Cedric Rhodes's Questionnaire

In the misty recesses of the Scottish Highlands, which hides its ancient secrets in rugged beauty, a mystical warrior society exists called the Lasair Nicneven. The Scottish Gaelic term for “Flame of Nicneven” reveals that they are linked to divinity and have a clear purpose: to use fire as a holy weapon granted by Nicneven, an honoured fairy queen of Scotland. This organization has its roots back in the Iron Age when Highland was not only divided into clans and Celtic tribes fighting each other but also facing supernatural forces; thus, Lasair Nicneven alone had to guard this presence.

Cedric Rhodes was born into a family whose destiny would mold not just his life but also that of Lasair Nicneven. Alistair Rhodes, his father, was well-known as the Grandmaster of this clan. His name inspired reverence and fear among those that interacted with him because he was considered one of the greatest fighters with fire from sacred source across all clansmen. Therefore, it thrived under his rule despite that it had been haunted by supernatural beings throughout generations until Cedric’s father died at the hands of an unholy demonic being which diminished the order greatly.

When Cedric was born, his stark angel-like appearance of white hair, red eyes and pale white skin was taken as an omen from many members of the order, with many believing him to be the avatar of Nicneven herself. Under the shadow of his father’s greatness, he would hope to forge his destiny, to protect the world as much as he can from the forces of darkness.

Cedric profits from centuries’ collection of riches and resources by the Lasair Nicneven family. As the Grandmaster’s son, he can tap into these resources. The order has always known that it must live on within the material world even if it is kept in secret; hence, they have been very cautious about their wealth.

At times, the order goes on missions which have rewards or bounties especially when supernatural threats have come directly to the wealthy landowners or communities. Cedric has to prepare for his upcoming battles as a young warrior. He spends a good portion of his money maintaining weapons and armour, buying other necessities such as potions, enchanted items and travel rations. His tasks require quality rather than quantity so he always seeks the finest blacksmiths and alchemists in the Highlands. Lastly, he spends quite a good sum on travel expenses, wherever his adventures may take him.

The life of Cedric Rhodes is solely built on the desire to be great like his father, who was Lasair Nicneven’s Grandmaster. His main goal is to re-establish the Lasair Nicneven into its former glory by increasing its strength, and influence and most importantly rekindling the sacred flame. 

Cedric Rhodes has no moral issue about the act of killing unless it involves killing the innocents, the Lasair Nicneven has a strict code of justice which states that innocent life must not be taken. That being said, Cedric does understand the grim necessity of taking life in certain situations.

At just 21, he began taking on perilous contracts to combat supernatural threats and recover lost artefacts. Through these missions, Cedric aimed to rebuild the order’s strength, regain its former glory, and honour his father’s sacrifice all while unravelling the lingering mysteries surrounding his death and the dark forces at play.

The death of Alistair Rhodes, Cedric’s father and Lasair Nicneven’s Grandmaster, was not just a painful experience; it was this occurrence that shaped Cedric into the kind of leader he was meant to be. It is this incident above all others that defined Cedric’s journey from being an unsure young inheritor to becoming an unyielding warrior who had one objective. Although Cedric felt sadness so deep that he sank into the abyss, it did not last long before it was replaced by determination burning like hellfire. In a second, he promised himself to be the kind of man his father would have wanted him to be, he swore he would find out the mysteries behind his father's death and restore the order to its former glory.

Lasair Nicneven is home to several strong bonds and relationships, Cedric is a well-liked man who has made strong connections.

Eirlys MacLeod is an elder of the Lasair Nicneven who is involved in the ancient ways of Highland, as such she has many mystical abilities that most people in Scotland don’t. She’s one among a small number of individuals left who still practice some old rituals and have some magic powers her son could never comprehend fully. She has always been there for him since he was born and acted as his protector as well as a mentor.

Torin MacAllister is Cedric’s best friend and confidant when it comes to all things related to Lasair Nicneven. Torin has been at Cedric’s side ever since they were juveniles, having grown up under their father’s watchful eyes. He likes cracking jokes even in the heat of difficult situations. Although he might appear not serious, Torin would risk his life for Cedric anytime.

