Here we go [@Jb], if it's not suitable that's no problem, I can take my Kislev "horsemaster" elsewhere 😂. If there's anything you think I should tweak just let me know. Cheers mate.


[hider=Piet Morgunova]
[b]Piet Morgunova[/b] was, simply put, an absolute disgrace. A Kislevite and son of a respected Boyar, Piet had been raised as a true lancer. At least he would have been, had he been able to ride a horse... As a boy even his training ponies threw him off and things only got worse once he reached adulthood, a particularly unfortunate incident which resulted in a dead stable boy and Piet having his left arm crushed by the horse he had tried to get on. His father declared that he must have "an arse cursed by chaos, that no horse would let it near". The men of the Morgunova estate started calling him Morrslieb, the cursed moon. Before long he was both the shame and laughing stock of his family.

 Now with a crippled arm and shunned by his family, things only got worse for the young noble. When a rather crazed witch hunter heard of his plight and decided to start asking questions, Boyar Morgunova took this opportunity to disown his son and cast him out. Piet, now 25, travelled south in an effort to outrun his ill fated reputation and the witch hunter, finding work as a guard on merchant caravans or collecting debts for unscrupulous traders. 
 Although one of his arms was little more than a mangled, twisted parody of flesh and bone, he could still wield a sword well in the other. His sword, a broad bladed scimitar which he affectionately called 'Magda' had been Piets coming of age gift from his father. It was one of the few things left now that were from Kislev, he'd gradually had to sell or barter his other belongings for bread and board.

Eventually travelling as far south as Nuln, Piet was hired by a merchant to collect some coin owed by an alchemist. Seemed like some easy money at the time, go along to this debtors hovel on the edge of town, rough him up and make a pretty few pfennig. Some coin was much needed at this point, as his only pair of boots had long since given up on him and wet feet was something he could not stand. 
  On arriving at the alchemists hovel and booting in the door, Piet was shocked to find the so called alchemist in the middle of a decidedly dodgy looking ritual. A large silver mirror dominated the inside of the dwelling, a fire of curiously coloured flames at it's base and within it's reflections capered an assortment of lurid characters. 

The stunned Kislevites pause was broken by the alchemist spitting a disjointed phrase at him and throwing a ball of blue flame at the young noble. Piet dived to one side, crashing into a table piled high with all manner of strange glass contraptions. Now bleeding with a torn tunic and breeches, he charged the chaos worshipper and swung his heavy sword furiously, parting the mans head from his body with a wet slicing sound. The body and head tumbled onto the floor, joining the shattered glass and odd powders that now littered the hovels floor. Piet turned his attention to the mirror and saw the mad, capering figures had gathered together in the centre of the mirror, watching him as if they were a group of fops at the races.

A sickly pressure began building in Piets head, making him gasp in pain and lurch over. Grabbing hold of a bookcase to right himself and look up once more at the mirror. The creatures within it had all merged into a single entity, a man's body yet with blue skin and swirling tattoos. Piet let out a furious snarl when he saw the Daemons head, it was a horse with a huge smile plastered across its sinewy face. It was mocking him, of that he was sure. Seizing a book from the shelves he was leaning on, Piet threw it at the mirror. Causing cracks and making the horse headed Daemon smile ever broader.

Piet did not leave the hovel till the dammed mirror was nothing but powdered glass. He set a light in the hovel and watched it burn a while till the town watch bells could be heard. He gathered his meagre belongings and took to a small back road, for many days and nights he travelled. Fleeing the Daemon which mocked him in his dreams as he slept and fleeing his shame at what he had become. Many weeks later he arrived at a dilapidated town called [b]Schartenfeld[/b], by this point he had no boots (they had fallen apart near Auerwald), no money save a single pfennig and his clothes were stained and ripped from travel. 

However he still had Magda his sword and Piet reckoned this was the sort of place he could make a living using it. With that he strode towards one of the less reputable looking taverns.
[/hider]