[PRE-MADE] Vargas Breghor Kroryn

Name: Vargas Breghor Kroryn

Age: 23 (appears older)



Gender: Male

Species: Human

Allegiance to House: House Stark

Role to House: Húskarl (Elite Guardsman)

Personality:
Vargas is a rough, bewildered man, whose personality is appropriate to his crude and rugged appearance. Quiet and secretive in his ways, he’s devoted himself to combat where in the sight of bloodshed and gore; he stands proudly on the frontline with the vindication of his betrayed lineage. Sworn loyalty to those able of granting him the vengeance he so dreadfully requires, he vowed to obey their commands without questions. Obedient and loyal, all in the sign of his family’s disgrace Vargas is the type of man who’s respected amongst his fellow soldiers for his courageous, often suicidal approach to the fires of war, though keep in mind never to cross swords with the last of the Kroryn. Renowned for holding eternal grudges towards those who’ve wronged him, he’s an individual who favors actions over conversation, letting his blade speak for the words he so rarely turns to. He’s forever loyal to those accepting of his blade, yet in spite of his tainted history he’ll remain true to his own inherited values and believes. He has however certain flaws, personal traits that could serve as leverage against his almost demonic abilities in combat: pride. Only few recall his family name and the value it held within the house that betrayed his lineage, but those who’re able of conjuring the crime that brought him to the mainland, could enrage him beyond the point of reason…

Physical Description:
Vargas Breghor Kroryn shares in many ways the signature appearance the entire Kroryn males carried throughout history: an impressive posture of nearly 6ft5, shoulders broad and imposing with bewildered shoulder length hair and matching beard. There’s something fear-embodying to his presence with those dark eyes staring intensely into the void ahead, his jaw chiseled as if from solid rock as two fists massive and withered by combat scars betray the horrors he’s witnessed through life. Thick infected markings, deep gaping cuts and blackened burns of ages ago discolor the white-ashed skin add to the disheartening appeal of his looks; each vouching for a horrified tales of his victories and defeats in gruesome detail. There are however two obvious give-aways to his identity: his armor and his brand.

Face to face with Vargas only one item will claim such attention as the black brand etched in his face; shaped like an inverted double axe the dark mark stands across the right half of his face, for all to see the burden he bears through the days. The skin underneath the brand has grown petrified; like black granite rocks burrowed underneath his flesh the mark tells the history of his disgrace, betrayal and only noted defeat. The other item that defines his identity is the black reinforced leather cuirass that guards his body from enemy attacks. Crafted by the hands of a blind blacksmith, the steel plates were embraced by tanned leather; silver studs and metal pins hold together this family heirloom that has seen countless battles. Subtle cuts in the leather layer, markings of fire scorching the man underneath all represent the bloodshed and relentless conviction that the Kroryn family caries into war. Note the sign of the bear’s paw, for it honors their way in life, weither peace or war…


Powers and Abilities:
Vargas’ most impressive ability is his berserker way brought onto the battlefield; blunt force trauma, wretched strength and incredible resilience to the paralyzing sting of pain grant him the heinous reputation as Barbarian amongst the soldier ranks. He casts himself into hordes of enemies in total disregard of his own safety with only his deadly companions at hand to guard his welfare...

Skilled in the ways of the single handed weaponry his ancestors shared, the Kroryn family all carried a natural affinity for the blunt arsenal of heirlooms. With flanged mace in the left, francesca axe in the right he marches through the enemy ranks, cutting through their armor with unyielding force until all that remains are their bodies entrusted to the earth. His style is developed for horded confrontation against large numbers, where his strength and determination makes up for the reduced movement speed and agility that comes with his posture…

Lacking in tactical understanding, Vargas makes up for his limited knowledge with the remarkable ability to spot weakness in armor, fragility in bone structure and skill to detect old injuries in the opponents he faces in battle. Almost like instinct the tiniest of errors in steel are spotted, exploited and turned into the very window that leads to their demise; old wounds forgotten in time are reopened with precise actions, disabling the enemy before the chance to retaliate even presents itself. It’s a skill mastered through years of experience with the art of war, which can serve a kingdom well if they intend to wage war versus their nemesis…

