Vlad
11-28-07, 07:03 PM
Name: Vladimir Kluschev (Vlad)
Age: Twenty-three
Height: 5’11”
Weight: 194 lbs.
Hair: Brown
Eyes: Green
Skin: Tan
Appearance: Besides the basic statistics, Vlad's face seems to have a permanent violent serenity about it, he is well toned from training his horse as well as other around-the-farm activities.
Personality: Agreeable when he needs to be, violent when he needs to be. Vlad can put on an array of faces or persona, depending on who's around. He is normally quiet and keeps to himself unless there is a reason to speak, or if he sees something he doesn't like taking place, which is more things than even he realizes.
History: My name is Vladimir. I am often asked of my past. So here it is.
I was the son of a peasant. I lived in a small, dusty village on the edge of Irrakam whose name is of no consequence. Instead, I simply call it “the town where I grew up.” My family was foreign to Fallien, refugees from the chaos that was the mainland of Althanas. I lived as normal a life in Fallien as it could get. We went into town rarely for provisions and new supplies to keep our house kept clean. My father was a kada-oomar, one who farms the sand to make beautiful jewels. He made enough money to support our entire family, which consisted of my mother, father, an older sister, I, and a younger sister. My youngest sister, Alie, was a bright girl, always full of spirit and wearing white, which gave away her yet intact innocence. I wore the boring, drab colors of a peasant. On the mainland I would have worn black all the time if I could have but in Fallien, it was inadvisable due to the searing heat during the day. My older sister, Abigail, was talked about frequently in the town because of her beauty. She, unlike my younger sister, was not innocent to the world and hated being where she was, as the daughter of a peasant crystal artist. She was also the only adopted child of the three of us. My mother was named Fera, she was born a peasant as her children were, she also wore white almost all the time, which is my best guess as to why my younger sister did. They spent all of their free time together, and even some of the non-free time. My father, Terez, was a poor man. He was born into a great house; his father was seated at the head of the council in a town called Megalithica, in Corone. I had only heard stories of the town and how he was exiled. I had been born in Radasnath and my younger sister born in Fallien.
The heat of the desert will often blur one’s vision. The wavy appearance of the desert was, to me, something that helped hide the mysteries that lurked outside of our cozy little home, which was pleasantly close to the river of Fallien. I looked out there often, wondering if I left what I would find.
We had a full stable of horses, one for each of the family members. Mine was a smooth, shiny black steed named Shadow (which was appropriate considering his coat). I had grown up with the horse. When we got him, he was but a pony and I was but a boy. His nature seemed to reflect mine as well, the same mood swings, the same violent tendencies. He often tried to bully me around as a child, so I wouldn’t ride on his back. I tamed him.
I rode my horse frequently, practicing the different commands, learning to jump, and both of us learning to take sharp turns. I hoped that one day I could be one of Fallien’s best horse breeders and trainers. Even better than the locals, I hoped. It was never a likely thing to happen, my family told me, but they said I could try. I knew a lot about horses from simply growing up with one. Horses bred in desert climates often exhibited a stronger and longer lasting performance. We trained hard.
For the most part, though, we lived a humble and ignorant lifestyle. Once I got out I learned to dislike it, but at the time I had no problems with it. I didn’t know about the world and they didn’t know about me. It was fine that way.
Often travelers, or people who were refused their passes into Irrakam, would ride by. My family was hospitable and would treat travelers lavishly, which to us was never much, but it was better than the nothing they got on the ride out of Irrakam. Their advances, especially my flamboyant mother’s, could only be resisted by the most stubborn minds. All we asked in return for our hospitality was stories, news, rumors, etc. We heard a lot of glorious things. We heard stories about the arenas in Irrakam, stories about the political stirring, stories about elves and other creatures. Mostly people moaned about how they could not stay in Irrakam for some reason or another. They got old to me, but not to my family.
The season had changed, the days were slightly shorter, the sun had the intense, red glow of autumn as it set slightly off-west. I was sitting on the steps working on a horseshoe when he came. The man didn’t look like a typical traveler; there was just a vibe that he gave off, even looking at me through the wavy, distorted desert heat about fifty yards in the distance. He rode up to me and jumped off his horse, a deep cream colored animal, well kept too. “My name is Ariaric.” He told me, he stuck out his hand. I got up and shook it politely, his grip was firm and I could tell his hand was used to stress, the callousness gave it away.
