Post by Bartolomeo on Jul 13, 2015 18:12:49 GMT
Name: Peytr Vassilisaov
Age: 36
Nationality: Vaegir
Hair: Dark Brown, near blond in some places due to sun-bleaching
Eyes: Dull blue-gray
Facial Markings: None
Skin Color: Caucasian
Height: 6'1
Weight: 170 pounds
Build: Slim yet muscular
Body Markings: Missing left hand, several ugly looking scars over his body.
Personality: Petyr is an incredibly patriotic man, willing to die for the motherland. He is ambitious and charismatic and well-spoken, often able to manipulate people to his benefit. He has a great love for music and literature, especially those speaking of glory. Peytr is a fairly distressful man, but if you do manage to earn it, he will be almost unyielding loya;
Interests: Serving the Motherland, history, music, swordplay, marksmanship, literature, rising the ranks.
Dislikes: Anything to the detriment of the Vaegir Kingdom, Nords, large two-handed weapons, Sarranids, Khegits, banditry.
Strengths: Willful, loyal, intelligent, charismatic, well spoken, literate, musical, seasoned military commander.
Weaknesses: Distrustful, loyal, ignorant of other cultures, severed hand.
Fears: Imprisonment, casualties in battle,losing his other hand, torture.
Profession: Soldier.
THERE ARE A LOT OF SPELLING ERRORS AND SENTENCES THAT SIMPLY WILL NOT MAKE SENSE, THIS HAS BEEN UNDER HEAVY REVISION. MOSTLY AT NIGHT. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!
Background/History:
Peytr was born a bastard to the Baron Yuri Basnikov and raised in a small village too insignificant even to mark on a map. He never knew his mother, mainly because his father didn't know her very well either, he was a product of a drunken night and a woman who had no desire to foster him. None-the-less, the baron of the insignificant town took on the young boy as his son. More or less.
The bastard was named Peytr Vassilisaov after his mother, Vassilisa, it wouldn't do to have a bastard carry the family name. His father was kind enough to him, as kind as a man can be to a child he never wanted. He taught him to read, schooled him in the arts of war, and all the other things that should come with being a nobleman's bastard. The tutors hired by his father scholars quickly learned that the boy had an affinity for music, and so a bard by the name of Georgy Michalov was hired to teach the young Peytr.
Petyr quite enjoyed his lessons, being taught of workings of a court and how to lead a successful charge, how to speak properly and fight with a sword appealed greatly to him, but his favorite lesson over all was music. By the age of seven, he could already play a lute with the skill of a professional bard, and had composed a few simplistic folk songs for the clavichord. Georgy a great patriot, he was a young man with a fire inside him that burned only for the Vaegir Kingdom. Petyr would often finish a lesson with his tutor and then retire to the common room in his father's manor to listen to one of Georgy's tales. In time, he found himself aspiring to be like Gerath of Curaw or another hero from the stories, he wanted to be one of the men who would pour their life into the land in which he lived and be remembered for it.
Ten years into Peytr's life, the Baron Basnikov married, and a year later his first son is born, another year brought two more and Petyr's life was changed. His father no longer has time to waste on his bastard, he must protect the future of his house! And so Petyr was left to be tended by the servants, taught by wrinkled old men in dirty robes and entertained by peasant boys. Still, his education continued, and Petyr soaked up the lessons as if he were a sponge.
The new lady of the house was named Iarina, she was a strong military woman, with an upright posture and a calculating personality, the day she arrived the house stood taller. She began borrowing from her family's fast wealth and set about restoring the manor, she began ordering new construction to take place and by the end of the year the manor looked more like a fortress than a village-side manor. Petyr rarely saw his stepmother, but when he did they quite enjoyed each other's company as she too was a near fanatical nationalist. She would expand upon Georgy's stories as only an educated woman could, correcting mistakes the bard had made. Despite Petyr being a bastard, his mother treated him as one of her own, never mistreating him or demeaning him, and acted the part of a far better parent to him than his father ever was.
Five more years passed uneventfully and Petyr was fifteen, old enough, in his opinion, to strike out on his own. He asked his father's council and his father smiled, telling him to go to Khudan and sign up for military service. He wrote a letter and told him to give it to the commander of his division; a letter which would grant him a relatively high rank in the division of his choosing. Petyr said goodbye to his father, mother, and three brothers, and marched off with nothing to his name but his clothes, a letter and a few coppers.
