IncredibleBee

A Tyrant's Undoing

Sergei let out a long moan, lying back in the driver's seat of Stephanie's parked wagon. He took a long swig from his glass flask of liquor, wiping away what dribbled out of his cheek-hole.
"Suppose it's comfy enough." he sighed, cracking his neck. "Hey, girl. The hell do you sleep? Wagon bed? It's made of wood; your back must be sore every morning."

He scratched his head. "For that matter, whaddya sell? I got cash, so d'you sell grape wine? Cider? I don't suppose you have beds for sell; I'd sooner spend the night in an alley than with a thief. Y'ask me, nobody needs to go around, stealing from people that earned their piece fair and square."

A Tyrant's Undoing

"It's crowded back there." Sergei panted, squeezing himself out of the cart's bed and clambering up into the seat, opposite of Ian. Fortunately, he decided to sit on the right, hiding the scars on his face. "Crowded, hot, and loud. Not at all good for a poor old veteran like me."
Sergei subtly shifted his cape, revealing his arm stump.

"Tell me, merchant, won't you take pity and let a withered old soldier take a rest instead of a spry young lad? If you do, I'll reward you with a war story and hot cider."

A Tyrant's Undoing

Sergei whistled, catching the meager coinpurse.
"Oh, my reputation proceeds me. And for the lady and scoundrel unacquainted, I am Sergei. Lord Sergei Dolvanov, Knight-General of the Crimson Hounds." he gave a flourish fo a bow. "That's quite good, yes. And tell me, wizard, if you saw my shock team route that cavalry in Tabor Lei, perhaps you've heard of our siege of Nightvell Castle, or the heads I took when my own homelands had a civil war?"

Giving a horribly toothy grin, he used his stump to throw his cape over his shoulder. "I'm only half blind, and I can tell that you're quite desperate to flee, if you're not bothering to dry off after leaving the river. So I'll tell you what: this can be my dinner, but toss in a little extra, and I'll loan you my sword hand. What say you? There's no honor among thieves, but a knight's word is his bond."
His eyes narrowed, gleaming with excitement. "And without a Lord to follow, I'd gladly fend off the coming guardsmen tonight if you'd pay me, say.... a single silver coin? Surely your safety is worth that much."

A Tyrant's Undoing

Name: Sergei
Age: 48
Race: Human

Looks: From a distance, the man seems almost normal, his black hair long and tattered, shorting a short beard and mustache. Upon closer view, however, it is quickly apparent he has only one steely eye- the right has been gouged out, leaving a scar. The cheek on the same side was also ripped open, the half-glasgow exposing a row of teeth and gums. His left arm has been severed right below the elbow, leaving only a ragged stump. His stomach has a messily healed wound from a puncture, among a small battery of smaller battlescars across his body.
The muscles in his right arm and back are overdeveloped, to the point of near deformity.
Typically, he prefers to wear a sleeveless hauberk and frayed red surcoat, with an iron bracer strapped onto his good arm. His left shoulder is covered with a white shoulder cape, partly concealing his missing arm. On his hip he likes to wear a heavy, well-worn war sword and a long dagger.

Bio: Sergei was, in his younger years, the lord presiding over a particularly ferocious band of knights, famed for their ruthless talent on the battlefield. Under his leadership, Sergei led them from battle to battle, wherever their lords desire, with only the mission to burn everything in their path. Violence, however, is begot with violence, and their numbers dwindled steadily.
At the site of his final battle at the ruins of some forgotten castle, Sergei alone hacked dozens into pieces as the dust and sand and blood clouded the sight of every last one of his knights, including his own son. It was also here that Sergei lost his arm, eye, and cheek. Miraculously, he survived, cauterizing his stump on a piece of burning lumber.
Sergei was now crippled, alone, and stripped of his lands and servants. It was only natural for him to return to the one thing he excelled at. After retraining himself to use a sword one-handed, he became a particularly violent mercenary, selling himself to whichever lord needed the usage of a heavy iron blade. His life since then has been a constant cycle of fighting and hedonistic spending on whatever caught his eye, sans the perks of nobility.
Most recently, he has found himself locked in a dungeon for the charges of public intoxication, and striking a town guard.