“I’m Vlad.” I answered. I looked at the horseshoe that was in my other hand that I had been working on. I had repaired it well and was plenty satisfied with my work.
“I heard from some people that I could get a rest here, I hate to take advantage of something like this, but I’ve no money…” It was a story we had heard often, and most of them didn’t really have any money to speak of. They were forced to pay off the policing force from arresting them and then for a safe passage out of Irrakam if they did something they weren’t supposed to without a proper pass. This man seemed a bit more mysterious, his body was covered with a large poncho, crimson in color to match the setting sun, the hood covered most of his head, only his face could been seen. After a moment of awkward silence he pulled it off and a burst of hair could be seen, the color of a perfectly yellowed sun, cut short and neat around his ears and messy toward the top.
“Oh! I’m sorry, please, come in with me.” We would offer him the same hospitality that we offered everyone else. We never asked personal questions and they never gave personal answers. Aric, as he liked to be called, was polite and slightly flirtatious with the women of the house, even my younger sister, who he was only playful with as normal with a child under ten years of age. He was likeable and my father didn’t seem to mind having him around. I liked him too, he was flamboyant like my mother but he had a sort of reserve about him, almost as if he hadn’t told us everything about him when he talked of where he came from and why he came.
He never talked to me much that night. I felt left out, like the fire that he had brought into our house would never be shared with me. I was missing out on an opportunity to meet and make friends with someone who seemed interesting, which was rare in the sense that Aric had brought it, to our small little town. That night I went to bed wishing that I had made myself more of a presence that evening; I secretly hoped that I had something larger outside of this small town waiting for me. It was easy as a teen to want these secret whispers of dreams to become a reality. That morning I awoke early, I could see the sun barely rising. It was a small, golden ray of light coming over the horizon. Through my window I saw that Aric was sitting on the steps watching the sunrise, smoking a cigarette. I crept out of my room and out the front door, clad in only my pants, and sat down next to him. He sighed and I looked over at him.
“It really is something amazing, that the sun rises morning after morning, even as we die, don’t you think?” He glanced at me, and then away, blowing the smoke he inhaled out of his nose.
“Yeah, I suppose it is. It seems greater than we are though, I think anyways. Almost like something above us controls it. Have you ever heard the legend about how there are great wurms in the sun’s surface?” I hugged my legs and put my chin down on my arms, “They say, here in Fallien, that there were once great wurms that could fly as high as all the stars, and that they adapted to the sun’s surface once humans began to settle on the sands of Fallien. Of course, it’s all just legend.” I looked at him, raising my chin from my elbows. He nodded and remained silent, as if he were thinking deeply about the legends.
“I’ve never heard of it myself, Vlad, but I have a lot of legends in my head, want to hear one of them?” I nodded vigorously at this question, he laughed, “Well, there’s the one about a mutant race of humans who are both male and female and seem to live forever, want to hear that one? Well, it’s my best, so I’ll tell you anyways. They say that somewhere in a dank alley of Radasnath there was a young pack of boys, maybe about your age and a bit older,” he took another puff off his cigarette and let his breath out slowly, “and well, they were troublemakers, to put it nicely. They were sort of people who are involved in rape, murder—that kind of thing. Anyways, they say that one of them wasn’t quite normal, not that they could be called normal anyways, but not normal as in… so beautiful that you couldn’t stop looking at him, so clever you couldn’t catch him in an empty room, so wise that elders sought him for advice—”
“Have you ever seen him?” I interrupted him, he laughed for a second and looked at me, shaking his head.
“No, remember, this is just a legend! But they say that he was innately attracted to other men and that every woman he shared his love with would simply wither away and die. They say that men who he did the same with would turn… abnormal, like him.” He paused after this and looked at me, “Do you know what they call him?”
I shook my head, he continued, “A god. Can you believe that? They think that a manifestation of a god would be a criminal, turning humans into something else. Ridiculous if you ask me, but I think there may be a shred of truth to it.” He looked at me, stroked my hair.
Equipment: The clothes on his back.
Pet(s): His horse Shadow, it can ride a moderate distance per day without tiring due to its raising and training in Fallien.