Isla Kerr was a healer from another of the opposing houses in the Lasair Nicneven that had had hundreds of years of dispute and tension with the Rhodes. Generations of enmity between the two families had set the parameters for an adversarial relationship between Cedric and Isla, but it had turned into so much more than that. Isla was young, with raven-black hair and striking blue orbs for eyes, kind, and held the very rare gift of healing—truly healing—which made her very special. She often provokes him with her very different views on the world and pushes him to see more of the world beyond the rigid confines of Lasair Nicneven's traditions. Their relationship is tense, passionate, and complicated by political and familial obstacles standing in their way.

I could not say that I had an ordinary childhood. It was moulded by the legacy I was born into. My father was Alistair Rhodes, Grandmaster of the Lasair Nicneven, a figure of respect and order. He was a man steeped in both power and discipline, his life chiselled out by service to the sacred flame and protection of the Highlands from supernatural threats. My mother, Eilidh, was soft and gentle, the softer balance for my father's stern nature. She taught me compassion, even toward the darkness we fought against.

The order's traditions and rituals surrounded me, for I was trained at a tender age in the manipulation of the holy flame and handling of the blade. I did not get to go to normal school. My schooling was within the sanctuary, learning of ancient arts of our order and the supernatural. I never did reading or arithmetic; instead, it was fire, fighting with swords, the history of our battles, and rituals to be done to pay homage to Nicneven.

Fitting in wasn't much of an option. There were no classmates or normal childhood friends other than one. I'd been different from the word go, not only because of who my father was but because of how I looked. I was a freak. White hair, red eyes, skin as pale as the snow. Some within the order saw me as an omen, maybe an avatar of Nicneven herself. Others just kept away, unsure what to make of me. I never really got the chance to be an average child; I was always the successor, meant to do more, meant to achieve greater. That is what my childhood was. An induction into the role I was born to perform, a life lived in the shadows of a legacy one can never ignore.

There was one. Isla Kerr. A fellow member of the order, and from the first time we met, there was something in that connection that felt more than comradery. Isla was different from any person I had ever known. In the sacred arts, her strength was at once calm and fiery, like her spirit, which could cut through the chaff of duty and expectation that hemmed me in.

We trained tirelessly, pushed each other to do better and be stronger. In moments like this, the world's weight, if only a little, lifted off my shoulders. In these moments I began to feel something more than respect for her, something deeper, something that makes me wonder what life might be like if I didn't bear this mantle.

But before I could ever really begin to consider those feelings, my father's death changed everything. Suddenly, I was thrown into leadership, and with that came responsibilities from which I couldn't turn my back. Isla was assigned to missions far away from the sanctuary, and seldom did our paths cross again. Whatever relationship we had was pushed to the backdrop, now driven by the urge to rebuild order and live up to the greatness my father had attained.

One of my greatest fears? I can't escape from it, though I try with all my might. It haunts me day and night, right from when I was just a lad sent out into the world by the order to accomplish my coming of age test. We were supposed to prove ourselves, my friend and I, out in the bitter cold of the Highlands. The wind cut to our clothes, cut like knives, and the drift stood about us and closed us in. We were so young and with all the fire of youth so determined, but the cold would not let us be. My friend, my closest companion, could not bear it. I saw him freeze to death in front of me, his breathing slowing, his life slipping into ice. I tried to keep him awake. I tried to keep him warm, but it was not enough. The cold had stolen him from me, and now I was left alone in that frozen hell. Since that time, I've been getting colder. Not in any physical kind of way, you know... not just the physical chill, but the coldness of death, of loss, of helplessness. It is the kind of fear that rises in my chest every time I recall that day and every time I remember that, no matter how hard I try, I have to keep admitting that there are things for which I have no control.

