Age / Date of Birth:
23 / November 27th, 1757
Hard to tell. Even harder to get a straight answer from him.
What he might lack in immediate physical fortitude, Kazik more than makes up for through his empowering tenacity, becoming so fierce through trial and tribulation that caution is thrown to the winds while the lion's heart does roar. There is no reason, then, to fear danger, rather than to become the danger itself. While working through strain - such as through fatigue or torture - Kazik is able to substitute his Willpower for Toughness when making checks. He may extend this ability to his fellow companions whilst they are able to hear him speak, for a few inspiring phrases can seem to reach far and well.
Through innumerable close calls, Kazik has learned that, perhaps the best approach to conflict is to live to see another day...or to approach the issue from a more unconventional angle. Fleet of foot and sleight of hand, Kazik is able to transition between running and climbing with remarkable swiftness, and small obstacles prove to be essentially no barrier to one of his liking.
The modern age encroaches upon everyone, and Kazik knows too well that he is no exception to the steady progress of the modern world. Though he still spends the majority of his focus upon his swordplay, he has paid heed to become adept in the usage of muskets and other firearms. While he may not be a crack shot by any definition, Kazik's accuracy and handling is well enough to be considered competent in the use of guns.
Czaszkan Janissary Sword
Kazik possesses a very distinct Czaszkan face, if he does have a few more rounded features that seem to have weathered down his apparent age. Creating such a sharp contrast, this resolves itself in making him appear quite rugged for a man his age. At an average height of 178cm (5’10”), Kazik’s only truly discernible feature is his midnight oceanic hair color, if that fact is more readily marred by the verisimilitude of hair colors throughout the world. His build is quite athletic, if it takes a more lean than burlesque side to the definition.
His dress is one he much prefers to keep well-kept, even going as far as to "dress up" in the sense of the word. Clear from the lack of stainage nor tearing nor presence of seams upon his clothing, it is obviously clear that Kazik takes pride in his appearance. Though he does seem to have a taste for the finer parts of life, within those same confines he is certain to retain a sense of pragmatism to his dress as well, for the often harsh Cascadian climate brews cold winters and teeming summers, and thus Kazik's dress tends to lean along a heavier side. Along with heavy, forearm-coating gloves and a suitable overcoat, beneath he chooses to wear a distinctly stylized blue and white vest, adorned with a light, long-sleeved shirt beneath. An extensive double-belt adorns his waist, outwardly around his vest, and inwardly around his trousers and greaves, to which he attaches his holster, pouches, and scabbard.
The characteristic sternness of the Czaszkan may be off-putting to those unfamiliar with the culture, yet for whatever odd reason, Kazik holds himself with such an aura that he bear some manner of grin upon his face at nearly all moments, save for the most melancholic or choleric of experiences. It almost carries with it a refinement, as if only contoured from years of constant practice starting from what must be his moment of birth. Yet, that same discipline, readiness, and jovial characteristics transpire well into his decision-making...if abated by what can be a fiery temperament.
Though wrong to say he lacks discipline - far from it - Kazik's overt ambition and bravery easily translate into recklessness and impulsive behavior. In truth, the same starry-eyed demeanor that seems to make him so driven too drives him toward danger. Yet, to say that he almost seems to seek out danger is perhaps not the best way he would describe the sensation; he simply insists that the precariousness is a side-effect of circumstance. After all, what could you possibly have to reach without running into peril? Therefore, Kazik implores it wise to face such risk standing tall.
Though he is fond of a story, his must begin in the rather sleepy hamlet of Ostrelce. Ostrelce in its prime was thoroughly one-dimensionally in its remarkability, for within that village lay the Chelsow Estate. Now, as was talk of the loquacious folk of the town, the Chelsow Estate was, in every aspect, the residing summer locale for the Czaskzan Royal Family on their outings from the otherwise turbulent Castle Zeidik. Naturally, during those summer months, what would be an otherwise sleepy little hamlet on the outskirts of Kolzow blossomed into what very well may have been the most burgeoning of trade markets with so great a celebration as the grace of the Royal Family. As the Starosta Dynasty had a well-earned reputation for their opulent - and perhaps profligate - spending habits, naturally, such rumors attracted all knack of enterprising men and women...some more honest than others.
As he would tell you, the knack of the township with such influx turned any schoolchild into an urchin, and Kazik was only one of many to follow such a trend. Now, of course the trend was indeed mischievous, for even the youth of the hamlet knew full well the intent of their actions, but who would condemn them for having a bit of fun and making a bit of money on the side? Kazik certainly had more than his share of fun, along with his consort of friends and acquaintances, he would say, yet, there was something distinctly off. It was never deep down, for Kazik even in his youth would speak endlessly on the matter, even so noting that more lay on the horizon than trifling scores squandered from the scraps of the wasteful. He claims he argued often with his parents and sister dear, certain that he was making the wrong decision, yet Kazik, in so typical of a story, couldn't wait longer, and set his eyes upon the long horizons.
As he had attempted to, there was but one obstacle in his path; A declaration of war. Quite the obtrusion it would turn out to be.
