Post by Harbinger on Dec 4, 2012 23:38:28 GMT -5
Player: Josiah
Contact: PM me
Intentions: Hero in his people, Neutral otherwise
Background
Name: Valentine Nemov
Race: Human
Species: Human
Age: 56 (Physically, 30)
Tier: 4
Social
Place of Birth: Northeast Ruthenia
Allegiances: Ruthenia
Aspirations: Become a general, protect his people, put down the resistance, bring peace to the land
Nicknames: Val
Titles: Staff Sergeant, Codename: Harbinger
Relatives: Aunt
Significant Other: His country
Mental
Personality: Stoic almost to the point of being cold, Val's heart is for his nation. A believer of "The Greater Good," he works for the betterment of Ruthenia first and foremost. If that means killing monsters in the woods, he does it. If that means bringing a woman in for treason, he does it. He knows how to follow orders, and how to give them, too. His mind is on the goal first, and his men second. Self-sacrifice is part of the job when it comes to defending the Ruthenian people. Beastfolk and Fey aren't "people."
Likes: Being on the job, going out to fight monsters, standing victorious, giving a quick death, meat and potatoes, vodka and wine, doing right the right way
Dislikes: Being put on an observation or assassination mission, losing civilians or too many men, drawing out a creature's suffering, spices, coffee, the bureacracy, dark choices for the greater good
Strengths: For better or worse, Val is resolved. Of strong mental fortitude, he can endure many hardships and push through much that leaves a bad taste in his mouth for the sake of his beliefs. He knows the extent of his abilities well, which makes him confident - not cocky. Officer training and on the job experience has given him his share of strategic military know-how and a broad knowledge of fighting styles (magical and otherwise) that he might encounter from the terrorists in the woods.
Weaknesses: A farmer by birth, a soldier by profession - he's not planning to teach anything outside of the School of Hard Knocks (not a certified institute). Officer training has taught him what he needs to know, and he has little knowledge beyond that when it comes to most other subjects (agriculture being a notable exception). He's hardly the most creative of individuals, and that influences many of his choices, as well as holding back much of his magical potential in combat. While rarely depressed, the memory of his family and the slave revolt that took them is still painfully sharp and spurs him to self-sacrifice for the greater good of the Ruthenian (human) people.
Physical
Major Details: Just slightly tan skin, blue eyes, short black hair, clean shaven, 6'2"
Appearance: Val was crafted from farming stock - big boned, muscular, and brawny. Like many humans on the cold side of the country, he doesn't have the genes for lean definition. There's a layer of pudge over much of an otherwise well-built body. He keeps his black hair cut short in military fashion. Attempts at being clean shaven with hairy genes means he also tends to carry a 5 o'clock shadow with him.
As one of the more accomplished battle mages, the military uniform requirements themselves are slightly more relaxed. He wears a variant of the typical black uniform with red trim, a thick jacket covering a shirt of chainmail. The hood of his jacket is angled to a point in the front and casts a shadow over the rest of his features. The gauntlets of his armored limbs are the only part visible, as are his greaves.
Natural Abilities: Val has the abilities of a well built man of his size, capable of lifting several hundred pounds without factoring in his Enhanced abilities or his enchanted items. He has the skill and dexterity of limb that comes from training, armed or unarmed, and has a farmer's endurance. He's ambidextrous.
Natural Traits: Val has the usual human traits.
Strengths: Val is a warhorse of a man, capable of putting in hours of labor before he starts wearing down. Whether that's spent at the plow, or spent wrestling a dire bear, he's got enough energy to spare. He's trained to be an expert with the sword, the better to combat those Fey who still wield a blade themselves. Naturally born ambidextrous, he also has equal dexterity with both hands such that he can use each simultaneously for different things. Yet instead of "rub your stomach and pat your head," it's more like "blast a beastfolk and stab an elf."
Weaknesses: Hand-to-eye coordination and bodily agility are two different things. He's not the kind of warrior to do any kind of fancy flips and twists. His footwork is straight forward and rigid, and he's actually better in the air than on the ground. His hands themselves are thick and calloused, and not well suited for finer manipulation. He's had the usual training with firearms, but is hardly a great marksman. He's also not as great a martial artist as some other soldiers, fighting primarily with the sword. Fists come out only rarely.
Magical
Specializations:
- Tier 1: Mental (Raven), proficiency 5. Val is able to channel aspects of the raven with just his mind - creating, augmenting, or even altering parts about himself. Raven magic also enables him to craft illusions and have premonitions.
