Name: Pavel Leonidovich Alekseyev
Age: 28
Occupation: Turner, Bandster, Blacksmith, Wheelwright—A jack of many trades.
Background: Pavel Leonidovich is a man of many talents, and a man much skilled with the work of his hands and the toil of a hard existence in the mountains near Adishi. While a tradesman and crafter of many things, he is not so skilled in his aesthetics and form as Vasily Vukašin. Pavel’s talents lie in crafting things of pure function, and he finds a silent beauty in his simple work. From making axles, to building wagon wheels, to banding wheat after harvest, Pavel finds his purpose in work, and a job well done is among his greatest of treasures.
His father before him was the same kind of man. Proudly and humbly he served the village as a reliable crafter of necessities, and a handy laborer when harvest came or wood required splitting. The elder Alekseyev endeavored to teach his son all the virtuous purpose that could come from a life spent in the service of one’s own talents, and the fulfilling pursuit of a job well-done. From the time he could walk, Mikhail apprenticed his son in the way of the world and of the life of a functional craftsman. Many happy years passed in this manner, and Pavel’s youth was that of a boy destined to proudly follow in his father’s footsteps.
That was, until tragedy struck the Alekseyev family. When Pavel was but seventeen, his mother, Alla, was heavy with child. There was much hope for the small family, as Mikhail and his wife had not yet been able to conceive following Pavel’s birth. One night, scant days from the Summer Solstice, Pavel awoke to the piteous cries of his father. In the night, Alla, and the unborn child in her belly, had died. There was no apparent cause, other than the strange mysteries so often associated with pregnancy. Though sudden and tragic, to Pavel’s mind, at least his mother and his unknown sibling had passed peacefully. The young man took the death in stride, mourning the loss, yet believing there was nothing more to do then to move on with life, and celebrate their memory.
Unlike his son, Mikhail took the death of Alla hard. Soon, he had fallen from his lofted and respected station in the village, and descended to nothing more than the town drunkard. Now, over a decade later, nothing much has changed for Pavel’s father. His time is spent either in the tavern, or tucked away in the corner of his darkened room in the Alekseyev household, his hands invariably clutched around the neck of a bottle or tankard.
For his part, Pavel lost both his parents that day. Refusing to descend to such depths of despair as his father, he loses himself in the pursuance of his many trades. The pair speak little, if at all, with the few exchanges being spurned only by the exchange of the few coins that Pavel leaves for his father upon the kitchen table each night.