Strengths and Weaknesses:
Strength:
Bred through war and combat, Vargas has already fought 10 years on the frontlines of vicious battles and furious sieges that claimed the lives of thousands. He’s grown accustomed to the dark side of politics and their deadly repercussions, no longer harmed by the sight of blood, gore, death and mutilation. For this he became a worthy asset to any Kingdom’s army who’re looking for those men willing to step into the grimmest of confrontations. Obedience, devotion and loyalty are available for the one permitting him the opportunity to claim his vengeance, but mind his crude manners. He doesn’t blend into the high society circles that well…

Weakness:
Vargas is rough and brutish in many ways both in combat as in social circles where some might take offense to his fiendish ways. He’s utterly silent, leaving things that needed to be said often unspoken; a trait that marks his disregard for the general concept in life. Those who fight along his side are considered tools, much like himself and will serve as such; live or die are the two option remaining in war and he only looks out for his own hide once his boots meet the blood-soaked soil. For him the world is black and white; those on the opposite end of his views are considered as enemies and will face punishment through death if he’s unleashed from his master’s ties. He’s like a dog in man’s cloths, only devoted to the one thing that haunts his mind, while serving his adopted master in the spare time…

Weapons and Armor of Choice:
Armor: Black reinforced leather armor, a family heirloom carrying the mark of the bear’s claw (for more info check physical appearance)
Left Hand Weapon: Flanged mace, a family heirloom with a blunt seven leafed head in Damascus steel and handle pike.
Right Hand Weapon: Francesca axe, a family heirloom with short edged blade head in Damascus steel with curved angle
Spare Weapon: Blackened steel hurlbats, two attached to either end of his cuirass belt. Two visible, two concealed.

Background History:
Many in the house of Greyjoy will have heard the tales of the Kroryn family, whose conquests and victories long marked this house’s pillaging spree. For nearly nine generations Kroryn stood along side of the Greyjoy family, sharing in their vindictive ways on the frontlines like equals. The tide however changed, paths were forged along tracks that should have been left unexplored. The loyal were betrayed, the wicked rewarded and a warrior was born from the black ashes that fell upon the last standing ruins of their tower. Vargas was the youngest of eight within the Kroryn family, exceptionally frustrated and agitated for his age though sharing in their lineage’s relentless nature which yielded many foes on the battlefield. The stories told describe the young boy excelling in duels versus his elder brothers who’ve participated in many battles; the boy always finding the right place to strike to force his more experienced, skilled brothers to their knees. At the time of his seventh winter Vargas was granted the great honor to carry the family’s code of arms on his breastplate, the bear’s claw three years before the appropriate time. Since the first day he was given the respect to carry his family’s crest four months had gone by that Vargas trained along his father’s men; skillfully and with utter devotion he casted himself into the warrior’s way that his ancestors had demanded of their kin. The tendon of the bow was resilient to his hands, the weight of spear and broadsword too encumbering in his grip, but when his ancestors’ arms fell in those rough hands, their deadly ends chanted a song his brothers could hope to wield. Like a feral beast the young Vargas threw himself into the elites of his father’s clan though with mace and axe in his possession none remained standing against the last of the Kroryn sons. The Greyjoy family would truly return to glory if it hadn’t been for their heinous betrayal out of fear, spite and envy…