Khudan awed Peytr as he walked through the gate, the city was manned by more men than he could count. All were patrolling the streets or walls, all wearing the stoic masks of soldiers as they marched in perfect rhythm with each other. The sounds of marching music and the beat of soldier's feet filled his ears, his eyes overwhelmed with variously colored standards flapping in the wind. In front of the columns were officers, most mounted on great horses resembling Clydesdale, others were on foot, sabers in hand, leading their men. It soon became apparent to Petyr that he had arrived on a parade day as several recruitment stations were lined up in front of the marketplace. Petyr knew his letter would buy him a fine place, so he chose to sign up in a lancer division. He was then given a ticket by the officer and told to report to his company's barracks. In the end, Petyr was given a destrier, a lance, a kite shield, a scimitar, and some assorted chain amour. He was given the rank of Sergeant and handed fifteen men to command.
Peytr served for six years and saw four battles, two sieges and one small village rebellion before he was discharged due to a "crippling injury". The day began innocently enough as the twenty-one year now Senior Sergeant was ordered by his commander to route a small bandit force. They were reported to be camped out in the village of Shulus. He was given twenty of the company's lancer and sent to Shulus, order to route the twenty bandits and exterminate as many as possible. He set up camp three kilometers from the town and sent scouts to count the bandits, the reports were less than comparable. The twenty bandit party he was sent after had swelled to a massive fifty and had fortified the village heavily, keeping the inhabitants as slaves. Undeterred, Peytr immediately worked to rally as many villagers as possible to help destroy the bandit force. Posing as a simple villagers, his men and he worked tirelessly to stir rebellion within the village populous turned slaves. They collected all the weapons the village held and taught as many to fight as they could while in secrecy.
For almost a month they worked undetected until Peytr became over-confident and decided to make a rousing speech in the village square. The day before the attack he spoke, with all the bravado he could muster he called from a large rock in the center of the town, "Men of the Great Tundra! You are leopards playing the part of lambs, herded by cowards and knaves to do their bidding." He paused, letting that take root, "Before me stand slaves and men of lost pride, cowering before an army of dirt covered mongrels. When did men start kneeling before shit stained boys with clubs?
"Follow me, follow me and take back your freedom, follow me and take back your village, follow me and take back pride!". By this time the bandits were alerted, and one brave man climbed the steps, axe in hand. Peytr stood firm, determined to make clear that the bandits were a force that could be defeated. As the bandit neared the top of the rock, Peytr whipped out his saber and, in a fluid motion, cut the man's throat. Cheering erupted from the surrounding villagers as they watched the man writhe on the ground, blood covering the ground behind him. Peytr took in the cheers with pleasure, forgetting of the bandits, forgetting of his men, forgetting his mission. The only thing real to Peytr in those moments were the cheers, and later a searing pain in the back of his head, then nothing at all.
The next day brought pure agony as the bandits attempted to learn where his men camped and when they planned to assault. They cut him with searing hot knives, detached his fingernails slowly, then began sawing off his hand with a serrated miller's knife. He held strong through the burns, through the loss of his nails, unwilling to give up his comrades. When the burly bandit named "Throv" began sawing at his hand and the secrets spilled from him like rats from garbage, few at first, then in uncontrollable numbers. For three days they kept his hand attached, though even after the first it was clear to him that he would lose it. It was all a rather clean business, Throv would soak all his "tools" in alcohol before using them, arranging them meticulously in order from what he rated most painful to least. When they finally extracted all they could, they left him tied to a chair to die.
His men and their village allies attacked an hour after his torture ended. The events were a blur, one moment he was in a chair awaiting death, the next he was sitting in a hospital bed, the stump where his hand had been dressed and cleaned. His commander came to see him shortly after he awoke. He was to be dismissed from duty with a final payment of 10,000 denars, his name added to the honor rolls, and his men awarded various medals. Petyr was released from the infirmary a week later, money in hand. He walked out of building with the march of an accomplished man, but the reality of his situation dawned on him soon afterwards. He was a cripple, no military company would dare take him on, nor could he play his lute. Many doors had closed to him, never to reopen.
The money quickly ran out and Peytr found it impossible to find work with his injury. He soon was forced to sell of his home in the city and much of his possessions. By the age of twenty-two he down to the clothes on his back, his horse, and the honorary saber he was given after dismissal. And so, realizing that he could no longer sustain himself in such a manner, he once again turned his back on his home and set out for new land and new adventure.
Work in Progress
Equipment: Lamellar Vest, left over from military days.
Elite Scimitar, given to men on the Vaegir honor-rolls who were discharged from duty.
Leather Boots, standard footwear.
Leather Gloves, left glove is stuffed, used to hide his disability
Hunter Horse named Lefty, used for battle during his time in the military.
Equipment: Lamellar Vest, left over from military days.
Elite Scimitar, given to men on the Vaegir honor-rolls who were discharged from duty.
Leather Boots, standard footwear.
Leather Gloves, left glove is stuffed, used to hide his disability
Hunter Horse named Lefty, used for battle during his time in the military.