eyes in the darkness. The cat eyes of a witcher he soon learned, and one who wanted to recruit him, seeing potential in his fighting abilities.
After learning what they do, he was quick to agree, setting off early the next morning with the man who would become his mentor. At the time, the idea of slaying monsters was preferable to spending his days cleaning floors and stealing, or hanging from the noose. The thought of killing the thing that murdered his father also had a heavy weigh in his decision.
1194. Thus began his training as a witcher at the School of the Cat at Stygga Castle, and indeed what grueling training it was. Compared to his fellow witchers-in-training, however, he stuck out. Not only was he the only elf there, he did not have the same penchant for aggression as they did. He was charming, engaging, sharp as a whip, and a flirt. But he did indeed have a bitterness to him, one that came from his childhood and the way he had been forced to live.
Despite how difficult and dangerous the training was, Abel was a prodigy, learning the unique swordplay and countless monster types with surprising speed. He wished to keep people safe, but determination and revenge drove him above all else. By the time he was twenty he was deemed ready to take on the Trail of the Grasses. Looking back on it now, it wasn't a wise decision. Rather it was rushed, his training and studying not truly complete.
The Trail of the Grasses nearly kills any who undertake it, and when it came to this Abel was no exception. In fact, it affected him more harshly than any in his group, though he was one of only two that survived. He was given the alchemical formula that intensified his emotions rather than suppressing them, and his memories of both the Trail and the Changes are things he prefers never to think of.
Much like everyone, Abel came out of the experiments changed. He didn't have time to properly adjust, however, as only a couple of days after he recovered an army marched onto the grounds of the School of the Cat with the intent to kill them. He was one of the few Felines to escape Stygga Castle, and for the first few months was a part of the Dyn Marv Caravan. But he realized soon that he did not agree with the way the Cats sold their swords, and split from the caravan and his Feline siblings.
1200. The first thing he did was travel back to Fox Hollow in Toussaint, back to where he was born, for he had unfinished business. Like riding a horse, he never forgot the path to his home and upon arriving he saw his prey on the notice board, as if by a stroke of Destiny. And so he rested from his journey, spoke with the contractor about the beast, oiled his silver sword, and stepped into the trees where his father was killed. In the same clearing that his father died, Abel fought and slew the fiend with the scarred eye. It was a rough battle, his first large contract, but once all was done a resolved peace settled on his shoulders, the death of his father avenged and the people of Fox Hollow safe.
After that he traveled as all witchers do, from Nilfgaard to Mahakam to Skellige, taking contracts and coin. And quite often, he walked away with hearts as well. Adopting a strict code and a neutral stance as he walked the Path, he avoided politics, refused gold for use of his steel blade, and kept a solitary life save for those who warmed his bed. He did not involve himself in the Witcher Tournament and the blood that was spilled there, nor did he share a hatred of the Wolf School that snapped at other Cat witchers' heels. Winter was a toll on one who had no warm place to spend it, but he managed to survive that alone as well, refusing to stay with the Dyn Marv Caravan.
Every night he dreamt of warmth and the color of gold, soft skin and the smell of linen. It would be decades, however, before the future showed what this dream meant.
1221. While on a rather strange contract in Vengerberg involving a red ribbon, a pitcher of fine wine, and a psychopathic higher vampire, he met Vissoma Vil Anvaze. Another higher vampire, framed for her kindred's wrongs, and one that Abel nearly killed out of said misunderstanding. It took him later saving her life for her to forgive him, and after a friendly conversation and some fine wine they became fast friends, and remain so to this day.
1255. A little over half a century into his life as a witcher, Abel took on a contract from a noble in Toussaint. The noble, Vren van Lwur, claimed that there was a monster taking up residence at his country estate, and had offered such a high price to be rid of it that Abel didn't hesitate to speak to the man. Upon traveling to the estate with the noble and his son, at their insistence, and further investigation into the mystery, the Feline learned that the monster was a cockatrice. The beast had tried to surprise him, but when that tactic failed it went after his employers. While Vren van Lwur managed to flee out of range, his son was not so lucky, and Abel was only just fast enough to save him. Once he has the cockatrice's attention and was able to steer it away from the other two, he made quick work of the beast.
So grateful was Vren van Lwur to the witcher for ridding him of the monster and saving his son, that he offered Abel free board for the winter, along with the coin promised beforehand. As the colder months were fast approaching and a witcher never turns away free board, he accepted. Thus began his stay at the van Lwur country estate.
Francis, the esteemed van Lwur's son, had taken a shining to the Feline and often spent time in his company. He was fascinated by Abel's tales of contracts and of monsters, and the elf would often gladly indulge him. Only three weeks into his stay, the two became involved in what started as a dalliance. Once it began Abel's dreams came anew, strange flashes of white hair and green light, blossoming pain and moonlight bathed in old ache. Francis did what he could to help the Feline rest peacefully, but no amount of tea or massages could ease them.
Alas, their dalliance only lasted the winter, as Francis was placed in an arranged marriage. He wished to give it all away to be with the witcher, to run with him, but Abel refused to let him ruin his life in such a way. The four month stay transformed their dalliance into an affair steeped in feelings and half unsaid love. It was a sad goodbye, one that would haunt both of them for years.
From then on Abel kept a careful distance from people, returning to his solitary life on the Path with conviction, his heart scarred once again. His dreaming continued, the same visions that he could make no sense of. After a few years he once again began to bed other people, but he never took another lover, nor did he have friends aside from Vissoma Vil Anvaze. He traveled far and wide to take contracts, learning lands and people, and coming to understand what his dreams truly were. There was even a time he met a strange pale woman, golden branches tattooed across her face, and assisted her. However, never did he let the Path lead him across the border of Toussaint.
1272. Thus was how he walked his life until his destiny was intertwined with another, bringing happenings that he dreamed of and yet could not understand until they came to pass.
Day of Birth: May 12th, 1179.
Physical Description: He had the build of a nimble fighter; agile, flexible, and littered with the occasional scar from both claw and blade. A handsome and clean face that turned the head of many, his ebony hair windswept and his eyes a bright yellow, nearly glowing around the trademark slit pupils of all witchers. Pointed ears showed his elven blood, as did his lithe form and large eyes. A well-healed scar traveled from the underside of his jaw and down his neck to his collarbone, pale pink against his cream skin.
Fighting Style: As a Cat school witcher, his fighting style is based and focused around speed, precision, and agility. Where he doesn't land heavy and raw damage, he makes due with well placed hits to vital areas that are almost always deadly. A smooth and near silent fighter thanks to years of grueling training and the witcher mutations, he is a dangerous man to cross blades with.
Clothing Style: By extension of his fighting style, his armor and gear were designed to maximize flexibility and provide the best possible range of motion. Light armor made of dark blue and black leather, his chest piece often sleeveless though not always, silver buckles clasping everything in place. His casual wear consisted of an open white shirt resembling that of a pirate's and a pair of black leather trousers. Knee-high boots accompanied both his armor and his casual wear, made of dark and durable leather.
Weapon of Choice: His silver and steel swords.
Special Skills: Singing, he has a strong talent for magic, has prophetic dreams.
Family: His mother died shortly after giving birth to him, his father was killed by a fiend when he was nine years old. He has no siblings.
Love Interest: Francis van Lwur (briefly), Cirilla Riannon.
Closest Friend: Vissoma Vil Anvaze.
Biggest Fear: Helplessness.
Guilty Pleasure: Wine from Toussaint.