Skills: He can ride a horse well.
Age: Twenty-three
Height: 5’11”
Weight: 194 lbs.
Hair: Brown
Eyes: Green
Skin: Tan
Appearance: Besides the basic statistics, Vlad's face seems to have a permanent violent serenity about it, he is well toned from training his horse as well as other around-the-farm activities.
Personality: Agreeable when he needs to be, violent when he needs to be. Vlad can put on an array of faces or persona, depending on who's around. He is normally quiet and keeps to himself unless there is a reason to speak, or if he sees something he doesn't like taking place, which is more things than even he realizes.
History: My name is Vladimir. I am often asked of my past. So here it is.
I was the son of a peasant. I lived in a small, dusty village on the edge of Irrakam whose name is of no consequence. Instead, I simply call it “the town where I grew up.” My family was foreign to Fallien, refugees from the chaos that was the mainland of Althanas. I lived as normal a life in Fallien as it could get. We went into town rarely for provisions and new supplies to keep our house kept clean. My father was a kada-oomar, one who farms the sand to make beautiful jewels. He made enough money to support our entire family, which consisted of my mother, father, an older sister, I, and a younger sister. My youngest sister, Alie, was a bright girl, always full of spirit and wearing white, which gave away her yet intact innocence. I wore the boring, drab colors of a peasant. On the mainland I would have worn black all the time if I could have but in Fallien, it was inadvisable due to the searing heat during the day. My older sister, Abigail, was talked about frequently in the town because of her beauty. She, unlike my younger sister, was not innocent to the world and hated being where she was, as the daughter of a peasant crystal artist. She was also the only adopted child of the three of us. My mother was named Fera, she was born a peasant as her children were, she also wore white almost all the time, which is my best guess as to why my younger sister did. They spent all of their free time together, and even some of the non-free time. My father, Terez, was a poor man. He was born into a great house; his father was seated at the head of the council in a town called Megalithica, in Corone. I had only heard stories of the town and how he was exiled. I had been born in Radasnath and my younger sister born in Fallien.
The heat of the desert will often blur one’s vision. The wavy appearance of the desert was, to me, something that helped hide the mysteries that lurked outside of our cozy little home, which was pleasantly close to the river of Fallien. I looked out there often, wondering if I left what I would find.
We had a full stable of horses, one for each of the family members. Mine was a smooth, shiny black steed named Shadow (which was appropriate considering his coat). I had grown up with the horse. When we got him, he was but a pony and I was but a boy. His nature seemed to reflect mine as well, the same mood swings, the same violent tendencies. He often tried to bully me around as a child, so I wouldn’t ride on his back. I tamed him.
I rode my horse frequently, practicing the different commands, learning to jump, and both of us learning to take sharp turns. I hoped that one day I could be one of Fallien’s best horse breeders and trainers. Even better than the locals, I hoped. It was never a likely thing to happen, my family told me, but they said I could try. I knew a lot about horses from simply growing up with one. Horses bred in desert climates often exhibited a stronger and longer lasting performance. We trained hard.
For the most part, though, we lived a humble and ignorant lifestyle. Once I got out I learned to dislike it, but at the time I had no problems with it. I didn’t know about the world and they didn’t know about me. It was fine that way.
Often travelers, or people who were refused their passes into Irrakam, would ride by. My family was hospitable and would treat travelers lavishly, which to us was never much, but it was better than the nothing they got on the ride out of Irrakam. Their advances, especially my flamboyant mother’s, could only be resisted by the most stubborn minds. All we asked in return for our hospitality was stories, news, rumors, etc. We heard a lot of glorious things. We heard stories about the arenas in Irrakam, stories about the political stirring, stories about elves and other creatures. Mostly people moaned about how they could not stay in Irrakam for some reason or another. They got old to me, but not to my family.
The season had changed, the days were slightly shorter, the sun had the intense, red glow of autumn as it set slightly off-west. I was sitting on the steps working on a horseshoe when he came. The man didn’t look like a typical traveler; there was just a vibe that he gave off, even looking at me through the wavy, distorted desert heat about fifty yards in the distance. He rode up to me and jumped off his horse, a deep cream colored animal, well kept too. “My name is Ariaric.” He told me, he stuck out his hand. I got up and shook it politely, his grip was firm and I could tell his hand was used to stress, the callousness gave it away.
