Voltus_Ventus — Roleplayer Guild

Name: Zoltan Tamzarian

Class: Skirmisher

Age: 28

Gender: Male

Appearance: Zoltan stands about about 6ft 2inches tall and is fairly slim, not slim enough to be slight but not muscular enough to be bulky, one would almost go as far as lank but not quite, he's got enough muscle to heft his weapon effectively. He has a well rounded head, with soft slavic features and tinge of grubbiness to his white skin, his face lightly flecked with light freckles. On his head he has a thick brown hair, flattened haphazardly to his scalp due to the helmet he wears and large muttonchops on either side of his face. His eyes are discolored, one of the eyes (the right one) is the original brown whereas the other (left) is a venomous green, turned that way by the near hit magic of a witch, it also glows, casting a cone of eery green light.

The rest of his body is marred with scars and pocks and marks from run in's with unsavory types out on the open road, most notably a scar running from the top of his right shoulder blade going across diagonally before stopping at his left hip. 

When on the road or on a task, Zoltan wears his armor. It consists of a chainmail tunic with a firm patchwork hide vest over top and one large plate shoulder guard on his right shoulder, and a steel morion; around his neck he wears a blue and orange scarf, the colors of the lord he fought for. On his legs he wears hide chaps over his pantaloons and studded boots for good grip on surfaces. When not in combat, he wears a simple white tunic and removes his chaps.

Background:

Zoltan had never lead a privileged life, he was born to two parents who barely scraped by, farming the allotments of rich lords with too much land for just their serfs to work. From a young age he knew he wouldn't grow to be much, he lacked the vital substance that made important men important, he didn't have an education, nor did he have a title or wealth, he had nothing. Though one day he would lose everything and gain one thing.

He was working the fields with has ma and pa, the hot sun beating down on them when the lord of the borough came down from his castle on horseback, followed by his squires and stewards, he was fuming but Zoltan paid no attention to it, instead toiling in the earth. His father likewise wasn't paying attention, though now after the events of that day he developed a suspicion that his father was pretending to not pay attention. It seemed to be the case when the Lord stopped his horse in from of father.

His father gulped but did not look up, he knew what was coming to him. The Lord let loose a torrent of yells and the people in the field stopped to watch, the man was seething and his father just took it. Zoltan's mother held her only son and turned him around so he didn't have to see but Zoltan could hear. He heard the sword being drawn, the gasp of the workers and the gently thump of a body hitting the ground. He had a vague idea of what just happened, though it was reinforced by his mothers whimpers. The Lord rode off, without saying one more word. 

Zoltan's mother whispered in to his ear, "Walk forward and don't look back, Go home and pack your things." He did so, he didn't turn around as he walked, didn't turn around when he heard his mother howl in sorrow, nor when he heard the crowd of workers yelling and the sounds of stone started clanking off armor. He walked on.

Eventually his mother came back to their earthen hovel, her eyes red and her forehead bruised but otherwise unscathed. Wordlessly she went about the house and took everything of value, putting them all in a cast iron crockpot and tying it to her back. She took little Zoltan's hand and they left the hovel, they walked for days to the next borough and here, Zoltan found himself under the wing of senior squire. Zoltan had practiced hard and proved himself to be proficient in the thick of a fight but it seemed that, like he acknowledged when he was young, it would get him nowhere. He had no title and came from a lowly family of impoverished surfs, he couldn't be a knight, instead they made him a spearman and made him watch the stables. He resented them then, all of them but the squire that tried to help, this resentment made him bitter. He had to live with the weight of being robbed of his future because of what he was. 

Though his life is not only tragedy, he has had his victories and one such victory will remain with him forever.

A war had broken out in the kingdom, the Lords had turned against each other, two sides at each others throats like wild dogs. One side, wanted to give surfs the right to move from Borough to Borough and the other wanted them to be locked to their lords. The lord which Zoltan had found himself working for wanted the prior and thus rallied his men to fight in the nearest enemy borough, the borough that Zoltan had once called home.

They threw him like so many else as cannon fodder, so was the job of a spearmen, to be at the front of the line to face off the cavalry attacks. Wave after wave came after them and wave after wave of spearmen fell, accompanied by the shrill screams of dying horse and riders, thrashing in churned up soil and crimson blood. Eventually in was Zoltan and a few dozen left when the army stormed the keep and surrounded the Lord and his men. Upon seeing the man who had killed his father, Zoltan's blood boiled, he shouldn't have done what he did but he couldn't help himself. He pushed and shoved to the front of the line, where the Lord he was working for was passing his ultimatum to the rivals and lunged outwards with his spear, catching the enemy Lord in the neck. 

He was dishonorably discharged then, a light sentence considering he killed a Lord but harsh for only one act of insubordination.

From that point on, Zoltan felt he had achieved his goal and sunk into a rut of bad jobs and alcohol abuse, eventually he left town all together, leaving his savings in the hands of his mother and going out to wander the world. During his travels, he learned that fighting with a spear was harder without other spearmen by your side, so quickly he had to develop a solo method of fighting, more defensive and more brutal.

It was during one of these skirmishes that he became acquainted with the Sunlight Lance. He was on dire straights, running out of money and food, however he saw something that could save him, a caravan being attacked. He was hoping that if he helped fend off the raiders, they'd give him some money or at east something to eat. So he came in form behind and joined in the fighting, beating people back with his spear then stabbing at them with practiced ease. Upon the battle's end, he found that there was no reward for him, they thanked him and asked him if they would accompany them. He was under the illusion that at the end of their trip he would be payed, it turned out that instead he got more work. 

Though he is not officially part of the Sunlight Lance, he is often called on to help them fight, his low fees and good skills making him somewhat useful.

Skills:

A:
B: Reflex
C: Acrobatics, Weapon Proficiency (Spear)
D: Ride, Stealth, Armor
E: Survival

Equipment:

Spear 
Light Shield (Armor E)
Medium Armor (Armor C)
Crossbow (10 bolts)
Smoke Bomb (x4)
Fire Bomb (x2)
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