#he raped his twin sister next to their dead son’s corpse

[hllywdwhre]

Jaime Lannister simps shit talking GOT/HOTD characters and calling them predators when Jaime raped Cersei next to their dead son’s body is…. Bold to say the least

[weareinquisitor]

A Wolf in Hound’s Clothing

Fighting Not for the Flock but for Vengeance

A final addition to the Iconic Inquisitor roster.

Name: Inquisitor Mikkel Groennlie Age/Gen/Race/AL: 72, Male, werewaheela Human, Lawful Neutral Height/Weight: 6′5″ 272 lbs Class and Level: Slayer, Alchemist, Inquisitor (Sanctified Slayer) Long, long History under the Break (He’s 72, give me a break) I wrote a novel and we’re all the worse for it

Art by  Sergey Kolesov, Art below the cut by Mike “Daarken” Lim

Mikkel Groennlie was born in the Norhern outpost of Groennlie, in the frozen wastes that only the hardiest men and women inhabited, mer being poorly adapted to such frozen wastes and dwarves turned away by the lack of precious gems and hardy metals. In this hellish wasteland, warlords and bloodthirsty warriors made their home, sustaining themselves by raiding south down rivers in longships, kept safe by Ser Winter and Mistress Mud.

Their land was the last bastion of an ancient curse, one long ago purged from the world by the High Church, but one that remained in the Northern Wastes simply because the outlaws could survive and thrive due to their condition and they did not present a threat to the faithful, only to bandits and other outlaws. The Northern Wastes were the land of the werebeast.

Born the third son of an ambitious warlord, Thorbjorn Groennlie, Mikkel was unfortunately a very frail child. He was, however, incredibly sharp and cunning, gifted with incredible wisdom and intelligence. In truth, it seemed like his body was solely for the purpose of housing his great intellect and for little else. Only his father saw the value in this child, everyone else derided him for his absolute lack of martial prowess. Not even being the chieftain’s son shielded him from the abuse.

His father would bring him every book, map, history, and treatise he could find, and Mikkel eagerly learned it all. He became fluent in the languages of the south, knowledgeable in their geography, and aware of their social and political intricacies. Many techniques used against werebeasts in the Great Purge were adopted by the defenders.

Mikkel’s 16th birthday coincided with a full moon, and it soon turned into the worst night of his life. The largest, fiercest werewolf that had ever been encountered somehow slipped past the defenses, and went on a murderous spree that only ended when the chieftain’s sons and daughters lured it into a keep and collapsed it upon themselves and the beast. Come morning, the warriors tore the rubble apart searching for the bodies, only to find a stunned Mikkel surrounded by the mauled corpses of his brothers and sisters.

He was indicted with the crime, and he would have died come morning had he not pieced together the clues and information he had, and come to the conclusion based off of the Southerners’ writings on the curse that his father must be cursed with lycanthropy as well, and he was not a werewolf, but a skinshifter who had undergone his first, frenzied transformation. Armed with this knowledge and the superhuman body his curse, no, blessing had granted him, he strode with confidence to the executioner’s block, only to burst into his wolf form in broad daylight, stunning guard and warrior alike and allowing him to escape.

From there, he made his way South, and in his frenzied, distraught state he would join a band of marauding bandits. For a season, he burned, pillaged, and raped his way up and down the continent under the name of Helmut. Helmut was a wild man, considering the only sin in life to deny oneself, and as such freely indulged in any desire he had, no matter the cost or harm done to others. This very attitude would write the next chapter of his life as one drenched in sin and with no redeeming qualities.

Now known simply as Helmut the Tall, he would join a band of pirates, eventually finding his way into the legendary crew of Siegmund the Black. He would come to be called Siegmund’s Salty Dog by a noble, and at first detested the name. Come a few months, Siegmund decided he desired a castle, and they stormed this very nobleman’s seaside castle. Helmut personally broke the defenses, and proceeded to beat down the noble and walk him on a leash in front of all of his men and family.

It seemed like the golden age of Helmut and Siegmund’s lives, but this very pinnacle was also the day the seed of their rift was planted. For the nobleman’s daughter, Eloise, was by far the most beautiful girl either man had ever seen. Had they been ordinary bandits, they would have simply slaked their thirst on her then and there, but hers was a beauty so refined and graceful they wanted to drink long and at their leisure from its overflowing pools. As such, both men reigned in their wilder sides, and they set about to courting the poor girl.

Helmut, drawing from his past life as Mikkel, would make progress by leaps and bounds, as he recited to her poems and discussed philosophy with Eloise at length. Siegmund grew jealous of Helmut’s progress and distraught over his closest friend’s sudden and drastic change. He decided if he couldn’t have Eloise forever, he could at least have her once, and forced himself on her. Helmut’s anger was unparalleled the moment he found out, but Eloise asked him not to avenge her and instead to simply escape with her.

Helmut reigned in his fury in, and taking a rowboat attempted to make it into the countryside with her. Siegmund knew Helmut well, however, and how he thought, and as such eventually caught up with his old friend. Distraught over the fact Eloise had stolen the Helmut he once knew, once they caught up he had Eloise killed on the spot. Helmut’s grief overflew, and for days he ate and drank nothing. Siegmund attempted to talk to his friend at first, and then resorted to shouting, which soon turned into beatings.

