Finally got a first draft put together, shouldn't have taken this long to be quite honest.

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[img]https://cdna.artstation.com/p/assets/images/images/002/629/768/large/siwoo-kim-strider3-web.jpg[/img]

Former Title: Ranger Captain of Istvargrad

Nickname/Alias: Walker

Name: Jericho Cross

Age: Early forties

Pronouns: He/Him

Race: Human

Personality: 
Having been the leading man in a crime ring of thieves, bandits, thugs and assassins turned into a commissioned Captain of the Monarch when Kazzok and his forces invaded, one might think that he was either a piss poor thief, or a god awful Captain, but that is not the case. Well spoken, fluent in several languages spoken among his people, and clever to a fault, one could easily mistake him for a noble playing at crime. Indeed, some rumors are that he was a noble ousted from his family for being too vicious in the court intrigue. Whatever the truth, he hides it behind a facade of feint smiles, blatant lies, and constant distrust of any and all around him at all times. This leaves a great deal in dispute among his (former) peers as to who he is. Exiled noble, jumped up gutter rat, disgraced officer, rumors swirled wherever he walked.

What isn't in dispute is the level of pragmatism that Jericho displays on a routine basis. It served both him and his own well during the conflicts and problems leading up to the eventual loss of his world. Of course, the arrival of Kazzok and his forces should have had quite the detrimental impact on Jericho but, on the surface and as far as he'll let anyone see, he took it in stride. [color=598527]"A gods damned shit stain cleaned, and without a coin paid, what's the bother, eh?"[/color] Of course, one cannot seriously believe this to be the truth, and while he doesn't expect anyone to buy it, he also won't be sharing lightly what the truth of the matter is. Not so much sorrow, but a mix of regret and rage, mixed into a dangerous bundle waiting to simmer to the surface. Regret over what was left undone and of redemption lost, rage over being denied all that he had earned with his own two hands, and of any chance at redemption, being stolen away.

Abilities/Powers: 
- (Reluctant) Leader of Men -
Between his own ring of criminals, bandits, and thugs to when he was drafted to be a formal soldier, and a Captain no less, of soldiers of dubious reputation, Jericho has proven to be a surprisingly effective leader in small, urban brawls. Organizing and tactically deploying small bands of disparate thugs, thieves, and specialists of all sorts tends to come second nature, even if its something Jericho is not fond of. Too much attention, and too much riding on his shoulders. Of course, when Kazzok arrived with his legions, reluctance was no excuse for not applying what skills were useful in fighting back.

- Resilient Physiology -
A life of crime tends to lead one to exposure to all sorts of nasty things, from the obvious such as blades and bludgeons to the not so obvious, poisons, toxins, and various diseases, illnesses, and injuries that were never treated by completely competent healers. In such circumstances, one either becomes resilient to physical traumas, or becomes crippled in a hurry. Fortunately for Jericho, he proved to be rather resilient, even by the standards of his world, bouncing back from most physical ailments alarmingly quickly, and shrugging off injury through will, quick bindings, and a touch of liquid courage when needed.

- Dirty Fighter -
It should come to absolutely no surprise the crook plays dirty when it comes to a fight. While he is certainly a skilled swordsman, and competent archer, he chooses to "enhance" his ability in a fight with cheap, underhanded methods. Poisoned blades, barbed arrows, a bit of sand in the eye and a brisk blow beneath the belt, anything to give him an edge and come out on top, or at least survive to see another day. He is also alarmingly creative when it comes to preparing an area for a fight, when he has time to, lacing traps and patches of unfortunate terrain for whoever isn't ready for fighting in such conditions.

Equipment: 
- Personal Arming Sword (Stolen) -
A personal, well worn, and tried and true sword that Jericho has had for most of his career. Lacking any real ornamentation anymore, besides the remains hinting at a noble owner in the past, it remains his personal choice of weapon. Well balanced, and honed to a razor edge with a hardened tip, it is capable of cutting down lightly armored foes, and thrusting through medium armor and the weaker joints on heavier armor.

- Composite Bow (Stolen) -
Mostly what he had on hand during his last stand in his world, Jericho's bow is a rather plain example of a composite bow. With a quiver full of various arrows, some for armor, some for flesh, and even a few for utility, it rounded out his toolset in a fight, giving him options to face a foe on footing that was not in their favor.

Inventory: 
- Lucky Pipe (Stolen) -
A hand me down from father to son for quite some time, the battered old pipe still functions as a pipe, and is often used as such, even if the remains of ornamentation hint that it was, once upon a time, a symbol of status and nobility.

- Trappers Kit (Stolen) -
A small bag of lockpicks, springs, spare parts, and other bits of metal and leather designed to let a man put together, or disarm, traps, locks, and the like without needing a dedicated workshop following him around. Often times added to with scrap and salvage from fights and thievery, one can be surprised at what might be found in its contents from time to time.

[hider=Istvargrad] 
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	A realm of sprawling cities, often times built on top of those that had come before them, many go their entire lives without ever seeing nature outside of scant few trees, weeds, or roots. Magic exists, of a sort, though those gifted with the ability to utilize said magic liken it to more of being a conduit for powers outside their control, or even understanding, than conventional control over the arcane. As such, magicians were viewed with great distrust, skepticism, and often times ostracized and hunted over problems that routinely plagued the land, either to try and fix them or punish them for causing them. Banditry and organized crime are as common as the official powers that be, a classical Monarchy who's ruling head changes almost as often as the months passed, due to political intrigue, assassination, or just plain bad luck. Guards and soldiers were crooked, and pretty much the entire land ran off crime, organized as it was, and if one wanted to actually get something done, they went to the Robber Barons.

