Pls be gentle [hider] [img]https://i.imgur.com/dU66uZS.jpg[/img] [i]“Everyone gets their’s... sooner or later.”[/i] [h3][B]Krisztav Pale Real name Janus Kresimir Ex Pallido[/B][/h3] Aka Big Jan Nomme de Guerre: Havel [B]Race[/B]:Colovian Imperial [B]Sex[/B]: Male [B]Age[/B]:42 [B]Family Origins[/B]: Barony of Sutch/Stonehaven, Eastern Hammerfell, Kingdom of Rihad [B]Birth Sign[/B]: The Steed [B]Preferred Attributes[/B]: Major - Willpower Minor - Intelligence [B]Appearance[/B]: When one looks at Jan, there’s no doubt why he was called Big Jan, or Havel, which means Ox in Old Waldic-Colovian. He overtops 6 feet by a good 6 inches and has the breadth of one in his shoulders. His muscles are well-developed despite his age and though he moves slow and keeps an aloof look to him, one finds he is one part great melancholy and one part great mirth. Even so, he only shows it in moments of small gatherings of those he calls his closest companions. He was the main laborer and swordsman instructor of Chief Ragnar Vargsson’s warband, colloquially called Ragnar’s Rangers for their deeds during the Civil War on the Imperial side, entangling Ulfric’s forces in unconventional warfare behind their lines. Because of his station, he made his days building fences and patching up things, as well as a little maintenance for tools and the like when not teaching pig farmers how to kill. This has kept him healthy and strong, sinewy cords of old muscle, broad shoulders and thick forearms. His blonde hair has started graying in strands from the stresses of his life and the abuse of alcohol. Somehow, though, he’s managed to keep a more youthful visage. Janus blames it on his stress-free lifestyle. He stays to himself mostly, never doing too much work lest it be expected of him, and never too little lest he be chided. If anyone has been to Eastern Hammerfell before and seen some of the Colovians that call it home, they’ll instantly recognize the tattoos he keeps on him and he takes great pains to keep them hidden. A menagerie of different pictures and sayings, all dedicated to the patriotism the Colovians of Sutch Barony and Stonehaven keep for the Empire. Whether a permanent message of patriotism and solidarity with the downtrodden Imperials of Rihad’s far-flung Colovian minority or a brash taunt to his old enemies, the Crowns, he wears them with fondness as a former Stonehaven Irregular. [B]Equipment[/B]: Armor and Weapons: When the time comes to defend himself, Janus only has his dirty but meticulously maintained arming coat and mail to rely on, always keeping back from the fight until it gets dire enough. He takes his moment and lends overwatch, a scout and skirmisher armed to the teeth with a menagerie of short blades. His legs are protected only from the elements by hose and deerskin chausses. When he must leave a man leaking, he takes to his knives and hatchet. A collection of blades long and short, six in total, growing from a whittling blade with a cutting edge no bigger than his forefinger to a heavy chopping knife with a blade length of fifteen inches. His hatchet has a gull wing style head of steel, simple, but deadly. A good match for Janus. Kept sheathed and hidden away in his belongings, and probably forgotten, is his old saber. A Hammerfell style weapon, adopted from the thinner scimitars and shamshirs, and made more heavy by the Colovians that settled in Eastern Hammerfell. He is, or at least used to be, a terrifying sight with it, the curved blade always on the move as he cut through foes on foot or slicing through them on horseback. Clothing: When not in combat, and he tries to stay away from needless violence if he can help it, he walks camp with a long sleeve shirt to cover his heavily tattooed body, thick leather gloves that have seen their share of work on his hands to cover the ones his shirt does not. He keeps his chausses on him over his trousers to offer a little more protection from the element. He always has at least one of his smaller knives on him should the need arise that he needs to cut a rope or somesuch task that needs a sharp blade. The knife is usually tucked and hidden underneath his red sash, now playing belt, one of the few leftovers from his old life. The longcoat he only dons when it gets cold enough. [B]Misc. Possessions[/B]: His horse, Vodevic, a heavy soldier’s draft that’s as fast he is strong and loyal as he is old. [B]Family and Associates:[/B] Viktor, Father, Killed in the Pogrom at Bell’s Gate Hilde, Mother, Killed in the Pogrom at Bell’s Gate Niklaus, Killed in the Pogrom at Bell’s Gate Boian, Childhood Best Friend and Brother-in-Arms, killed at a siege Savian Kastav, an Inspector of the Penitus Oculatus, unknown [B]Favoured Skills[/B]: Highly Proficient: One-Handed; Janus worked tirelessly to master the art of fighting with the saber both on horseback and on foot. Should the situation arise that he has it in hand, he is more than capable of showing his