- Tier 2: Spoken (Old Ruthenian), Proficiency 5.
- Tier 3: Mental (Old Ruthenian), Proficiency 5.
- Tier 4: Mental (Raven), proficiency 5.
Visual Display: Elementally ambiguous spells take on a dark purple tint instead. The wind frequently shifts when employing Raven magic, and energy constructs look black with a dark purple edge.
Special Abilities: En Strength, Familiar (Wand), En Recovery, En Speed, Immune to Poison&Disease
Bonus Special Abilities: En Toughness, Discorporation (Ravens), Alternate Sense (Electroreception)
Unique Abilities: None
Strengths: In combat, his natural magic has not only surprised more than a few people, but given him the skills needed to survive. Split-second visions of imminent death have saved his life on multiple occasions. Feathers augmented to steel strength and fired at high speed have cut right through mundane barriers. The ability to grow black wings has enabled him to fight (and defeat) other flyers in mid air combat. As he's advanced, he's also tapped into the more esoteric side of his magic, learning to create Raven constructs of pure magic (sometimes destructive) energy. With his wand, he often favors stunning or destructive spells of an elemental nature. He also knows several customary stealth enchantments, to fly underneath the radar - emphasis on fly.
Weaknesses: He could use more work on his word magic. His spells are strong enough to be sure, but he favors certain spells above others and lacks the full knowledge that would allow him to craft new spells on the spot. In combat, he has a limited list of spells employed such that in long engagements, his wand work starts getting predictable. His proficiency with illusions is good enough to trick people for a moment or two, but he lacks the skill and precision that would mark the great illusionists.
Inventory
Mundane: Bullet-proof chainmail tunic, knife, pistols and clips, wallet, dog tags
Magical:
"Zavet" - Written (Perpetual). A schiavona sword with cross-hatch styled basket hilt. Runes along the blade increase its durability and cutting/piercing power to prevent breaking and increase damage respectively.
Wand - Material (Perpetual). An oak wand with dragon heartstring as the core. Along with the half-tier increase in strength provided by its function as a familiar, the wand makes it easier to cast powerful spells of his level.
Runed Gauntlets - Written (Perpetual). Black-tinted steel armor combining flexible motion with almost full coverage from fingers to shoulder. Runes engraved in the metal increase his strength.
Runed Greaves - Written (Perpetual). Black-tinted steel armor combining flexible motion with almost full coverage from foot to knee. Runes engraved in the metal increase his speed and allow for short-range bursts of "faster than then the eye" movement.
History
Val Nemov was born in a family of wealthy farmers, a hundred miles northeast of the capital. Fertile farmland produced much in the relatively short winter-free months, and the family had enough slaves to make the job an easy task, hitch free. The Beastfolk made quite able-bodied laborers, and the earth elemental was an absolutely tireless plow on his own. A pair of Fey - a dryad and wood elf - cultivated the growing plants with a magical boost. They were watched over by a few other farmhands, who had the controls to their slave collars just in case, but there was never any real problem.
The slaves all were given roofs over their heads, and three meals a day. His parents even took care of their medical expenses. Accidents happen to everyone, after all, and the slaves were their personal responsibility. Everyone seemed happy enough from what he saw. The young farmboy grew up along side the slaves and the farmhands, doing his own to pitch in after school, until he was "old enough" to start really working in the fields.
It was an average yet privileged existence all the way up until high school… until he awoke to the gunfire. He never found out how it happened or who did it, but the slaves had somehow gotten free of their collars that night. Then the massacre began. They killed most of the other farmhands in their sleep and stole what weapons they had to gun down the rest.
The screams were his mother's, down the hall. He didn't know what happened to her. He didn't have time to find out. Still in sleeping pants, he grabbed the hunting rifle. He shot Piotr first, catching the bloodied horse folk by surprise before Maks came out too. The lizard made a great chicken soup. He also managed to get a mostly blind shot off at him that tore through his left arm. The agony was one thing. The inability to hold the rifle well, with one beast shooting at him and the sound of other footsteps approaching at the noise - those gave him limited options.
He shattered a window with the butt of his gun, and jumped from the second story. A sprained ankle could barely stop him from running in helpless terror. Bleeding, limping and covered in scratches and dirt, he arrived at a neighboring farm with the shadow of a burning homestead behind him. He doesn't remember how he got there. The escaped slaves must have chosen not to follow and get away while they still could.