In truth, Helmut died alongside Eloise that day, and now Mikkel was once more rising up within Helmut, Helmut’s battered and broken iron being melted down and reforged by the fires of fury within the furnace of grief. The next port they stopped at, Mikkel, left barely guarded in his comatose state, slaughtered his way out of the ship while most of the crew was drinking and left. For the second time in his life, Siegmund felt fear at the thought of Mikkel out there hunting him.

Leading a band of the King’s Enforcers, Mikkel hunted down Siegmund much in the same way Siegmund had hunted him: simply knowing the man and his habits. When they finally caught up, the battle was nothing but pure sound and fury. And yet among the chaos of it all, the heaviest blow that fate dealt was accompanied with two words, spoken calmly: “For Eloise.” Siegmund was dead, and Mikkel felt content to enlist under the King’s Enforcers as Matheas, once more donning a false name and becoming the mask to run from his past.

But his time with the King’s Enforcers quickly turned into an extension of his time as a pirate, and Matheas found himself surrounded by more murderers, thieves, and rapists. The only difference between the King’s Enforcers and Siegmund’s pirates was that with Siegmund, Matheas had had a friend, but now, under the King’s Enforcers, he only had taskmasters. Mikkel’s stint as Matheas was short-lived, and Mikkel waited patiently until they stopped in a cove. And there, he once again allowed himself to run wild, slaughtering the entire crew and mangling the corpses to cover the fact his body was missing.

Mikkel wandered the countryside aimlessly, hunting in wolf form when he was hungry, doing odd jobs to earn money. Burdened with rage, he became a smith and took out his fury on hot metal. He grew masterful at his trade, but found no satisfaction there. He would eventually resolve to die, no longer being able to come to terms with all the damage he had done. He decided to die with purpose, however, and would slowly make his way North, finding more of his kind and hunting them down.

In these borderlands with the Northern Wastes, he would simply live from day to day, anxiously awaiting the nights of the full moon. On these nights, he had difficulties finding other werebeasts, as his own form was so powerful others would flee out of fear and respect. What he did find one night was an ancient temple, worn by time and full of pools of water left unattended. In this sanctuary, he would encounter the dying deity Selene, sustained solely by her connection to one of Renova’s two moons.

For a time, he meditated under her watch, and she taught him the truths of his curse and the natures of its origin, explaining it as a curse placed on an ancient king for his refusal to bed Selene’s twin sister, Hecate. Since then, its plaguelike nature caused it to spread like wildfire, only to be contained periodically by Selene’s disciples or by the High Church when infestations got bad enough. Seeing an opportunity to amend his old ways, Siegmund’s Dog became Selene’s Wolf and left to begin his hunt.

For another time, he lived only off the land, hunting anonymously and seeking no renown. Maintaining communication by seances, Mikkel would be directed to the Old Woods, where he hunted Hecate’s witches’ covens. Between this and the hunting of Hecate’s great beasts, Selene was sending her sister a clear message: she had a grip in this world once more, and she was coming for her.

But Hecate was cunning and devious, and sent her own champion, a wyf-fox by the name of Blathnaid to poison and murder Mikkel. But Mikkel’s curse was not that of a werewolf, but of a werewaheela, and as such fully stomached the dose that Blathnaid gave him. His curse gave him an inordinately long life as well, and Mikkel was nearing the age of fifty at this time. His face was that of a younger man, but his eyes were grey and piercing and those of an old soul, and Blathnaid soon found herself falling for the tired huntsman.

Hecate succeeded in sequestering Selene’s champion in the end, as Mikkel found himself falling in love with Blathnaid as well, and neglected his duties, ignoring the call in order to spend time with her instead. She taught him herblore extensively, and the two were happy for three years and a day. But on that day, the townsfolk discovered Blathnaid’s wyf-fox nature, and she was burned at the stake while Mikkel was gone hunting for a week.

Losing himself to grief once more, Mikkel proceeded to hunt down werebeasts ruthlessly, and for a time he hunted and hunted and hunted. He tracked the beasts down, chased rumors, learned to discern the truth from the rumors, and began to map the incidents. It was in this way that he discovered a pattern, and a pattern soon became a trail. The trail would finally become a hunt as Mikkel sighted it: some unnatural monstrosity, part wolf, part boar, more than twice the size of a bear, but gifted with the speed and cunning of a fox.

It was the sum of all his enemy’s strengths and none of their weaknesses, and Mikkel wished he had never encountered it at first. This hesitation cost him their first encounter, and for months Mikkel would track it. But the breakouts it left in its trail would slow him down, and months turned to years soon enough. Mikkel would have many adventures during this time, coming to hone his skills relentlessly against dozens of the werebeasts in his preparation for the ultimate foe. 

As Mikkel neared his sixth decade, Selene and Hecate would both come to pass into obscurity, but while Hecate’s disciples mourned her passing and erected shrines in her memory in hidden corners of the wilderness, monuments that would testify to her for generations, Mikkel instead enlisted the help of a powerful cleric, and imbued a longsword with Selene’s essence, preserving his deity as his main weapon and turning her into his lifelong companion.

He traveled the world, hot on the beasts heels, constantly resolving the problems it caused. He caught sight of it multiple times, and on more than one occasion he wounded it gravely, only to have it flee and simply walk the wound off, for such was its size and constitution. Whether it was bent on never fighting him conclusively or it was constantly searching for the perfect battlefield, Mikkel never knew. 

But as the weeks turned to months and the months turned to years, Mikkel fears more and more that the answer is the latter, for Mikkel recently entered his seventh decade, and his age is finally catching up to him....