opponent(s) the mistake of standing against him. Likewise, he has no fear of a sharp blade and has quick hands with his knives, and is able to fight with his hatchet and knives just as well. Moderately Proficient: Hand-to-Hand; Someone as big as Janus hardly needs finesse to bludgeon someone with his fists, but years of bare knuckle fighting in bars and the ring to earn money or respect has taught him some dirty tricks through hard-earned trial and error. Marksman; You can trust him to make a long shot with a short bow, hold under pressure and drop men like flies in the heat of battle with them shooting back. He’s a good enough shot. Sneak; Whether cold camping in the mountains or laying low in towns, Janus knows how to wage a guerrilla war. The tricks of rangers in the mountains and the forests were taught to him at a young age and he knows how to stay unseen in crowds just as well. Restoration; As all the Priesthood of Stendarr, Janus used to freely offer healing services to the people of Bell’s Gate. When he became an Irregular, his talents were of much use and he never fell out of practice. Somewhat Proficient: Destruction; On the same note, Savian Kastav and his trainers taught some of the tricks of the trade of destruction magic. [Indent][B]Spell List[/B][/Indent] (Note: Mages only, up to 7 spells) [list] Flames Firebolt Frostbite Ice Spike Healing Fast Healing Heal Other [/list] [B]History[/B]: For a veteran of two wars, one could say Janus has taken it relatively well. Born among the rabble in the Dock District, where he fell in with street urchins stealing for meals and fun, he and his Legionnaire father were at constant odds. His father, a low-ranking Legion man, couldn’t keep his son in line and fulfill his duties to the Legion at the same time. They lived almost entirely on his father’s wages, as his mother couldn’t find work in the city. Too little jobs, and too many asking for one. He was six when the Great War pulled his father away from home. Before the Altmer armies could lay siege to White-Gold, Janus, Niklaus, and their mother fled the city with a stream of other refugees. His family moved to the mountain pines in the high country of Eastern Hammerfell where a diaspora of Colovians lived in the High Country of Rihad Kingdom, spending their days in the mines for pay. There he made his days tending the sheep and goats on the family farm when he was old enough. As young men do before they have an idea of the realities of war, he fantasized about it. He’d daydream at his father’s swords on the mantle, wondering what it would be like to take up a weapon and go off to fight. The world he lived in had been embroiled in war from the time he’d been a toddler. It had never touched him, but when he’d visit town, he could sometimes see the pillars of black smoke far off on the horizon. He heard the songs in the taverns, about brave men dying in the fields and just how manly an occupation was the soldier’s. Niklaus, his younger brother, wanted to be just like father. No one could blame him for wanting that life. Adventure, travel, a righteous cause. His father and many younger men just like Janus and Niklaus had taken up a weapon for the Stonehaven Irregulars, a ragtag people’s army of farmers, tradesmen, miners, and bandits that stood against the Crowns ever since the first pogroms after the Empire seemingly abandoned Hammerfell. He didn’t understand the history behind the fight, just that it was happening and had taken his father’s love away from him. At the young age of ten, he and his best friend Boian had been clacking sticks together like swords when one of the Redguard children in Bell’s Gate had begun pestering them. The Redguards had no love for the Imperials. The long memory of the Redguard remembered the days when Yokudans and Colovians would shed each other’s blood, and the hatred had been renewed after the Empire ceded Hammerfell under pressure from the Thalmor. When the young Redguard Hazmid and his friends pinned Boian to a tree, Janus bit the ear off one and took a rock to Hazmid’s head. Hazmid fell into a coma and never woke. Janus was taken under the wing of Father Valdir of Stendarr’s church there in the Colovian town of Bell’s Gate. It was an arrangement his father had with Father Valdir to keep Janus’s nose clean. Valdir had told him it was the only way to repent for his sins and find forgiveness in Stendarr’s light, and so Janus begrudgingly gave as little effort to the priesthood as he could. Janus was called a killer, hissed at. Fighting and war had lost its gleam then. It was with the priesthood that he learned to heal the sick and preach to the congregation. As he grew a few years older, his eyes roamed for more things than the clergy. As boys do at that age, they’d chase girls and get in trouble for drinking. He and his best friend Boian would do both with each other, though Boian was always the more handsome of the two. As the years went on, the pillars