Player Name: Valyr, better known as Kit
Name: Andras Oslun
Big, burly, and mean, were it not for Andras’ smooth, handsome complexion one would think him an exceptionally powerful street rat. He has chiseled features with brown stubble that make him appear quite dangerous. He wears clothes that seem to be trying to emulate the upper classes, but it is apparent the means to do so adequately have long since been lost to him.
Family Sword: A sword given to him by his uncle, who had resigned himself long ago to not having children of his own. It is not exactly an ancestral sword, as his uncle simply bought it fresh from the forge, but that merely means its make is strong, sturdy, and dependable.
Lavell’s Dagger: A slim, slightly curved knife. It is ideal for surprise attacks due to the ease with which it can be drawn. It is of surprisingly nice make and has a rudimentary snake molded into the guard.
Hideout: He has adopted living quarters provided by Paragon. It is located in some basement at the edge of the historic district. He hates it there, and has done his best to cover the filth and decay with the pleasantries and banners reminiscent of his old home. The basement has a tunnel leading to the sewers and the Paragon protected section of the underground.
Powers or Strengths:
Swordsmanship: Andras is a notch above an average guard when it comes to combat, particularly but not exclusively with a sword. This is one reason paragon approached him. Even so, it is nothing that a situational advantage or a bit of luck couldn’t turn around.
Thanks to tactics he has picked up with the gang, he has also become highly proficient at knife-fighting. In certain close quarters situations, he may even opt to use a knife rather than his sword.
Titre Gang: As a guard, Andras ran a small gang of titres. Upon his public fall from grace, he found that they seemed to remain loyal. After executing the person most directly responsible for the discovery of his involvement, he learned rudimentary methods of keeping them in line. This mostly involves violent punishment whenever they act out. In total, there are about twenty members in the gang. They have their own connections and methods in the underworld, which occasionally produces the illusion that Andras’ support is larger.
The gang is vaguely aware of their involvement with paragon but have a fairly strict “don’t give a shit about that, they pay” policy. Though originally there were some doubts about their involvement with slavery, they were mostly held privately and the gang has long since adapted their morals enough to enjoy their work. Whatever stress they still hold is let out through laughter and cruelty.
Slave Ring: He pulls in finances and resources from the slave ring he technically runs, though he is obligated to distribute most of it to paragon. Slaves are sent along the northern trade route in return for money and drugs, usually heroin. The heroin lets him maintain contacts among nobility who enjoy their excesses.
Handsome: While he lacks the knowledge with which to properly employ it, he is a fit, upper class, preened former guard. The rebellion added a bit of danger to his bearing. He has a certain amount of charisma and sex appeal, which might help an acquaintance overlook some of his less appealing traits.
Motivated: Whatever else can be said for his personality, Andras is damn determined to accomplish his non-specific goal of revenge on those ignorant upper class twits who accused him of slaving. Whatever he does, even if he doesn’t know quite why he is doing it, he applies himself fully and with vigor.
Potential for Magic: Though neither he nor anyone else is currently aware of it, somewhere deep within Andras is the potential for magic. It isn’t strong and he currently displays no conscious or unconscious uses of it. Considering how busy he is with his other duties, magic’s lack of practical use in those duties, and his upbringing in a culture which abhors magic, it is likely he will never apply himself to its study.
Alcohol Tolerance: He’s got a gut of steel. The barracks apprenticed him and his fall from grace made him a master. Andras is more than capable of drinking a dwarf under the table, and then some.
Family First: Andras may be a slaver, but at least he isn’t a Morrington or Merynir. He holds his old family grudges close and personally. It is possible he would consider these even more important than the conflict between Paragon and Marn if the opportunity ever presented itself. Currently, he is adamantly refusing to acknowledge the results of his actions upon his family name and their conflict with the rest of his family’s goals.