The police arrived quickly, but not soon enough to save anyone. The slaves had killed everyone else before he'd even jumped, and if he hadn't run when he did, they probably would have killed him, too.
Survivor's guilt was as painful in his chest as the rest of his wounds were, but they could only magic the physical ones away.
Yet it was the "Why?" that bothered him the most.
"They were free. They could have escaped. They could have just run away. Why? Why would they - we were kind. We were fair. We put a roof over their heads. We took care of them. We always took care of them. Why would they - there wasn't any reason, to … to kill everyone."
"Kid … they're animals," the medic tried to explain. "You can't reason with an animal. Dogs are supposed to be man's best friend, but starve the nicest dog, and he'll still turn on you. Beastfolk are no different. They walk on two legs, they talk like men … but no matter how hard they try to hide it … they're animals inside - each and every last one of them."
The words toyed in the back of his mind in the following weeks, as guilt and memories chiseled away at whatever chance for normalcy might have followed. An aunt moved out from the city to help reorder farm and finances, bringing a new batch of slaves with her. She helped to oversee the restoration of the main house, and it was almost home after a week.
"Almost home" wasn't enough. "Home" was gone, and took everyone he loved with it. The new slaves may as well have been the murderers themselves. Whenever he looked at them, their faces were all the same. The farm was his by "right," but it didn't feel right, and the feelings slowly ate away at him. When the knowledge that there were so many other inhuman creatures still abroad, still threatening his fellow man, became too great, he just couldn't stay there any longer. Galvanized into action, he packed a few things, went into town, and headed straight for the army recruitment station.
An initial physical was passed well enough. He had the muscle for the job, even if he didn't pick his feet up enough - but it was the customary in-depth magical scan that came at a surprise.
"How long have you been exhibiting magical abilities?" the tester had asked.
He blinked a few times. "Uhh … never…"
Deeper scans, uncovering the latent potential of a largely unchallenged farmboy, quickly ended up with him sent to a battlemage school. The educational side had their work cut out for them, trying to bring up a brute laborer to the mental standards of a magical officer. It was a chore of a task, but he threw himself into it headlong, attacking history books and strategy manuals night and day.
Magical training had the same problem at first: he hadn't even known he had any magic, much less how to use it. On the one hand, he was lucky: ravens were connected to prophecy and insight, and he was connected to ravens. The predictive side of his powers kept him from harm far more than once, but he spent the first few classes just trying to figure out how to bring the rest of it up at will. His magic was suited for subltety - but he wasn't.
Training in a spoken tongue was much more his style: say a few words, point, something blows up. It was simple, straight-forward and effective, and thus just what he wanted. His precognitive abilities still came in quite handy, especially in other training sessions. Though his footwork was always lacking, he became an able swordsman and counter-puncher. He could lead a target well, but was less effective against a stationary target in the distance.
He came out of the school in the upper ranks of his class, eager to serve his nation however he could - and especially if that meant putting down rebellions like those that had claimed his family. He didn't expect that to be on the front line right away, but battle mages were always in demand. His first encounter was with a band of Fey on the edge of a forest, warriors that ambushed them in the middle of a patrol. Hit and run tactics claimed the life of most of his squad in less than a minute, and his own head was on the chopping block so many times his heart had to have been in his throat.
The hyper-awareness of his imminent death pulled out more of his natural magic than he had ever done so before, instinct taking over. Defensive wings as hard as steel, dagger-like feathers, and split-second illusions keeping them guessing just enough for him to evade (or counter-attack) the onslaught - it all let him live long enough for reinforcements to arrive.
The battle was short, savage and without any honor. In a flash, the majority of his comrades had been cut down, expunged just like his family, and the engagement only ended when the Fey retreated deeper into the forest. He survived only by the hair on his head - and more encounters in the following years occurred largely the same way, chiseling away at his sense of fair combat until it was clear that the nation's terrorists would never be defeated by honorable means.
More than the years training for combat, it was actual combat that most shaped the young farmer into the warrior he became. He learned to use what worked, what was effective, and instinct taught him much of how to use the power he was born with. A habit of surviving, a level head, and the growing years of experience saw Nemov gaining his share of promotions in the military organization.
The raven is a sign of death and misfortune, a harbinger of ill tides. For the protection of his people, for the sake of his family and everyone else killed by inhuman hands, he has become a Harbinger himself.