of black smoke grew closer. You could smell the burning farms on a breeze some days. Boian had left town at the age of seventeen to join the Irregulars, leaving Janus to preach alone. At times, the wounded would come to town and ask for his and Father Valdir’s healing and prayers. They would give them freely, but Janus always dreaded the day he would see Boian or his father coming back home with the wounded. Or the dead. When the day came that his father rode home with his contingent, mother wept and scolded him for his lost arm. His father had earned a promotion for his heroism, but a position at the rear at Bell’s Gate for his debilitating wound. And for his trouble? A great many bottles and anger that spilled over too often. His father grew more distant, and the times he came close would be thunderous with yelling. Janus and Niklaus would spend more time away in town with Father Valdir, seeking shelter from their father’s tyranny. Soon enough, Janus found a girl. Although he had never wanted to be a farmer, he figured he could endure it with Nika. They moved to a farm a few miles down the road from Bell’s Gate. When the wars grew more ravenous, they crept close and closer still to Bell’s Gate. Janus and Nika were awaiting their child and young Janus soon was cradling a bundle of screaming beauty. The seasons came and went, and tiny Ilda had learned to crawl and then to walk. With the birth of his child came the renewal of his faith in the Nine. One evening, the smell of burning timber seemed too close as he tended the fields a ways away from his farm. That day, the pillars of black smoke were too close. His home, his family, his town, all of it gone. Eaten by flames. He made it to his childhood home to find his parents and his brother had met the same fate. His father had made a last stand before he was felled, six corpses for his one. And that old saber still clutched in a stiff fist. He took it, rummaged through his ransacked childhood home and left that place in a longcoat and sash, saber on his hip. He looked every bit the thing he had tried to avoid all his life. A Stonehaven Irregular, a soldier, a killer. He met the Irregulars along the road out from Bell’s Gate, their response too late to help anyone. Boian was with them, and that night, Janus wept into his best friend’s arms that he had not been able to save his family. The Stonehaven Irregulars of Bell’s Gate marched on, Janus the most ready to repay a debt of blood. Years passed, men died, and Janus had not been among them. High time that the Stonehaven Irregulars marched on Rihad, but were utterly defeated and broken there during the siege of one of Rihad’s forts. Janus was taken prisoner, plucked from the fields of wounded to be hanged in Rihad. Before the day came that he was to be hanged, he escaped with the help of a stranger and smuggled out of the city through a network of tunnels. When he asked the stranger his name, he only gave one, Savian. They hid in a dingy shack of a house for three days, Janus not being able to leave and relying on Savian to bring back food and water. In the light of day, the man looked peculiar. Oddly feline, but manlike. On the third night, they made their escape from Rihad and set foot on the roads. When Janus asked why Savian had rescued him, he only gave muddied answers. Talk of skills and the need for them. Before long, Savian and Janus had crossed the border into Cyrodiil, bedding down in Anvil before resuming their trek. By the end of it, the White Gold city was on the horizon. Janus was almost immediately put to work and training, brushing up and drilling in both old and new skills he’d learned from a lifetime of fighting. The purpose was unclear to him, but after a year of training, he was brought to the Head Intendants of the Penitus Oculatus with Savian at his side. Tensions were brewing in Skyrim, Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak was rousing the people of Eastern Skyrim and amassing a host of unknown size with him, backed by unknown individuals. Savian and Janus set forth to Skyrim at once. Under the employ as an “advisor” to the Penitus Oculatus, he was given the name Rudd and a life story that was the epitome of ordinary. Their mission was only to observe the happenings in Skyrim and find out if the Thalmor were truly playing a hand in the rising unrest. Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak and a small host rode for Solitude, and it was there that Skyrim would be changed forever. Janus watched Torygg accept the offer of a duel with Ulfric Stormcloak, and he watched him die. Hasty scribbles were the only sound from Savian’s room in the inn that night. To the Empire, it was an act of war. Ulfric Stormcloak went into hiding somewhere in Eastern Skyrim, and the Penitus Oculatus was given the job of rooting him out and gathering intelligence on his benefactors. Savian and Janus are put in charge of infiltrating behind Stormcloak lines with a select group of Inspectors and sowing mayhem. The first order of business was making contact with an old veteran named Brunwulf Free-Winter and offering the chance to end Ulfric’s tyranny and madness. A large sum of coin helped Brunwulf agree. Brunwulf’s task was to sow dissent inside Windhelm in small measurements, as well as keep an eye on troop movements and supplies into and out of the city with Savian. Janus was to take the other Inspectors and form a militia under a lesser known anti-Stormcloak warlord named Ragnar Vargsson who had been operating in the area for months before Ulfric killed Torygg. Janus and the Inspectors trained Vargsson’s men in unconventional warfare and tradecraft. A ratline was set up and Brunwulf helped garner recruits for the growing band under Ragnar, who had come to be called Ragnar’s Rangers after a series of daring night raids and ambushes on soft targets and assassinations of high value personnel. As the war dragged on, the Legion leaned more and more on Ragnar’s Rangers and bands like them to punch holes in the Stormcloak lines. The war had a timely end in sight as the Dragonborn entered the fray on the side of the Empire. Ragnar’s Rangers were tasked with sending back reports on particularly dug in strongholds, high value targets, and important supply depots. The Dovahkiin’s dragons proved instrumental in making precision strikes against these objectives, and played a crucial role when Tullius and the rest of the conventional forces of the Legion broke through the weakened lines and laid a laughably short siege on Windhelm. The Penitus Oculatus celebrated a short-lived round of praise for the heroics that would be forever hidden in a dossier in a dusty cabinet. Janus and Savian shared a toast with the Rangers and the rest of their team before the news came of the Emperor’s assassination at the hands of the Dark Brotherhood, a weakened organization that shouldn’t have been able to reliably kill a beggar, much less the Emperor himself. With the security blunder of the Penitus Oculatus came a wide purge of the ranks. The reshuffling had many in high places in the Oculatus sidelined, if not outright removed from the organization altogether. The machinations largely went over Janus’s head, save for the most visible consequence as Janus’s employment as a contractor was cut short, and the money with it. Savian himself was relegated to an embassy in a place Janus was not allowed to know about. As for Janus himself, there were only two options. Strike it out on his lonesome to find work, or stay with the Rangers, who had taken almost immediately to banditry and mercenary work. Tiring once more of war and death, Janus left Skyrim for High Rock, eager to get away from his past of blood. Nowadays, he teaches swordplay to anyone with enough coin, and spends that coin in whatever tavern he beds down in that night. A simple life, hard-fought for and well-deserved... [B]Personality[/B]: Unflinchingly polite. Capably violent. Janus may be a simple wanderer, but there was once a preacher that walked in the footprints he’s left from Hammerfell to here. That priest of Stendarr would shake his head and offer absolution to the man he’d become, bottle in bloodied hands. A fall from faith had seen the naïveté of the young priest clipped away like angel’s wings and put a sword in his hand and vengeance in his heart. For what more reason should a man have a loss of his faith than the loss of his home. The years have worn away at him, and now all the faith in the good of the world he once had was a casualty of two wars. Lucky day if you get words out of him, but he has always been a man of his word, no matter how few they are now and how mean and snipped those are. He makes for a steadfast companion and a good friend to those who’ve sought out and chosen him, for the seeking and choosing of friends is something he has no want for these days. He settles for whoever stays. Any humor out of him is sardonic, and not really for anybody else but for him. A way to deal with stress and what life offers, but he maintains an aloof and care-free image despite. Like the man, all his weapons are utilitarian. Even his saber, old as it is, holds no runes carved in it and is set with no jewels. As simple and forward as his fighting style. He holds no qualms with killing, and holds only to two rules- quick hands and patience. Even with such a seemingly passive demeanor, ask some of the shallow graves from Windhelm to Wayrest if he’s willing to die for someone else’s convenience. A survivor, a killer; patient and strong-willed. A functioning alcoholic, quiet, and polite despite it all, there are flashes here and there of the old Janus. The man who wanted for nothing more but crops to sow and reap, a wife, and a daughter. One just needs to keep a watchful eye and open ears for him. He may say he’s washed his hands of the blood now, but he knows as well as anyone; he is what he is.[/hider]