[b]Name:[/b] John N. Viper

[b]Gender:[/b] Male

[b]Age: [/b]36

[b]Nation of birth:[/b] Drevmort

[b]Appearance:[/b] A solidly built man, even as his athletic prime is beginning to leave him behind he still looks every bit as trained and powerful as he is. Tallish, but not overly so, he's lightly brushed with old scars--equally probable to be kitchen accidents or old war stories waiting to be told. Rugged in face, build, clothing, and overall complexion, his short beard and neck-length hair (both brown) are kept out of the way by a plain green headband when cooking or otherwise necessary. Wears drab clothing, carries a serious expression most of the time.

[b]Personality:[/b] Very world-weary, and seems to carry years of life experience perhaps even beyond his age. Not very nonsensical, but not entirely without a sense of humor. Will freely dispense both advice, and food, and has a bit of a fatherly streak. Admires things such as codes of honor and idealism, but cannot claim to hold them himself entirely. Nonetheless, he has a sense of right and wrong and will follow it through hell or high water, with both words, fists, and steel. The latter two of which, at least, are definitely trained.

[b]Valuable possessions:[/b] A set of knives, kitchen standard. A cooking pot, well-maintained and always clean. A set of eating utensils, bowls, and some key spices. A ladle, a reference cookbook, washrags, and a pack to keep everything in.

Finally, a small bronze band around the fourth finger of his left hand, obviously holding deep sentimental value despite its plain metallurgy, only having a constant polish, a perfect fit, and a simple etched groove running along the center.

[b]Short History of Character:[/b] A former soldier of unspecified rank, the toils of war weighed heavily upon John's soul as they would have any young man, fresh off conscription and just having had a son. After serving long, dutiful years and doing both right and wrong in the name of his orders, one fateful night where he ended up back in his hometown brought it all to a screeching halt. 

He finished his time in the army solemnly, and retired to a peaceful life, taking up cooking as work to make what little ends he needed meet. But every so often, the Call tugs upon the strings of the heart...

No Swords, No Problem.