Contact: PM me
Intentions: Hero in his people, Neutral otherwise
Background
Name: Valentine Nemov
Race: Human
Species: Human
Age: 56 (Physically, 30)
Tier: 4
Social
Place of Birth: Northeast Ruthenia
Allegiances: Ruthenia
Aspirations: Become a general, protect his people, put down the resistance, bring peace to the land
Nicknames: Val
Titles: Staff Sergeant, Codename: Harbinger
Relatives: Aunt
Significant Other: His country
Mental
Personality: Stoic almost to the point of being cold, Val's heart is for his nation. A believer of "The Greater Good," he works for the betterment of Ruthenia first and foremost. If that means killing monsters in the woods, he does it. If that means bringing a woman in for treason, he does it. He knows how to follow orders, and how to give them, too. His mind is on the goal first, and his men second. Self-sacrifice is part of the job when it comes to defending the Ruthenian people. Beastfolk and Fey aren't "people."
Likes: Being on the job, going out to fight monsters, standing victorious, giving a quick death, meat and potatoes, vodka and wine, doing right the right way
Dislikes: Being put on an observation or assassination mission, losing civilians or too many men, drawing out a creature's suffering, spices, coffee, the bureacracy, dark choices for the greater good
Strengths: For better or worse, Val is resolved. Of strong mental fortitude, he can endure many hardships and push through much that leaves a bad taste in his mouth for the sake of his beliefs. He knows the extent of his abilities well, which makes him confident - not cocky. Officer training and on the job experience has given him his share of strategic military know-how and a broad knowledge of fighting styles (magical and otherwise) that he might encounter from the terrorists in the woods.
Weaknesses: A farmer by birth, a soldier by profession - he's not planning to teach anything outside of the School of Hard Knocks (not a certified institute). Officer training has taught him what he needs to know, and he has little knowledge beyond that when it comes to most other subjects (agriculture being a notable exception). He's hardly the most creative of individuals, and that influences many of his choices, as well as holding back much of his magical potential in combat. While rarely depressed, the memory of his family and the slave revolt that took them is still painfully sharp and spurs him to self-sacrifice for the greater good of the Ruthenian (human) people.
Physical
Major Details: Just slightly tan skin, blue eyes, short black hair, clean shaven, 6'2"
Appearance: Val was crafted from farming stock - big boned, muscular, and brawny. Like many humans on the cold side of the country, he doesn't have the genes for lean definition. There's a layer of pudge over much of an otherwise well-built body. He keeps his black hair cut short in military fashion. Attempts at being clean shaven with hairy genes means he also tends to carry a 5 o'clock shadow with him.
As one of the more accomplished battle mages, the military uniform requirements themselves are slightly more relaxed. He wears a variant of the typical black uniform with red trim, a thick jacket covering a shirt of chainmail. The hood of his jacket is angled to a point in the front and casts a shadow over the rest of his features. The gauntlets of his armored limbs are the only part visible, as are his greaves.
Natural Abilities: Val has the abilities of a well built man of his size, capable of lifting several hundred pounds without factoring in his Enhanced abilities or his enchanted items. He has the skill and dexterity of limb that comes from training, armed or unarmed, and has a farmer's endurance. He's ambidextrous.
Natural Traits: Val has the usual human traits.
Strengths: Val is a warhorse of a man, capable of putting in hours of labor before he starts wearing down. Whether that's spent at the plow, or spent wrestling a dire bear, he's got enough energy to spare. He's trained to be an expert with the sword, the better to combat those Fey who still wield a blade themselves. Naturally born ambidextrous, he also has equal dexterity with both hands such that he can use each simultaneously for different things. Yet instead of "rub your stomach and pat your head," it's more like "blast a beastfolk and stab an elf."
Weaknesses: Hand-to-eye coordination and bodily agility are two different things. He's not the kind of warrior to do any kind of fancy flips and twists. His footwork is straight forward and rigid, and he's actually better in the air than on the ground. His hands themselves are thick and calloused, and not well suited for finer manipulation. He's had the usual training with firearms, but is hardly a great marksman. He's also not as great a martial artist as some other soldiers, fighting primarily with the sword. Fists come out only rarely.
Magical
Specializations:
- Tier 1: Mental (Raven), proficiency 5. Val is able to channel aspects of the raven with just his mind - creating, augmenting, or even altering parts about himself. Raven magic also enables him to craft illusions and have premonitions.