Pride: Andras has serious trouble regarding his fellows in the Paragon as equals. To him, regardless of his current situation, he is a descendant and therefore worthy of their unconditional respect. His primary motive for working with them is to reinstate his social power, that he may more legitimately rule the peons.
His pride also affects him in another sense: it is easy to goad him into doing something really stupid by directly challenging his authority and status. To top it off, if he takes personal offense and then manages to defeat another anyways, he’ll stall. Andras will need them to know how just beaten they are.
Allergic to Cats: Andras is mildly allergic to cats. He’ll face sneezing, congestion, and watery, itchy eyes whenever he is exposed to them for any significant amount of time.
Public: Andras is well known among upper class circles for being the sole failure of the Oslun family. Thanks to his uncle, most of them think he is dead, but should he be seen by anyone with the means or inclination to reveal him there could be trouble.
Treacherous Whelps: His gang is in it for the money and drugs. They aren’t very competent or trustworthy, and if a knife ambush in an alley fails they are not about to entertain any notions of sticking around. The issue is exacerbated by Andras having previously worked around well-trained guardsmen, leading him to expect much more of them than they are capable of. Additionally, due to the wild nature of the gang, he’ll almost never have his full number at hand. He’d be lucky to muster more than eight on short notice.
Magic Positive: He shows up under magic detection spells, even if only faintly. He’ll also have a mild reaction to Breath of Teonidus if ever exposed to it, though he’ll probably assume a cat is nearby.
Poorly Handled: Paragon made a few oversights by assigning Andras to Shanuri’s cell. He despises Shanuri for her foreign origins and Aurelio for his family lineage. Though her cell needed funding, his method of screwing foreigners to get it is unlikely to be viewed favorably by Shanuri. Needless to say, Andras is not a force of unity in the group.
Part 1: Lohran
Long ago, there was a guardsman by the name Lohran Oslun. His father, an Oslun to the core, had raised him with an iron fist. No argument was tolerated, his future was determined, and obedience was demanded. Young Lohran held up remarkably well. He owned an iron will of his own and took his father’s lessons to heart. Through pure hard work and determination, he won his father’s respect piece by bloody piece. By the age of twenty, he had achieved it all; he demonstrated excellent academic prowess and was in a promising position in the guard.
Life was no so kind to his brothers, who had not been blessed with skills their father found favorable. They all coped in their own ways, but at least one attempted to emulate Lohran in an attempt to win their father’s favor. His name was Pendal, and he also joined the guard. The two patrolled together often.
With such a bright future ahead of him, it was no surprise he attracted the interest of other families. A Vincas girl four years his elder approached him one evening. To his embarrassment, she took to waiting for him at the barracks after his shifts. Yet having witnessed the way even his own steel father softened around his wife, Lohran was nevertheless happy to embrace the new course his life was taking. It was not long before the two were married.
Pendal became a problem. He began to look at Lohran with contempt. At the time, nobody knew why; whenever he was asked about it, he flew into a rage. Their father had grown ill in his age and could no longer control the family.
The truth quickly came to light; he had been seeing a lower class titre girl far below their station. Jealousy of his brother’s stable marriage motivated his tantrums. Upon confronting the situation directly, Lohran learned that they had already had a child, which they had named Andras.
His father’s impossible standards yet strong upon his mind, Lohran turned and punched Pendal. Dark words were spoken in the chaos that followed, words that could never be taken back. Their relationship remained tense for the rest of the year, and it was only force of habit that kept the bickering brothers together for patrols. Whether they liked it or not, they worked well enough together it was deemed practical for them to continue. Though he could not speak for Pendal, Lohran feared they might lose each other entirely without the guard keeping them together. For many years, he would wonder if his brother had felt the same.
He was never to find out, for the small wrongs of his life were ever escalating in magnitude. When the brothers were next tested in battle, they fell apart. The brothers split, both figuratively and literally. In the ensuing chaos, they both fell. Lohran lost any hope of ever having children of his own. Pendal was hospitalized with little chance of recovery.
