Grigori al Myros

[Grigori al Myros]

G R I G O R I
A L
M Y R O S

Details
Full Name: Grigori al Myros
Race: Human
Sex: Male
Age: 29
Height: 5'10"
Weight: 180lbs

Birthdate: 64 Searing 93
Birthplace: Kalzasi

Profession: Swordsman
Housing:
Partners:

Titles: Kozoku
Factions:

Fluencies: Common, Inandoth
Conversationals: None
Ineptitudes: None

Appearance
Lithe and confident, Grigori is a handsome man of 29, with a face only starting to be creased by wrinkles. His frame is built like that of a duelist, lanky and wiry, but there is a strength to how he presents himself that belies his true nature. Slightly curly brown hair tops his head, and a thick layer of hair runs his chest and abdomen as well. He carries only one marking on his body, the stylized Rune of the rapier which serves as his mark for Reaving.

Personality
Grigori is studious, always pursuing the next benchmark in his learning. He is inquisitive and thoughtful, but can become rash or irritated with himself if he feels too stagnant. His love for the blade colors his personality the most, and often he is thinking about his craft, even to his detriment regarding his immediate surroundings. A dreamer, but one grounded in dedication, Grigori strives to be the best at all times.

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[Grigori al Myros]

S K I L L S

Skill	Skill Level	Proficiency
Blades	43/100	Apprentice
Cartography	15/100	Novice
Meditation	15/100	Novice
Reaving	32/100	Apprentice
Survival	10/100	Novice
Tracking	10/100	Novice

Thread	Points Awarded	Points Spent	Running Total
CS Approval	+15	0	15
Blades	+0	8	7
Reaving	+0	7	0

[Grigori al Myros]

H I S T O R Y

Early Life

Born the seventh son of Lord Khul al Myros, Grigori was heralded into a life of privilege, one of servants and little strife. Rambunctious as a child, Grigori often found himself the subject of scolding from the House's Quartermaster, a grizzled swordsman named Dalm, whose dour countenance and scarred appearance belied the countless battle in which he'd found himself. As the seventh son, Grigori learned early in life that it was unlikely that any of his father's lands or titles would fall to him, and it was much more likely that he would end up as a lecherous socialite, like his brothers were to become. His oldest brother, Zevan, was the picturesque model of the stately politician, groomed to take the mantle of Lord al Myros, but Grigori found little use for politics and even less use for diplomacy. Instead, he set himself to the task of mastering the blade, studying closely with Dalm every chance he got. In between lessons of letters and heraldry, Grigori found the time to swing the wooden sword Dalm had whittled for him, slapping trees, stones, the occasional neighbor boy. It wasn't long before Grigori was testing the limits of his ability, flourishing with exaggerated sweeps and daring jabs. In combat against Dalm, he would always find himself on the flat of his back, dull tip of a wooden sword in his chest. "This isn't dancing, boy... It's war." It was always that comment, every time Dalm would best him. And Dalm bested him often.

Initiation

"Pick up your sword," came Dalm's curt opener. Looking to the wooden sword hanging on the wall next to rows of true weaponry, Grigori reached for the object he'd so often wielded against the quartermaster.

"Not that one, boy," growled the old warrior, and gestured toward the slim rapier hanging to the right. Grigori looked at him quizzically, as they'd never used steel against one another, but dutifully did as he was told. He hefted the light blade, feeling the difference in weight from the wooden sword he'd been using. He'd trained with the rapier, but only against target dummies, never a flesh opponent. He turned to look at Dalm, who was watching him with a grim look. He removed his armor, baring a barrel chest littered with scars. Emblazoned on the gnarled muscle was an intricate axe, with a gilt handle and a serrated edge. From it wrapped bands of crimson, curling around impressive pectoral muscles to spin up Dalm's left shoulder. Looking at it inspired awe and fear in Grigori, though he wasn't sure why.

"For years, I've watched you study the blade as a true student. It wasn't just a tool for you, but a path... A path to something greater than yourself, than this place, than the house of al Myros itself. I'm grateful to your father for everything he's given me, but his passion lies in the justice of the people... My justice is much more personal. Observe," he said, and concentrated for a moment before an axe appeared from nothing in his hand. It was ornate, like the one on his chest, but he wielded it as if it weighed no more than a feather. Twisting it in his hand, he stared at Grigori.

"To become one with a weapon is something no mere warrior can accomplish. Any oaf can master swinging a hunk of steel, but a true warrior, a true student of the craft, can Bind himself to a weapon so that it becomes an extra limb to him. A child can swing an axe and fell a tree, but a Reaver can swing an axe and fell a dynasty," Dalm said, and for a moment, it was as if Grigori wasn't even there. The quartermaster stepped forward and laid the edge of the axe on Grigori's chest, and the young noble felt a rush of energy flow through him. On his chest, a small marking formed, and the sword in his hand felt more natural than ever.