- Tier 2: Spoken (Old Ruthenian), Proficiency 5.
- Tier 3: Mental (Old Ruthenian), Proficiency 5.
- Tier 4: Mental (Raven), proficiency 5.
Visual Display: Elementally ambiguous spells take on a dark purple tint instead. The wind frequently shifts when employing Raven magic, and energy constructs look black with a dark purple edge.
Special Abilities: En Strength, Familiar (Wand), En Recovery, En Speed, Immune to Poison&Disease
Bonus Special Abilities: En Toughness, Discorporation (Ravens), Alternate Sense (Electroreception)
Unique Abilities: None
Strengths: In combat, his natural magic has not only surprised more than a few people, but given him the skills needed to survive. Split-second visions of imminent death have saved his life on multiple occasions. Feathers augmented to steel strength and fired at high speed have cut right through mundane barriers. The ability to grow black wings has enabled him to fight (and defeat) other flyers in mid air combat. As he's advanced, he's also tapped into the more esoteric side of his magic, learning to create Raven constructs of pure magic (sometimes destructive) energy. With his wand, he often favors stunning or destructive spells of an elemental nature. He also knows several customary stealth enchantments, to fly underneath the radar - emphasis on fly.
Weaknesses: He could use more work on his word magic. His spells are strong enough to be sure, but he favors certain spells above others and lacks the full knowledge that would allow him to craft new spells on the spot. In combat, he has a limited list of spells employed such that in long engagements, his wand work starts getting predictable. His proficiency with illusions is good enough to trick people for a moment or two, but he lacks the skill and precision that would mark the great illusionists.
Inventory
Mundane: Bullet-proof chainmail tunic, knife, pistols and clips, wallet, dog tags
Magical:
"Zavet" - Written (Perpetual). A schiavona sword with cross-hatch styled basket hilt. Runes along the blade increase its durability and cutting/piercing power to prevent breaking and increase damage respectively.
Wand - Material (Perpetual). An oak wand with dragon heartstring as the core. Along with the half-tier increase in strength provided by its function as a familiar, the wand makes it easier to cast powerful spells of his level.
Runed Gauntlets - Written (Perpetual). Black-tinted steel armor combining flexible motion with almost full coverage from fingers to shoulder. Runes engraved in the metal increase his strength.
Runed Greaves - Written (Perpetual). Black-tinted steel armor combining flexible motion with almost full coverage from foot to knee. Runes engraved in the metal increase his speed and allow for short-range bursts of "faster than then the eye" movement.
History
Val Nemov was born in a family of wealthy farmers, a hundred miles northeast of the capital. Fertile farmland produced much in the relatively short winter-free months, and the family had enough slaves to make the job an easy task, hitch free. The Beastfolk made quite able-bodied laborers, and the earth elemental was an absolutely tireless plow on his own. A pair of Fey - a dryad and wood elf - cultivated the growing plants with a magical boost. They were watched over by a few other farmhands, who had the controls to their slave collars just in case, but there was never any real problem.
The slaves all were given roofs over their heads, and three meals a day. His parents even took care of their medical expenses. Accidents happen to everyone, after all, and the slaves were their personal responsibility. Everyone seemed happy enough from what he saw. The young farmboy grew up along side the slaves and the farmhands, doing his own to pitch in after school, until he was "old enough" to start really working in the fields.
It was an average yet privileged existence all the way up until high school… until he awoke to the gunfire. He never found out how it happened or who did it, but the slaves had somehow gotten free of their collars that night. Then the massacre began. They killed most of the other farmhands in their sleep and stole what weapons they had to gun down the rest.
The screams were his mother's, down the hall. He didn't know what happened to her. He didn't have time to find out. Still in sleeping pants, he grabbed the hunting rifle. He shot Piotr first, catching the bloodied horse folk by surprise before Maks came out too. The lizard made a great chicken soup. He also managed to get a mostly blind shot off at him that tore through his left arm. The agony was one thing. The inability to hold the rifle well, with one beast shooting at him and the sound of other footsteps approaching at the noise - those gave him limited options.
He shattered a window with the butt of his gun, and jumped from the second story. A sprained ankle could barely stop him from running in helpless terror. Bleeding, limping and covered in scratches and dirt, he arrived at a neighboring farm with the shadow of a burning homestead behind him. He doesn't remember how he got there. The escaped slaves must have chosen not to follow and get away while they still could.