Other: Despite having one arm, its muscles and his back's are trained to freakish levels, giving Sergei great upper body strength, and allowing him to compensate. In this way, he can even wield a heavy war sword with deadly effectiveness.
On the other hand, it and the facial scars are a dead giveaway of who he is- anyone familiar with matters of war are sure to have heard of a one-armed swordsman, let alone one with an impressive record.

A Tyrant's Undoing

"Well it's a little late for that, isn't it?" Sergei stood, dusting his pants off. "All that splashing and shouting has sure to have scared the fish away."

The merenary began to saunter over, dropping his hood and throwing his cape back. "Now, look at this. You've cost a poor crippled veteran his dinner. I can't very well farm or smith with an arm like this, can I? But you, knife-ears, that armor must have caught a pretty penny. Surely you can spare some coin for an old war dog like meself?" his face drooped into a gross scowl, and he held out his hand, wriggling his thick fingers.

A Tyrant's Undoing

Sergei sniffed, stretching his aching neck. A simple fishing rod was buried in the ground beneath his legs, and he reached for the bottle of liquour by his side. Pulling out the stopper with his teeth, he took a swig, and sighed, regarding his line. Fish was not a common food in his homeland, and he found the taste pleasantly exotic. Still, by that same virtue he had little knowledge of the sport, an annoyance compounded by his current lack of coin.

"Hmmmm..." He adjusted the hood concealing the scarred half of his face, and sent a silent wish to the god of money. No sooner did his eye snapped to the side as some fifteen feet to his left, a scoundrel and a mage sloshed ashore, soaked to the bone.

The knight gave a horribly wide, toothy grin at the pair.

Multiverse: You Are The Character

Yeah ok

Multiverse: You Are The Character

I REMEMBER THIS.

A Tyrant's Undoing

I'd like to be in the dungeon too.

Name: Sergei
Age: 48
Race: Human

Looks: From a distance, the man seems almost normal, his black hair long and tattered, shorting a short beard and mustache. Upon closer view, however, it is quickly apparent he has only one steely eye- the right has been gouged out, leaving a scar. The cheek on the same side was also ripped open, the half-glasgow exposing a row of teeth and gums. His left arm has been severed right below the elbow, leaving only a ragged stump. His stomach has a messily healed wound from a puncture, among a small battery of smaller battlescars across his body.
The muscles in his right arm and back are overdeveloped, to the point of near deformity.
Typically, he prefers to wear a sleeveless hauberk and frayed red surcoat, with an iron bracer strapped onto his good arm. His left shoulder is covered with a white shoulder cape, partly concealing his missing arm. On his hip he likes to wear a heavy, well-worn war sword and a long dagger.

Bio: Sergei was, in his younger years, the lord presiding over a particularly ferocious band of knights, famed for their ruthless talent on the battlefield. Under his leadership, Sergei led them from battle to battle, wherever their lords desire, with only the mission to burn everything in their path. Violence, however, is begot with violence, and their numbers dwindled steadily.
At the site of his final battle at the ruins of some forgotten castle, Sergei alone hacked dozens into pieces as the dust and sand and blood clouded the sight of every last one of his knights, including his own son. It was also here that Sergei lost his arm, eye, and cheek. Miraculously, he survived, cauterizing his stump on a piece of burning lumber.
Sergei was now crippled, alone, and stripped of his lands and servants. It was only natural for him to return to the one thing he excelled at. After retraining himself to use a sword one-handed, he became a particularly violent mercenary, selling himself to whichever lord needed the usage of a heavy iron blade. His life since then has been a constant cycle of fighting and hedonistic spending on whatever caught his eye, sans the perks of nobility.
Most recently, he has found himself locked in a dungeon for the charges of public intoxication, and striking a town guard.

Other: Despite having one arm, its muscles and his back's are trained to freakish levels, giving Sergei great upper body strength, and allowing him to compensate. In this way, he can even wield a heavy war sword with deadly effectiveness.
On the other hand, it and the facial scars are a dead giveaway of who he is- anyone familiar with matters of war are sure to have heard of a one-armed swordsman, let alone one with an impressive record.

Journeys in Mystica

Where's the CS?