"If you are truly of a student of the blade... Show me. Sit with your sword, learn it, become one with it. Reach out with your very nature, and let it become a part of you, truly. When you are content that it is you and you it, I will be waiting."

Confused, Grigori nodded. He'd learned not to speak until prompted, and he had not felt as though he'd been prompted. Moving away from the old warrior, he sat with the blade laid across his lap. He removed his cloak, and his shirt, and laid both forearms on the thin blade. The metal was cool at first, but quickly warmed to his body temperature. Breathing in like he had countless times before, he focused himself into the weapon. The process was slow, as though the steel resisted him, but he stayed and concentrated on the blade. It was he, he told himself, and it would be a part of him until the ground took him back. Deep breaths blew warm air onto his arms and the rapier, steady and even. He felt it, the force inside of him melding with the steel, but could not describe the feeling. He knew Dalm was watching him, but the thought receded from his mind as he focused solely on the blade. When he opened his eyes, Dalm was standing in front of him, watching from a few feet away. He seemed to know, as if he could sense Grigori's soul in the weapon.

The next sound Grigori heard was the rush of air around the razor edge of the axe, and he ducked out of the way a split second before it separated head from shoulder. Dancing back in exasperation, Grigori stuttered long enough for Dalm to advance and swing again, a mighty overhand chop aimed at Grigori's sword arm. He vaulted to the side and slapped the axe away, using Dalm's momentum against him. The Reaver was unshakeable though, and turned the axe at a ninety degree angle to swipe at Grigori. Unexpected, all Grigori could do to stop the blow from felling him was dash into the range of the axe, which allowed the hilt to smash into his ribs. The air rushed from his lungs and he was thrown backwards, but he maintained his grip on the rapier; it was the only thing keeping him alive.

"Have you gone mad?" Grigori shouted, but the snarl that emerged from Dalm was the only answer he received. In came the quartermaster, axe held at his side, and as he reared back to swing, the hilt suddenly lengthened, giving the weapon far more reach than Grigori anticipated. He dove foward under the swing, running the thin edge of the rapier along Dalm's thigh. A thin layer of crimson appeared, but the quartermaster didn't halt.

"This isn't dancing..." started Dalm, and Grigori finished the mantra.

"It's war," he said, lunging forward and stabbing at Dalm's wrist. He slashed the fingers holding the axe, but Dalm barely registered the attack. He advanced, and Grigori once again darted away. He set his feet, awaiting the inevitable advance from Dalm, and so it came. A swing of the axe, a stab of the rapier. So the two fought, neither getting the upper hand until Dalm lashed out quickly, throwing Grigori off balance.

On his back, Grigori lost sight of the quartermaster, but something in his sword urged him to raise the weapon at the last second to deflect a heavy chop from the axe, knocking it aside. Spinning on his back, Grigori used his legs to wrap around Dalm's, tripping the man and giving Grigori the advantage. Standing over him, Grigori stepped heavily on his wrist, pinning the axe to the ground, and placed steel to the man's throat.

"You're bested," Grigori murmured, staring down at the old warrior, whose visage softened immediately. He was unsure if Grigori would pass the initiation, but it seemed he had. Ready for what was to come, the quartermaster's strong arms were already coming up as the exhaustion overwhelmed the boy, and he carried him from the ludus back to his chambers.


Early Adulthood

Now emblazoned with the Cardinal Rune of Reaving, Grigori set his sights on achieving even greater feats with his Pact weapon. Hours of training a day became half a day, and the battle with Dalm became deadly dances of flashing steel and debonair skill. Each spar, each battle, etched the pains of combat into Grigori's soul, with each serving as a reminder for the price of perfection. Upon becoming an adult, Dalm gifted him a rapier of fine quality and charged him with pursuing his craft to the highest echelons. Reavers were feared for their ferocity and skill, and Dalm wanted Grigori to slash his name into the annals of history. With six brothers ahead of him in line, Grigori had little need to stay in Kalzasi, and was free to travel the world in search of the ever elusive mastery of his weapon.

[Grigori al Myros]

I N V E N T O R Y

Items
1.Set of clothing
2. Waterskin
3. Backpack with assorted items
4. Full suit leather armor
5. Rapier
6. Swordbreaker
7.


Housing
Though he can return to his family's estate in Kalzasi, Grigori often finds himself at inns and taverns for shelter during his travels. Occasionally, a tent.


Ledger
1. Starting Gold, +300 gp. 300 gp Total.