Name: Czigani Novikov
Age: 26
Gender: F
Appearance/Description: Taller than an average female, Czi has always had a slender body, small breasts, and stocky thighs, taking after her mother. A few tribal tattoos adorn her neck and shoulder, something she some regretted having done, but aren’t going away anytime soon. Her clothing is generally simple and comfortable “street” clothes, taking jeans and a t-shirt, over anything more extravagant. Her auburn hair was always changing, tending toward a shaved undercut look, allowing one side to stay longer and straight.
Height: 6’1
Weight: Approx 150lbs
Personality: Czi has a tough exterior, and is even harder to please, making it a challenge to get through to her at times. She tends to come off as pushy and impatient with most people. Although if she considers you a friend, then she will have your back no matter what.
Occupation/Skills: Her Ruska Roma (“Russian Gypsy”) heritage is full of musicians, dancers, artisans, and general tinkers, and Czi is no different. Her love of music has kept her financially afloat for many years, focused mainly on the fiddle or violin, you would find her performing in public squares, or private events if the money was right. In addition, she is trained in moderate self defense techniques, namely Krav Maga, which her grandfather passed onto her as a teenager and something she has continued to develop.
Bio: Czigani’s early life had been relatively normal and uneventful, not much different than most children growing up in Boston’s lower income neighborhoods. Her parents, both of whom were Russian immigrants of Romani heritage, moved to the United States just before their daughter was born, where they lived and worked a handful of jobs to make ends meet. Her father also played guitar in the surrounding pubs, sharing traditional Roma music fused with modern current jazz influences. It was a love of music that carried over to their daughter, as she took comfort and joy in stringed instruments, focusing on the violin.
In her late teens, both of her parents were brutally beaten and murdered by a hate mob, and the tragedy altered her life and general disposition toward society, causing her to climb into herself, shying away from the world for years. It wasn’t until her grandfather, who had already lived in America, came to visit Czigani and re-awakened her spirit once again. He taught her how to defend herself, so she would never become a victim to the wretch and prejudice of society, like her parents had. Her grandfather also shared a history of her Romani lineage, which stretched as far back as the eighteenth century, and were filled with mystical and supernatural secrets that she only thought of as folklore and children’s bedtime stories.
Her time had come eventually, that all cards would be laid out on the table, and her fate sealed for an eternity. On a cool fall evening, Czi held an impromptu performance on the patio of a small Russian-American restaurant she was acquainted with, flawlessly playing many cultural favorites to a large crowd, many of whom had immigrated from Eastern Europe. What started out as a peaceful time of good food, drink, and music, ended in a swift and violent stroke of confusion, as a team of undercover police officers stormed through every entrance and opening, brandishing assault weapons, yelling out commands, and pinning random people down onto tables and against walls. Czigani didn’t run, as many had, but rather stood her ground, protecting many of the children from the raid taking place. She had no idea what was happening, but at that moment, the fear that kept her heart pumping wildly, was replaced with a rage that she could not control. Her face and body burned with a passion and adrenaline foreign to her, and the realization didn’t hit her until she’d suddenly snapped from whatever spell she had been under, and stood with several weapons pointed at her, and the bloodied remains of an officer at her feet. The violin that once produced beautiful music only moment prior was broken into countless pieces with remnants of shiny darkwood stuck in the side of the dead officer’s skull, and the bow was lodged halfway into his brain by way of his eye. The tools of her happiness had ultimately become weapons of her destruction.
Czi fell to her knees without even being told to do so, as the horrors of the evening came flooding in all at once, and she sobbed uncontrollably. Tears that, since that terrible night, had never been shed for anyone...or anything.
Age: 26
Gender: F
Appearance/Description: Taller than an average female, Czi has always had a slender body, small breasts, and stocky thighs, taking after her mother. A few tribal tattoos adorn her neck and shoulder, something she some regretted having done, but aren’t going away anytime soon. Her clothing is generally simple and comfortable “street” clothes, taking jeans and a t-shirt, over anything more extravagant. Her auburn hair was always changing, tending toward a shaved undercut look, allowing one side to stay longer and straight.
Height: 6’1
Weight: Approx 150lbs
Personality: Czi has a tough exterior, and is even harder to please, making it a challenge to get through to her at times. She tends to come off as pushy and impatient with most people. Although if she considers you a friend, then she will have your back no matter what.
Occupation/Skills: Her Ruska Roma (“Russian Gypsy”) heritage is full of musicians, dancers, artisans, and general tinkers, and Czi is no different. Her love of music has kept her financially afloat for many years, focused mainly on the fiddle or violin, you would find her performing in public squares, or private events if the money was right. In addition, she is trained in moderate self defense techniques, namely Krav Maga, which her grandfather passed onto her as a teenager and something she has continued to develop.
Bio: Czigani’s early life had been relatively normal and uneventful, not much different than most children growing up in Boston’s lower income neighborhoods. Her parents, both of whom were Russian immigrants of Romani heritage, moved to the United States just before their daughter was born, where they lived and worked a handful of jobs to make ends meet. Her father also played guitar in the surrounding pubs, sharing traditional Roma music fused with modern current jazz influences. It was a love of music that carried over to their daughter, as she took comfort and joy in stringed instruments, focusing on the violin.
In her late teens, both of her parents were brutally beaten and murdered by a hate mob, and the tragedy altered her life and general disposition toward society, causing her to climb into herself, shying away from the world for years. It wasn’t until her grandfather, who had already lived in America, came to visit Czigani and re-awakened her spirit once again. He taught her how to defend herself, so she would never become a victim to the wretch and prejudice of society, like her parents had. Her grandfather also shared a history of her Romani lineage, which stretched as far back as the eighteenth century, and were filled with mystical and supernatural secrets that she only thought of as folklore and children’s bedtime stories.
Her time had come eventually, that all cards would be laid out on the table, and her fate sealed for an eternity. On a cool fall evening, Czi held an impromptu performance on the patio of a small Russian-American restaurant she was acquainted with, flawlessly playing many cultural favorites to a large crowd, many of whom had immigrated from Eastern Europe. What started out as a peaceful time of good food, drink, and music, ended in a swift and violent stroke of confusion, as a team of undercover police officers stormed through every entrance and opening, brandishing assault weapons, yelling out commands, and pinning random people down onto tables and against walls. Czigani didn’t run, as many had, but rather stood her ground, protecting many of the children from the raid taking place. She had no idea what was happening, but at that moment, the fear that kept her heart pumping wildly, was replaced with a rage that she could not control. Her face and body burned with a passion and adrenaline foreign to her, and the realization didn’t hit her until she’d suddenly snapped from whatever spell she had been under, and stood with several weapons pointed at her, and the bloodied remains of an officer at her feet. The violin that once produced beautiful music only moment prior was broken into countless pieces with remnants of shiny darkwood stuck in the side of the dead officer’s skull, and the bow was lodged halfway into his brain by way of his eye. The tools of her happiness had ultimately become weapons of her destruction.
Czi fell to her knees without even being told to do so, as the horrors of the evening came flooding in all at once, and she sobbed uncontrollably. Tears that, since that terrible night, had never been shed for anyone...or anything.
