Name: Marcus Vantiri | Age: 19 | Race: HumanA P P E R A N C E :
A young lad who's still growing into his hand me down armour, though he'd deny it to the end. Marcus has already undergone something of a transformation since joining the legion. When he was brought before their quartermasters he was just some scraggly street rat. All skin, bone and sinew. Since then he's gotten three straight meals of bland tasting army rations and has been put through his paces on a regular basis by the training imposed by the sergeants, however rushed it may be. The end result was like watching a whippet being turned into a mastiff.
His sallow complexion that plagued Marcus in his old life was slowly replaced by the sun kissed tones of someone spending all their time outdoors and on the march, although it's noticeably uneven as Marcus is usually in his armour, leaving parts of his face and torso to remain pale. He's yet to find some free time to try sunbathing. As for the armour itself Marcus takes what he can get. The legion has fallen on hard times these days - as folks are constantly reminding him – so no two suites ever look the same. Marcus has managed to salvage himself some chainmail, a cleaner surcoat than most and some clothes with some padding still left in them to go underneath it all.
He still looks like he never gets enough sleep though, probably because he doesn't. You try getting rested sharing a tent and a barracks with a bunch of snoring, farting soldiers all night.
M I N D :
”The boy should have tried being a jester, he runs his mouth enough.” Was what the old drill sergeant had to say about Marcus. They also said that his runaway mouth would get him killed some day, to which Marcus countered that it would probably be getting a sword rammed through his body that'd be what got him killed.
Marcus is a sarcastic back-talker and it seemed even his training under the legion couldn't stamp that out of him, in fact it's more than likely that he stubbornly made sure to be more blatant with the attitude just to spite the stuck up veterans. Marcus has been on the bottom rung of society all his life and spent his days being kicked and rubbed into the dirt for this sin of being born into the gutter, so he quickly learned it helped to have a gallows sense of humour if only to serve as a coping mechanism.
This little rebellious streak doesn't mean he's mad enough to sass the proper higher ups that is. The lad knows when it's time to get serious and when to shut your mouth and follow orders. No he'll only stand up to his superiors when he thinks something's actually on the line, like when he called out a captain over some of the men not getting their due rations and stared the old git down... all while trying not to piss his britches for fear of the inevitable execution that would follow doing something so stupid. He's still got no idea how he didn't die over that. Maybe they were right about his mouth getting him killed.
If there's one thing Marcus can't stand it's the kind of self obsessed folks that take themselves too seriously. As if anyone in the legion's had themselves a lovely old life. Everyone here's had their own strokes with death or watched a friend die, but there's those that wallow in it, that wear their suffering like a medal or worse, they try to turn it into a competition. Ain't nobody had hardship like them, you just don't know, you could never understand. Marcus has nothing but contempt when it comes to that kind of person.
As far as magic is concerned... well that's not something he's ever encountered. Not up close and personal anyway. Marcus feels that same unease and mistrust around it as all the ignorant feel around something powerful they don't understand but he can't say he has any strong feelings about it either. It's always just been something that happened to other people, y'know. Marcus is fully aware he's a grunt, a nobody and fully expendable in the eyes of his superiors. He thanks his lucky stars his made it this far and is just trying to keep it together as he finds himself thrown in with the gods and monsters that make up the legion, usually by hiding his fear behind a stupid smirk.
H I S T O R Y:
Born a gutter rat in the imperial heartland, the bustling metropolis of Feroxi. The older of two siblings Marcus found himself thrust into the role of caring for his younger sister, Maggie. So he took work as a dogsbody down by the docks whenever he could and usually got a kicking from the nearest drunken sailor for his troubles. What else was a lad in that position to do but turn to a life of crime? The gangs were always happy to bring kids on board, they went unnoticed by most guards and made light handed cutpurses and Marcus proved better at it than most. He made a good living out of it for the most part. Sure they were still living in poverty but Maggie didn't have to go hungry most nights and was kept warm enough to see through each winter. But it wasn't enough for Marcus. The streets were cruel to kids like them and men could prove worse than any wolf with their own plans for growing girls and boys. He had to aim big, to go for a real score... it went badly. In his foolishness he got himself kicked out the gang with a target on his back to boot.
There was only one way out from there. Once the army came to town and recruiters looked for folks willing to take an iron coin in Tarkus' name. The legion would offer him some protection and a good enough wage to send home to his family. No one mentioned anything about crossing the mourning sea to go on a fresh campaign when he joined up! Marcus would always resent the legion for that, and even more once legionnaire life turned out to be more mud and blood than honour and glory. It became impossible to send coin home once they got shipped out but his responsibilities back home always staid in the back of his mind.
So for now Marcus has tried to keep his head down and stay alive long enough to see home again. After the whole missing rations incident Marcus got made the unofficial cook among his brothers and sisters in arms and can usually be found tending a stew pot over a communal fire and throwing out crass jokes along with his portions. For as much crap as he gives his fellow rank and file legionnaires he's proven that he cares about the poor sods in that soldiers bond sort of way, earning him some leeway from his more forgiving comrades.
M O D U S O P R E R A N D I:
While there are plenty around with a lifetime of experience and training with their own family weapons and personalised tools of murder Marcus simply has his slapdash training to rely on and the standard issue gear. While the upper echelons of the army are made up of those that lead the charge and throw themselves into the enemy lines he'll be among the countless rank and file that make up the rest of the charge. To put it more personally if Hanir can be seen leading the centre of the phalanx then you can probably see Marcus holding the third spear on the left.
