Llewellyn Lacey Ludlow

[Llewellyn Ludlow]

LLEWELLYN LUDLOW

BASIC INFORMATION

NAME: Llewellyn Lacey Ludlow
AGE: Thirty-five
RACE: Druid
GENDER: Male
ALLIANCE: Robespierre Academy
OCCUPATION: makes candles part time
FACE CLAIM: West Adler
ORIENTATION: Androphilic
RELATIONSHIPS:

• Freya - Mother - Witch - High-end Escort & Fortune Teller
• Theodore Ludlow - Estranged Father - Witch (warlock?) - Career Politician - Deceased
• Edan Ludlow - Half Brother - Witch (warlock?) - Anti-Establishment Movement Leader
• Theodore Ludlow II. - Half Brother - Human - Deceased
• Elena Ludlow - Estranged Step Mother? Families are Messy. - Human - Housewife

PERSONALITY

Sensitive | Escapist | Melancholic

Like many druids before him, Llewellyn endured his own metamorphosis when he was laid in the mud and bound by the roots of the wood while it sowed its seed inside his corroded lungs. He looks back at his younger self with a good deal of embarrassment. His teenage self was, as many young people are, selfishly misguided with a sprinkling of addiction and a generous smattering of anxiety. He was born with his curly head submerged just beneath the surface of being functionally good (as a witch, or even just in life) so failures have always been second nature to him as both a boy and a man.

As he emerged from puberty strung out on a cocktail of anti anxiety meds and a lot of pot, no one was really surprised or cared. For Llewellyn the world was much too loud, it made his heart race too fast, his skin crawl, and his brain felt like static and battery acid.

When he wasn't freaking out, Llewellyn often pushed the boundaries of what it meant to be numb. He went through enormous effort to disconnect from everything, even if that meant burning his interpersonal relationships to the ground. He would tell himself that those he loved were better off without him. To a certain extent it was probably true. 

Llewellyn's redemption arc isn't one of bravery, but rather desperation. The Calling was his salvation in a lot of ways, forced upon him like a storm to weather. From that he learned of his weedy resilience. 

The time he spent in the woods changed him. Llewellyn today has been humbled and brought closer to the earth and for once his heart didn't feel like clawing itself out from his chest. Then came the guilt for the way he had left things. The way he had treated his family and the people he loved, and that guilt nestled itself into his soul and made itself a home, but it was good for him. It taught him patience.

He is still blooming and he has been slow to do so even as a man. By druid standards he's still quite young. He still hangs onto his sadness and self doubt, but in relative isolation he's faced many of his demons. He doesn't love himself but has settled into a a quiet acceptance. More importantly he has continued to evolve and become better. 

HISTORY

T/W addiction, mental health issues

Llewellyn knows deep down his Mother never wanted children. She wasn't suited for Parenthood and that ineptitude bled into their relationship that was more akin to friendship. He doesn't resent Freya for it. At least she was present, even if she was high or introducing him to strange men that would drift in and out of his life with alarming frequency. Stability and security were as absent from his life as his Father. 

But he didn't grow up wanting for much, at least in a physical sense. Raised on a former plantation in Lafayette, the young witch could utter a whim and, like magic, it would materialize, usually bought by his bio Father's hush money. 

His Mum worked and owned a small shop in town where she would read fortunes and sell healing crystals to bored housewives. When she wasn't running her shop she would often be on extravagant trips with those same housewives husbands. Sometimes she would hire a babysitter, but in truth Freya would frequently forget and Llewellyn would be left to his own devices.

In it's truest form, Llewellyn's childhood was that of a latchkey kid but to an extreme. He was lonely a lot, and as he grew up it manifested in his character like a gust of wind that would pull up his roots. His mood swings were significant or entirely absent. His attachment style contradictory. He was angry, he would break things, and shut down. He would beg his Mom to stay home through desperate cries. He would run away into the woods and sing to the frogs at night and drag himself cold and hungry back home in the morning. 

His Mom would get him therapy so he would stop having meltdowns every time she left.