The police arrived quickly, but not soon enough to save anyone. The slaves had killed everyone else before he'd even jumped, and if he hadn't run when he did, they probably would have killed him, too.
Survivor's guilt was as painful in his chest as the rest of his wounds were, but they could only magic the physical ones away.
Yet it was the "Why?" that bothered him the most.
"They were free. They could have escaped. They could have just run away. Why? Why would they - we were kind. We were fair. We put a roof over their heads. We took care of them. We always took care of them. Why would they - there wasn't any reason, to … to kill everyone."
"Kid … they're animals," the medic tried to explain. "You can't reason with an animal. Dogs are supposed to be man's best friend, but starve the nicest dog, and he'll still turn on you. Beastfolk are no different. They walk on two legs, they talk like men … but no matter how hard they try to hide it … they're animals inside - each and every last one of them."
The words toyed in the back of his mind in the following weeks, as guilt and memories chiseled away at whatever chance for normalcy might have followed. An aunt moved out from the city to help reorder farm and finances, bringing a new batch of slaves with her. She helped to oversee the restoration of the main house, and it was almost home after a week.
"Almost home" wasn't enough. "Home" was gone, and took everyone he loved with it. The new slaves may as well have been the murderers themselves. Whenever he looked at them, their faces were all the same. The farm was his by "right," but it didn't feel right, and the feelings slowly ate away at him. When the knowledge that there were so many other inhuman creatures still abroad, still threatening his fellow man, became too great, he just couldn't stay there any longer. Galvanized into action, he packed a few things, went into town, and headed straight for the army recruitment station.
An initial physical was passed well enough. He had the muscle for the job, even if he didn't pick his feet up enough - but it was the customary in-depth magical scan that came at a surprise.
"How long have you been exhibiting magical abilities?" the tester had asked.
He blinked a few times. "Uhh … never…"
Deeper scans, uncovering the latent potential of a largely unchallenged farmboy, quickly ended up with him sent to a battlemage school. The educational side had their work cut out for them, trying to bring up a brute laborer to the mental standards of a magical officer. It was a chore of a task, but he threw himself into it headlong, attacking history books and strategy manuals night and day.
Magical training had the same problem at first: he hadn't even known he had any magic, much less how to use it. On the one hand, he was lucky: ravens were connected to prophecy and insight, and he was connected to ravens. The predictive side of his powers kept him from harm far more than once, but he spent the first few classes just trying to figure out how to bring the rest of it up at will. His magic was suited for subltety - but he wasn't.
Training in a spoken tongue was much more his style: say a few words, point, something blows up. It was simple, straight-forward and effective, and thus just what he wanted. His precognitive abilities still came in quite handy, especially in other training sessions. Though his footwork was always lacking, he became an able swordsman and counter-puncher. He could lead a target well, but was less effective against a stationary target in the distance.
He came out of the school in the upper ranks of his class, eager to serve his nation however he could - and especially if that meant putting down rebellions like those that had claimed his family. He didn't expect that to be on the front line right away, but battle mages were always in demand. His first encounter was with a band of Fey on the edge of a forest, warriors that ambushed them in the middle of a patrol. Hit and run tactics claimed the life of most of his squad in less than a minute, and his own head was on the chopping block so many times his heart had to have been in his throat.
The hyper-awareness of his imminent death pulled out more of his natural magic than he had ever done so before, instinct taking over. Defensive wings as hard as steel, dagger-like feathers, and split-second illusions keeping them guessing just enough for him to evade (or counter-attack) the onslaught - it all let him live long enough for reinforcements to arrive.
The battle was short, savage and without any honor. In a flash, the majority of his comrades had been cut down, expunged just like his family, and the engagement only ended when the Fey retreated deeper into the forest. He survived only by the hair on his head - and more encounters in the following years occurred largely the same way, chiseling away at his sense of fair combat until it was clear that the nation's terrorists would never be defeated by honorable means.
More than the years training for combat, it was actual combat that most shaped the young farmer into the warrior he became. He learned to use what worked, what was effective, and instinct taught him much of how to use the power he was born with. A habit of surviving, a level head, and the growing years of experience saw Nemov gaining his share of promotions in the military organization.
The raven is a sign of death and misfortune, a harbinger of ill tides. For the protection of his people, for the sake of his family and everyone else killed by inhuman hands, he has become a Harbinger himself.