When the Kroryn family’s reputation rose to new heights by the consecutive victories claimed during the mainland raids, the Greyjoy’s became threatened by potential coup-d’états or riots in favor of the uprising family that fought generations along their sides. Afraid the people would be swayed to forsake the Greyjoy house for the Kroryn’s name, a dangerous plot was weaved against those who’d never been anything but loyal. In the approach of dusk, the sun disappearing beyond the horizon they crawled like slithering serpents across the family land; numbers equivalent to the fleets that set sail towards the mainland, assassins in service of Greyjoy crept through the fields towards the tower. Like cowards they slit the throats of the house guards from the shadows, no chance for a fair fight was offered as piles of dried grass and straw were casted against the tower walls. Fires were set to block each exit from the Kroryn tower as the dense toxic smoke surged through the cracks in the cobblestone walls. Like animals trapped the eight brothers and his father paved a way towards the main gate only to meet the scorching flames cutting off their path; desperation and anger drove these mighty warriors through the fire, their skin and flesh scorched and arid, wounds of horrible agony didn’t spot the Kroryn’s escape as they tore down their own gate. Relentless they fought; too none could face such daunting numbers with such few, for one by one the Kroryn fell. His father was struck by a series of arrows, his elder brothers one by one overpowered by a band of assassins pushing knives and daggers in their backs until only the boy was standing. Vargas refused to go down, his small child’s frame still allowing him to move across the hordes of foes as the heirloom’s mace and axe slashed away through their ranks. The last of Kroryn remained standing with a path paved by fallen bodies fell behind him in a grim sight; the path however was blocked by shrouded individual carrying the Greyjoy’s executioner’s axe…

Vargas accepted the man’s challenge, though was unprepared against a foe of this caliber. The executioner’s axe swung through the air with merciless force, the sharp edge often missing the fighting lad by a hair, but the blunt blows of the flat knocked the air swiftly out of his lungs. Like an enraged bull facing the red cape of his slayer, the last of Kroryn threw himself in the battle, sometimes moving in just close enough to leave a gaping wound behind in the superior fighter’s flesh. The axe flushed through the blazing fires that reduced the precious estate to ashes and rumble; its steel turning red in the glowing heat when it struck the right half of Vargas’ face in a flat blunt blow. The glooming red steel steamed on contact with the flesh that burned underneath, skin shriveling under the agonizing scorch leaving a black mark behind to forever commemorate the Kroryn’ defeat; but the boy didn’t die, nor truly lost that day. With the burn still pounding in relentless jolts of agony, the francesca axe carved through the steel plating on the executioner’s waist; the blunt pummel of the flanged mace crushing his skull underneath the shrouded hood. His brain scrambled inside the shattered skull no longer allowed the executioner’s body to remain standing, crashing to his knees left to the mercy of a vindictive eight year old, who denied him such grace. In one fluid motion both mace and axe met the curve of the assassin’s neck, cutting it off the chest and reducing it to crimson stained pulp in one last blow before the child crashed from energy drained. Nearly three days he lay there amongst rotting bodies of family and foe; abandoned and forsaken by the family’s followers and left to the mercy of time and tide, yet by miracle the boy survived…

Years have now come by for Vargas Breghor Kroryn, his name discarded like a peasant’s commands and forbidden by the people they’d once fought alongside. His family’s honor forever tainted as the Kroryn name was branded as traitors amongst the Greyjoy’s and hunted like rabid dogs when one body was missing from the burning ruins of the tower. One Kroryn has survived, the young boy who grew up as a fugitive within his own land. Mercenaries and bounty hunters trailed his paths, each attempt only resulting in more lives perished by the vengeful hands of a boy sworn to avenge the injustice done to his name. Vargas grew up as a barbarian in his heritage lands, every day spent training and warding off the hunters his enemies so cowardly send after him. Nearly five years it took for the boy to become a man, whose reputation perceived him as a skilled warrior and relentless warrior whose ability and brutal force granted him a monstrous depute. When the thirteenth winter arrived, Vargas escaped his homely land, setting course to the mainland where he’d vouch to a lord who’d grant him his vengeance. The name and crest of the Kroryn’s may have become hushed whispered uttered amongst drunken soldiers in Greyjoy, but one would forever remember the day Vargas would align with his ancestor’s enemies to punish them for the sins committed against his father, his brothers and himself as the black brand in his face forever reminded him of the one warrior to best a Kroryn…