“I’m Vlad.” I answered. I looked at the horseshoe that was in my other hand that I had been working on. I had repaired it well and was plenty satisfied with my work.
“I heard from some people that I could get a rest here, I hate to take advantage of something like this, but I’ve no money…” It was a story we had heard often, and most of them didn’t really have any money to speak of. They were forced to pay off the policing force from arresting them and then for a safe passage out of Irrakam if they did something they weren’t supposed to without a proper pass. This man seemed a bit more mysterious, his body was covered with a large poncho, crimson in color to match the setting sun, the hood covered most of his head, only his face could been seen. After a moment of awkward silence he pulled it off and a burst of hair could be seen, the color of a perfectly yellowed sun, cut short and neat around his ears and messy toward the top.
“Oh! I’m sorry, please, come in with me.” We would offer him the same hospitality that we offered everyone else. We never asked personal questions and they never gave personal answers. Aric, as he liked to be called, was polite and slightly flirtatious with the women of the house, even my younger sister, who he was only playful with as normal with a child under ten years of age. He was likeable and my father didn’t seem to mind having him around. I liked him too, he was flamboyant like my mother but he had a sort of reserve about him, almost as if he hadn’t told us everything about him when he talked of where he came from and why he came.
He never talked to me much that night. I felt left out, like the fire that he had brought into our house would never be shared with me. I was missing out on an opportunity to meet and make friends with someone who seemed interesting, which was rare in the sense that Aric had brought it, to our small little town. That night I went to bed wishing that I had made myself more of a presence that evening; I secretly hoped that I had something larger outside of this small town waiting for me. It was easy as a teen to want these secret whispers of dreams to become a reality. That morning I awoke early, I could see the sun barely rising. It was a small, golden ray of light coming over the horizon. Through my window I saw that Aric was sitting on the steps watching the sunrise, smoking a cigarette. I crept out of my room and out the front door, clad in only my pants, and sat down next to him. He sighed and I looked over at him.
“It really is something amazing, that the sun rises morning after morning, even as we die, don’t you think?” He glanced at me, and then away, blowing the smoke he inhaled out of his nose.
“Yeah, I suppose it is. It seems greater than we are though, I think anyways. Almost like something above us controls it. Have you ever heard the legend about how there are great wurms in the sun’s surface?” I hugged my legs and put my chin down on my arms, “They say, here in Fallien, that there were once great wurms that could fly as high as all the stars, and that they adapted to the sun’s surface once humans began to settle on the sands of Fallien. Of course, it’s all just legend.” I looked at him, raising my chin from my elbows. He nodded and remained silent, as if he were thinking deeply about the legends.
“I’ve never heard of it myself, Vlad, but I have a lot of legends in my head, want to hear one of them?” I nodded vigorously at this question, he laughed, “Well, there’s the one about a mutant race of humans who are both male and female and seem to live forever, want to hear that one? Well, it’s my best, so I’ll tell you anyways. They say that somewhere in a dank alley of Radasnath there was a young pack of boys, maybe about your age and a bit older,” he took another puff off his cigarette and let his breath out slowly, “and well, they were troublemakers, to put it nicely. They were sort of people who are involved in rape, murder—that kind of thing. Anyways, they say that one of them wasn’t quite normal, not that they could be called normal anyways, but not normal as in… so beautiful that you couldn’t stop looking at him, so clever you couldn’t catch him in an empty room, so wise that elders sought him for advice—”
“Have you ever seen him?” I interrupted him, he laughed for a second and looked at me, shaking his head.
“No, remember, this is just a legend! But they say that he was innately attracted to other men and that every woman he shared his love with would simply wither away and die. They say that men who he did the same with would turn… abnormal, like him.” He paused after this and looked at me, “Do you know what they call him?”
I shook my head, he continued, “A god. Can you believe that? They think that a manifestation of a god would be a criminal, turning humans into something else. Ridiculous if you ask me, but I think there may be a shred of truth to it.” He looked at me, stroked my hair.
Equipment: The clothes on his back.
Pet(s): His horse Shadow, it can ride a moderate distance per day without tiring due to its raising and training in Fallien.
Skills: He can ride a horse well.