My most valued possession? Hands down, it is the Sigil of Nicneven, the ring of flames. Countless times has this ancient artifact saved my life. It's not some ring; it's a lifeline, a gift from Nicneven herself. With its power, I have pulled myself from death's doorstep, feeling the flames sew up my wounds as if they were mere scratches. But it is not mine alone. It was with the Sigil that I healed Alan, roadside, barely holding on, the light of life rising back into his eyes. There's so much more in the ring than just a tool, should I say, a reminder of divine power we share and the responsibility entailed. The Sigil is not just a trinket; it is the badge of our binding with Nicneven, the flame burning in each and every one of us. Every time I used it to heal myself or my comrades, it reaffirmed like when Alan was at the point of death, the bond with the sacred power we serve. It is a reminder that no matter how grim it gets, if there is a flame, there is some chance of survival. And that is what makes it invaluable to them, its power to restore life, defy death itself.

Right now, my biggest problem is being framed by the cult for the murder of a DSP agent. I didn’t kill him, but there’s footage that makes it look like I did. Now, I’m a wanted man, hunted by the authorities. Moving freely is no longer an option, and I can’t risk exposing myself too much. But I have a plan. I’m heading back to the Highlands, where the old magic runs deep, and the supernatural dwells en masse. If I can use the ancient powers there, I might be able to uncover the truth and clear my name. It won’t be easy, these forces are unpredictable, but I know the Highlands better than anyone. The cult used dirty tricks to set me up, so maybe I’ll use the same style to break free. With the right allies and a little luck, I might just turn this around and be able to get rid of this problem.

Each morning after having breakfeast, I begin by honoring Nicneven, my deity, with a dedicated ritual. I light candles and recite ancient prayers, asking for her guidance and protection throughout the day. Once my spiritual practice is complete, I focus on my claymore greatsword. I carefully clean the blade with a cloth infused with enchanted oils, ensuring it’s free of rust and grime. I then meticulously polish the runes etched into the sword, which renews both its magical properties and sharpness. This routine is essential, as it not only maintains the sword’s physical condition but also enhances its magical effectiveness. By merging my devotion to Nicneven with the careful upkeep of my weapon, I prepare myself spiritually and physically for the trials of monster hunting. This daily ritual profoundly reflects my deep respect for my deity and my unwavering commitment to my crucial role as a skilled and dedicated hunter.

Whenever I need to look sharp-like for an important gathering, I keep things simple but refined: first of all, no armour or sword this time, I'd leave heavy gear behind. Instead, I'd wear a clean, well-fitted shirt, something with a darker shade, maybe charcoal-to keep it formal but understated. The shirt would be crisp, and I'd make sure to pair it with well-polished boots and simple, well-tailored trousers. I also like to make sure I have a nice cologne on, as a good scent is very important to me.

This preparation would not take that long, maybe some thirty minutes or so. I'd make sure to comb my hair and take care of everything else so that not too many things are out of place. It is more about looking composed and controlled rather than ready to fight. There is no need to intimidate, but rather command respect. It usually doesn't take me longer than ten minutes to get ready.

My biggest regret? It's the day I set out on my "becoming a man" trial for the Order. I was barely more than a kid, all hyper to prove myself, to show the world that I had what it took to be part of Lasair Nicneven. The only person I was close to was Marcus, who came along with me. We had trekked deep into the wilderness, and what started as some simple mission transformed into a nightmare. The cold, harsher than any we'd ever seen, got to him. I watched as Marcus, a fellow warrior and trusted friend for years... froze to death. I was helpless to save him. No power from Nicneven, fire, or magic could reverse that. It haunts me to this day, the look in his eyes as the life was drained out of him. I was supposed to bring him home, but all I carried back was guilt. That regret fuels everything I do to this day, never to fail like that again.

My Gifts are closely linked with the Contracts that I take upon myself. For with every Contract, it is as if the sacred flame of Nicneven grows stronger, and my link to her power along with it. When I successfully fulfil a contract, the flame inside me grows more powerful, just like my strength does. The blessings of Nicneven do not fall from the sky; they are gained. As she grows in sacred flame, so, too, do my abilities from wielding fire to calling upon protective shields. In short, every completed contract fuels Nicneven, who grants me the power to continue my mission. It is my greatest honour to be the one that restores my goddess's strength, these beings, these harbingers as they are called; are indeed strange, terrifyingly so. In the future I hope to further obtain more gifts and further restore the sacred flame, along with my order.