He was just anxious, just bored, overstimulated, and he would count the minutes to his next round of medication that would make him not feel anything anymore until it stopped working and he would move onto the next thing. A dozen diagnoses later and he would be cured for a little while and he would be Freya's sweet boy again. Rinse and repeat. 

As he got older it got marginally better, and his stable moments stretched their limbs forward and into the future. As a trade off he didn't feel much of anything anymore, but maybe that was better for him. 

He made friends and cared less about when his Mom would come and go. He'd ride his bike for miles to get to his best friend Kai's house. He became a regular fixture in his family, sleeping over for weeks on end, hanging out with his two younger siblings, talking about music, video games, girls, skating, whatever. Cuddle playing SNES. 

They grew together through their teenage years and Llewellyn loved him. He grew to the realization slowly, uncomfortably, and when he came to that conclusion he pulled away in a panic and capsized. 

The next three years he spent trying to get upright again, weaving in and out of Kai's life in a superb show of jackassery. It was unfair of him to treat his best friend that way- To tell him he loved him and be gone in the morning. To cry into his shirt when his Dad died, to text him on the nights where he was incoherent at a strangers house. He would be clean for a week and then fall back into the throes of addiction and disappear. Push him away because he deserved better and Llewellyn couldn't manage to take care of himself or actively pursue his own happiness.

When The Calling came for him he was in a hopeless place, tired of doing this awful waltz he'd memorized by heart. He didn't fight it. He left his honda on the side of the road and came to the swamps of his own free will, following the intuitive pull, even if he wasn't entirely certain why he was there. 

So he disappeared. Dying wasn't easy, but it was easier than the times he overdosed and woke up in hooked up into half a dozen machines after the best high of his life, cold and sharp and too bright. It was easier than disappointing the same people over and over again. His last living thought was if it was weird that he was okay with it, with death, with not knowing the outcome or why a strange group of swamp people threw him into the ground with a determined excitement. Whatever!

When they raised him (who even were they?) from the ground he didn't choke on the earth. He was okay, but different, but also maybe better than before, with the impression that this was natural, it was right, that it fit like a worn pair of shoes that knew his feet but he couldn't remember.

It was like waking up from a nightmare just to realize he was finally home, but also not knowing anything about home ownership or taxes. 

On that first night he met the Druid that would become his mentor and followed them around with naive veneration, talking their ear off and oversharing in his excitement. His Mentor did not seem to share that same enthusiasm, usually responding in grunts, head nods, or sometimes even foreboding silence. In truth Llewellyn felt better than ever, cradled and comforted by the bayou and away from everything that had made his old life feel unbearable. 

And eventually, his Mentor got fed up and ditched him and he was alone with his thoughts and the fish he would catch for dinner. He was alone for a long time after that, dwelling on concentric musings that would cannibalize themselves like the dragon eating its tail, wandering aimlessly or sometimes with purpose. He grew a beard - sort of. It came in all patchy, but it was definitely a highlight of his Druidic life. 

For a short while he tagged along as an advisor and healer to a small Werewolf pack. He traded his services for news back home, updates on his old friends and family. He was appreciative of it, having not even realized ten years had passed since he disappeared. He tried to go back more than once but it was a miserable experience, harsher than he remembered it. His old life felt distant now, but he held onto his memories with bullheaded stubbornness. He was still a newborn in Druidic terms, so some residual attachments to his old life were natural. 

When he learned about Robespierre Academy it didn't initially strike him as a place of interest, but the months bled by and he struggled to shake the feeling that he was meant to go back. Things in the world were changing, the balance was shifting, and it wasn't just in the City either. More and more the bayou was being encroached upon. Other Druids felt it too, and the sense of being cornered was pervasive. 

So he wandered back into town looking like Robin Williams in Jumanji, shaved, showered, and found himself on Robespierre's doorstep with a tentative curiosity to move forward into the future. 

PLAYER INFORMATION

PLAYER ALIAS: critter
PLAYER AGE: 29
PLAYER PRONOUNS: she/her/whatever you wanna call me tbh
OTHER CHARACTERS: n/a

RAZZ ♦ ADOXOGRAPHY

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