Things spiraled down from there. Guilt, combined with his wife’s concern, drove Lohran to check on Andras, then barely four years old. It was already apparent that Pendal’s ill-fated love had none to share for the child. Then Lohran came to her home, she was already entertaining another man while the child wandered, not so much as a single toy or expense had been sent his way.
Lohran took the boy from her, aware of his newfound infertility. Perhaps he still sought redemption for his brother’s death, or perhaps he merely wanted a son. Regardless of his reasons, his doubts washed away as he found the boy to be bright and earnest, eager to receive fatherly guidance. It is unfortunate that even now, his sense of family and nationalism shone through; though he was wise enough to recognize his father’s heavy handed nature was the root of their many problems Lohran yet retained his belief in the right of the descendants to rule. Ironically, it can be almost certain Pendal would have disagreed with what his son was being taught. Lohran’s atonement could have only provided his brother’s ghost further grievances.
Part 2: Andras
Life was not easy for Andras. Though technically a descendant under Marn custom, the circumstances surrounding his birth had become widely known. Andras faced a good deal of hostility, primarily from other children. They wasted no time goading him with his unseemly heritage whenever they engaged in childish arguments.
Young prides are easy to rile, and Andras was quick to respond with his fists. His uncle, upon hearing of it, was horrified. He quickly went to the boy and taught him that his descendant heritage meant he should take the high road in such matters. He had mixed success initially, as guilt would drive Andras to refrain for a mere week or two. Eventually, Andras built enough of a reputation that the other children found it wiser to leave him alone, barring the most courageous bullies who would occasionally latch onto him for his muscle.
By this point his academic growth was stunted such that he could only hope to receive mediocre grades, to the constant disappointment of his aunt. His uncle was concerned for different reasons; though he maintained hope that Andras would one day turn his aggression towards the public defense, he was afraid of how much Andras was coming to resemble his father.
Andras had been eager all his life to join the guard, and when the opportunity finally came he was eager to prove himself worthy of the Oslun name. For the first two years of his service, he was. Come the third, an interesting situation presented itself to him.
He had been moved to a new area of the city, a section of the historic district previously unknown to him. It was there he came across a group of people assaulting an individual lying on the ground in moaning, bleeding heap. Andras’s first instinct was to order the people to disperse, and while drawing his sword he did so.
It was there that he met the gang. Andras was utterly shocked when they simply moved back away rather than fleeing. One even refused to move. Andras drew near warily, sword before him, and realized it was a woman.
She introduced herself as Lavell. She introduced him the bag of bones, mockingly using his head as a puppet. Andras was at first infuriated, and the gang backed up further in response, until she told him the man’s life story, telling Andras that the man was a foreigner.
At that new information, Andras paused. His uncle’s teachings came rushing back to him full force; the safekeeping of Marn depended on their ability to keep structure, keep descendants where they were and foreign influence at a minimum. As a guard, his job was to ensure that security.
He silently made himself complicit by sheathing his sword and looking the other way. Their bleak work continued as he left, dull thuds sounding behind him.
It turned out Lavell had gotten a hold of his schedule somehow, because he constantly ran into them later. The gang tied their attacks to his presence, beating the Eyropan refugees and running off with their meager possessions whenever they could. Andras would occasionally notice them dragging their victims off and putting bags over their heads. He asked Lavell about it once, but she dodged the question. Andras wasn’t stupid, he could put two and two together. He shrugged, figuring that Eyropans deserved to be sold into their own corrupt system. All in all, it was an elegant solution, since not only did it warn off future refugees but it removed the existing filth from Marn.
Eventually Andras realized this was going to get him in trouble, so he moved to confront Lavell about it. She had a nice suggestion. The pair reached a nice agreement. Andras would continue to look the other way if Lavell led him to other criminals, most often opium dens and pickpockets. It was effective enough that it made up for his apparent earlier “negligence” but proved to be nothing out of the ordinary. Eventually, he came to look forwards to seeing the titre gang, going so far as to send them a friendly greeting.