	Of course, the most lucrative trade for the crooks and thieves was in the dealings of Relics. A catch all term, for items that sort of fell from between the cracks and ended up in their world. Magicians and self styled scientists alike paid almost as much to get these Relics, as they did to keep their rivals from getting them. Good scouts and sharp eyes to find proper Relics, or a silver tongue to pass off fakes as the real deal, were prized among such rings as much as a steely gaze, steady sword arm, and complete lack of morals might be.

	Officially, the Church held say over all things related to the arrival of new Relics, though in practice even the Crown overlooked the trade as it often lined his own pockets and coffers with illicit gold. That being said, about the only thing that could unite the disparate groups of Istvargrad would be an outside threat, as the Robber Barons, Church, and Monarchy distrusted each other to the point that all out war would, to an outsider, be all but guaranteed. Of course, Kazzok's arrival was one such threat, and a stiff resistance was put up, but we all know how such fights turned out by now...
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Backstory: 
	Istvargrad was one of the largest cities of the realm, not so much a single settlement as a sprawling mass of civilization. Humanity as it was known was, by far, the most dominant species present, though compared to other world's versions, the humans of Istvargrad were hardy and resilient against trauma and disease. Elves circulated as concubines and entertainers among the noble courts, moonlighting as assassins and masters of alchemy for those with coin or information to spare. Dwarves and halflings, lumped together in the poor quarters, ran bars, taverns, and and places of business as readily as a human. They would also turn their deft fingers to locksmithing, lockpicking, and the production of clever trinkets and tools for the trade of crime. Indeed, one would be safe to say that the realm of Istvargrad was, indeed, one that ran on crime, either the engaging in, or fighting of, it.

	Crime, and the Robber Barons that ran the highest levels of it, knew where the profit was. Relics, strange objects and contraptions that fell into their world due to the weakened walls of their world and sold to the highest bidders. The Church and, officially, the Monarchy would oppose them in a three way struggle for power, the Church seeing them as holy objects, trappings of a faith that had once sustained the barriers of their world and protected them from outsiders. The Monarch saw them as leverage against the Church and its enforcers, and the Robber Barons? Money, money to whichever noble, scientist, magician, or eccentric could pay the most coin. Entire bands of rogues, thieves, thugs and assassins would form around individuals with the skill and know how to track down and secure these items. Little did Istvargrad know, in all its constant focus inwards, that the slowly increasing tide of Relics was a sign of its impending doom.

	This is where Jericho Cross comes into the picture, a man that had erased his past from all accounts barring his own, and yet was a highly successful leader of criminals. Knowing how and when to ply guile, charm, and force in due measures, he had a knack for finding Relics and pawning them off to both higher bidders, and his superiors. He made a good amount of coin off his work, lived comfortably in the seedy underbelly of Istvargrad, and was generally respected for his capabilities. Of course, such things do not last forever, and it was getting more and more dangerous for Jericho to work as the Church had begun to focus on his work more and more closely, trying to pin him down for illicit Relic trade. Of course, this never came to a head thanks to the arrival of Kazzok, who likely either followed the trail of relics that slipped between the cracks and into this world, or perhaps to use them as signs of the best options of where to go next.

	Istvargrad was the last city remaining within a few short years, the rest of the realm falling in relatively short order, though it was not from a lack of effort. Jericho, and many men like him, were appointed as military officers in desperation, leading their own bands of criminals and scum alongside broken survivors of initial efforts to repel Kazzok. Instead of facing his forces openly, they instead opted to often strike from the shadows, ambushing and harassing the enemy forces wherever they could, stalling and buying time and victories where they could. The problem was that open warfare was a relatively rare thing in Istvargrad, standing armies acting more as guards and opponents to organized criminals than monsters and even other professional soldiers. Ironically, it was the criminals, convicts, and the like able to put up the fiercest resistance as their infighting better prepared them then the long guard shifts with little going on within their view.

	Jericho made a name for himself leading men of increasingly varied walks of life against Kazzok and his legions, organizing defenses, leading ambushes and counter assaults, and moving around like a man possessed. It didn't take a genius to realize whatever Kazzok had in mind was bad for business, and everything was thrown into the defense against him, and for his own reasons, Jericho was throwing everything he had into it. Even as Kazzok's legions advanced into Istvargrad itself, entire districts were burned in defiance, forcing them to move in patterns more suitable to being ambushed and making costly assaults on defensive positions. Indeed, scorched earth had become a standard practice, anything that couldn't be taken with them was put to the torch or otherwise ruined. The last point of feasible defense was the barrier to the Monarchy district, a towering manor on an isolated rocky outcrop, accessable via a long, narrow pathway on foot, and the clear, moonlit nights readily exposing approaches by other means.

	It was on this long, narrow road snaking up towards the Monarch's home that Jericho would make his last stand, what surviving associates of his old crew alongside soldiers and survivors that would sooner die in a last ditch defense then turn over and die as prisoners, or worse. On top of his career of criminal activity, underground fighting, and scrapes with the guards, he had years of desperate, hard earned experience fighting a losing battle. The Monarch district was designed to be nigh unassailable by any mortal hands, even magicians were anticipated if an all out assault was to be engaged. In the hands of legends and heroes, it might have even sufficed. But legends and heroes were not commonplace in Istvargrad, indeed, the latter was bad for business, and the former too attention grabbing for subtle operations. Jericho had become a hero by necessity, not by choice, and it was no doubt he would fight to the bitter end alongside the remaining few that held the Monarch district. Though, how can one imagine, as the moon itself is blotted out by the oncoming tide, and the ground itself trembled at the approaching legions, that such a motley crew would last long at all?

[hider=A Tavern Song of great fondness to the people of Istvargrad]
[youtube]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AnMR6SOBa9k[/youtube]
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