He's been trained to use a spear and shield and is equipped with a legion shortsword if things get up close. He's competent with both of them but his sskill's nothing to write home about as any form or grace usually gets lost amid the chaos of battle. What Marcus is good at is hiding behind his shield and stubbornly digging in to find that last dreg of stamina to keep himself on his feet as the battles wear on and the wounds pile up. Not that he'd call an aptitude for taking a beating a skill.
One thing that does set him apart from his fellow grunts is his dextrously talented hands. Marcus is ambidextrous, a word he'd never heard until he joined up, having always taken his comfort in switching his dominant hand for granted. Other folks always told him that it was a handy thing to have and a good way to throw off your opponent. Marcus figured if it could help keep him alive he'd try using it so he's started working on the straps of his shield so he could switch which hand he holds it in quick and easy while hind a dagger behind its rim. He still needs to practice it more before he can call it a proper technique.
O P I N I O N S O N O T H E R S
Magatha Toil: Marcus never got why so many folks in the second legion gave the horned lass such funny looks when they first met her. Was he the only one who'd seen a godling before? Growing up in a big city like Feroxi meant that Marcus had encountered folks of pretty much every species there was, the only reason he'd have to gawk at the horned woman was if he fancied her... which he does but that's besides the point! Either way it seemed he was one of the few around that didn't get spooked by Mags' demonic look. She's an alright kinda lass, good for a laugh around the fire, treats people right and somehow always manages to get her hands on something to drink. The two of them also share the philosophy that if you can't fight better than someone then fight dirty. She's a good one, a pal.
Hanir: See now this one is exactly what you expect when you picture a noble officer. All pomp and fancy talk and goin' around like he's got a riding crop shoved up his arse. When it comes to talking to Saga Marcus has to do his best not to roll his eyes and pass out from all the lad-di-da nonsense he goes on about. But Marcus has to admit the noble knows his business when it comes to busting heads. Always in the front and never asking folk to do something he wont... so yeah... he might tell folks to go easy on him when they talk about Saga behind his back. They can sass the blue blood to his face as much as they want though. Saying that though, Marcus has to admit he's pretty jealous of Hanir's fancy living. Hell if he had the money he'd do it too.
Myaenthar'Sul: Finally someone with as much reason to be terrified as Marcus is of the legion of monsters and murderers they're living among. The two of them first spoke after a bloody skirmish with the Ruby natives as the camp settled down for the night to lick their wounds. The kobold was sneaking onto the edge of the firelight, wary of the human soldiers. Goblin types were rare, even in Feroxi, and usually not to be trusted but Marcus was far too tired to care about that. He passed a bowl of brown Sul's way and said, "This whole soldering lark, eh? It's a bit shit ain't it?" On that they agreed.
Arthur Wick: I mean it's Arthur Wick, ain't it? Nothin' more to say after that. Even while Marcus was still in boot camp stories of the various champions of the legion made the rounds. Folks that the cockier in their batch hoped to ape and live up to. Arthur doesn't seem the type to take shit and Marcus is too intimidated by the man to give any. That said when Arthur is nearby on the battlefield then Marcus finds himself fighting harder and more confidently. The sight of that giant suit of armour wading into the fray gives Marcus a bit of hope that they might just make it through all this. He's too low in the pecking order to be noticed by someone of Arthur's rank and station to go noticed by the man but that doesn't matter none, grunts and knights weren't meant to mingle anyway.
Reika: So maybe Marcus is the only one in the second legion who lived in anywhere bigger than a barn. Seems like everyone round here is from some clan or tribe and none of them go on about it as proudly as Reika here. He might have been a fun fella to hang around with in any other place but around the legion he's someone that Marcus has no time for. He is literally sauntering around like a god among men with a magic sword that sends blood flying all around the place like knives, seemingly without any proper magic training or anything. How is that even fair? And then he wanders off in huffs and broods when someone talks too much about the bloody magic sword at his waist, oh woe is me! It must be so hard to wander onto a battlefield with all the confidence of a hurricane. Twat.
Aeudla Vesnat: "You alright, Love, you need some help finding your bunk? I ain't flirting with you, I'm just concerned." When Marcus first met the elf he was certain she was drunk and due a serious hangover the next morning. He still suspects it every other time he sees her. She makes him want to learn archery and get a pretty cushy time in the back lines. He's heard that she's a blood mage and she acts as weird as you hear those people are but so long as it's her blood she's using and she's not carrying slvaes around like others have then she can't be too bad... right? He might keep a cautious distance anyway. The elf may be a fitty but Marcus isn't sure it'd be worth the implied risk.
Andrea Albane: See that woman's a lioness. Kind that if a lamb crosses her path then he'll get eaten and not in the way he'd like. She strikes Marcus as the kind of person who likes seeing people be scared of her. So in his petulant pride he tends to crack wise at her expense on the rare times they've ever shared words, all while screaming at himself to stop and not to shame himself. He doesn't know what makes her a champion though. She doesn't seem to give any kind of a shit about honour and whatnot. Who hands out these titles anyway?
Verse: She struck Marcus as an uptight kinda lady with a chip stuck on her shoulder. Somehow he doubts that Verse has any interests outside of fighting or battles or anything. Honestly until someone told him she used to be Anthm Marcus would have believed she came from one of the proper military academies, the married to the army type. Then he learned she was tainted and he quickly decided to steer clear, preferring to go unnoticed by the living monster that was used as a story to scare him into obedience as a child.