This blossomed into a strange companionship between Andras and Lavell. She taught him how to knife-fight, and would occasionally get a little bit more grabby than necessary. Their sparring sessions eventually started ending sexually. The gang probably joked about her tactics for getting a guard on their good side, but Andras genuinely believed in her affections.
His error in judgment was soon forcefully proven. His uncle had been patrolling when they had caught Lavell and her motley crew performing their trade. Being of nobler dispositions, they had captured and cuffed the lot of them, only for Lavell to recognize the family resemblance. She promptly sold him out to save her own hide.
Lohran’s fury was unmatched. After he had spent so much time and effort on raising a child not his own, he had just discovered a crime of the highest magnitude. He promptly bolted from the scene on horseback to confront his nephew, leaving other guards behind to control the titres. When he arrived at their home, he wasted no time grabbing Andras by the arm and hurtling him to the floor. Andras could not deny his accusations, but felt that he had made the correct choice. Their argument was every bit as heated as the argument between Lohran and his brother, so many years before.
Perhaps stuck by the uncanny resemblance, Lohran swiftly changed his disposition from burning rage to deadly quiet. He did not arrest the boy, and instead demanded he leave and never show his face in the house again. Andras, understanding that he faced arrest by his fellow guards if he did not vacate the area quickly, complied. When he looked back, he saw a distant red glow. To his unending horror, the house was aflame.
He later learned that two bodies had been found. His aunt’s was not one of them, and he was assumed to be the second victim. He did not care to dwell on the issue of the second body; he could ignore the implications of another dying in his stead. But his uncle was dead, and he felt responsible. This would not do. Someone would have to pay. Someone at least a bit responsible for his discovery.
Someone very much like Lavell. For weeks he tracked down the gang’s remnants. It was possible the guardsmen his uncle had left behind had controlled her. Once, one of the members discovered him tailing them. Andras strangled him to death after leading him into an alleyway. He carved “traitor” into his forehead and left his corpse there.
Eventually, he found her, backed by her cronies. He took a circuitous route around to their destination and watched them break into a basement behind some ramshackle old building. The idiots left the entrance wide open.
Andras entered. He kicked down the door at the bottom of the staircase and walked forward swiftly, giving nobody time to register what had just happened. Lavell was quick, but he had caught her off guard. A single palm was enough to slam her head against the wall and stifle her treacherous tongue. His other hand rammed the knife into the wall next to her throat.
“One last chance. One last fucking chance to come clean. You’ll get the death of a hero or the death of a nobody. Impress me.”
He moved his hand down from her mouth to let her speak, but he wasn’t about to make it easy when he gripped her throat tightly. She choked out her last words. Andras’s eyes went wide. With lightning speed he drew back the knife, intending to ram it through her skull. A sharp pain lanced through his lower back, but his blade struck true before she wormed free. Buried up to the hilt in her right eye, she screamed and flailed about the vault as Andras watched.
He ripped the Lavell’s knife from his side and slashed at an approaching titre, but he missed. The titre was only taking the chance to flee for the entry. As he plainly recovered from the stab but kept the mad glint in his eye, it was apparent nobody else was willing to chance it. They had seen him in action before, after all.
Some amount of clarity returned. He would need support to regain all he had lost. He wrenched free his sword and demanded the remainders follow him. They shifted around nervously but nobody wanted to chance refusal. One by one, they kneeled, until only one remained.
Andras was about to confront this sole source of dissent until the man introduced himself as the representative of paragon the group had come to meet, albeit apparently with the intent of betrayal, since he had instructed Lavell to come alone. He shrugged and flippantly claimed that since he owed Andras a debt, he might as well offer him a deal; work with the shady organization known as Paragon, and they might one day bring him back to the status of the descendants. It seemed word of his fall had traveled far.
Andras, a mad grin on his face, agreed. And there he works to this day.