Even a decade after its passing, Kazik finds himself hesitant to speak at length about the war. In close whispers, around a warm fire and cold drink, he might hush on events recalled with well-remembered remorse, hopeful just one more sip might somehow make amends. Yet, with such mystery comes into vision a puzzled portrayal of his events during that conquest, which paint perhaps a less grim picture. From such limited knowledge, Kazik narrates that he did his best being an informant during the war, any officer or commander he met insisting that he refrain from putting his life on the front lines - where he thoroughly believed he belonged - on account of, of all things, his social status. The constant rejection dismayed him greatly, but, as Kazik would insist, there came a time where he knew that resistance to Danesland would be futile, and allowed the course of nature to pass through, once and for all.
Despite his attachments, Kazik knew there would not be a steady future for Czaszka for the foreseeable future. It pained him to confess such an obvious statement, even with ever aspect of his rightful mind telling him otherwise. Kazik would market himself as a useful fighter whenever he could, making all manner of contacts and associates throughout Ferreir, and just as seemingly unable to truly find any one band, guild, or crew to latch upon. Stroke after stroke of rotten luck came over Kazik, disaster inevitably striking every manner of organization he came to work for, either finding himself on the wrong side of history, or attracting too much attention to themselves in the wrong eyes. After a particularly nasty fetch gone wrong in Fioretza, Kazik noted himself thoroughly out of options, and began to wander North.
In that time of travel, there would be an event twofold to change the direction of his path; Now, how quite he met Charlotte is an ever mutable story, for whenever the topic does arise, Kazik's flushed blush and sly grin does always betray the ever-so-obvious intent that he is spending his time concocting some manner of fable to get a rise out of his inquirer. The constant remains that the two appear inseparable for now, for better or worse, and to that bond Kazik is committed toward working alongside her. The both were correct in their insistence that their traits well complimented one another in their field of work, and such a complimentary duo did inevitably draw the eyes of a party that required their...expertise. And who aside from Aira? Who better a fit? And what better an offer, he thought, than to see the New World, to see the riches it offered, with a letter of immunity to any who dared oppose?
The offer to come from Aira seemed far too good to be true; A Letter of Marque from the Governor, and a full crew to take as they pleased? With his name on the plaque?
"Well, what could go wrong?" He said, knowing full well the shattered history that lay behind him.
Charlotte Mòrag Faulkner
Age / Date of Birth:
24 / February 3rd, 1757
The answer seems to change every time you ask.
Although Charlotte is far from a formal practitioner, she has a basic understanding of most magical systems, and enjoys dabbling in magic from time to time. A mage she may not be, but the few spells she is capable of casting may prove invaluable when tacking problems necessitating a thaumaturgic approach.
A thorough master of carousing, one of Charlotte's most practiced expertises is that to make others feel well within good company with her at their side. As she will say, it isn't all about looks, but it isn't not, either. A combination of well-picked words, a few drinks on her, and a few exchanged stories, whoever chooses to make her their conversationalist companion for the time can find that Charlotte can extract useful information from them at near shocking ease. Such information inevitably comes in handy later.
Thinking ahead remains among Charlotte's best skills, for the ability to plan and organize quickly shows itself invaluable once the turmoil begins to broil over. From there, allies and enemies become clean-cut, the viable options everclear as a plan well-executed falls into play. When given time to observe and analyze a given situation, Charlotte is able to formulate plans and accurate conclusions.
Even as a privateer, Charlotte remains under the firm belief that first impressions are everything, and accordingly goes to great lengths to maintain her form and figure. Though she possesses skin and hair color most would call unremarkable, Charlotte does well to adorn herself with jewels where she can; some fine earrings, a nice necklace, and a few other glittering baubles all about do well to draw the immediate attention of others. Couple it with a well-practiced disarming smile, and Charlotte will long say that she's quite well mastered the art of the first sight.
No matter what she might think of the person in front of her, Charlotte will make dividends to ensure that she make a good first impression with people. Past that, it tends to vary based upon their value and reciprocation. After all, first impressions are everything, for in Charlotte's experience, the first opportunity is oftentimes the only opportunity, and Charlotte does well to intend for that to be rectified. Typically, Charlotte is often warm and approachable to the point of flirtation, and in due process does her best to make herself both relatable and affable. These expressions, contrary to the skeptic, are not necessarily exclusive to her attempts at first contact, as putting on such a vivid show must embrace some degree of empathy within her. No, these actions are part of her as a fundamental person...though how much these warm actions wax or wane, as with most people, will be determined by her relationship with her.
Notions of utility aside, it isn't to say that Charlotte is lacking in empathy, or that she is only driven by sociopathic urge to maintain only those of some use around her. Easily, it is describable as a learned behavior, one which she has more or less been urged - some might say "forced" - to subscribe to in order to ensure her well-being. Dear friends to Charlotte are treated well and even with generosity, for Charlotte, as much as she does value the usefulness of others, hesitates on aborting such relationships as soon as they turn sour, both in part to a sense of bonding for as much as it does make her seem herself only capable of tenuous bonds.
Born to a semi-functional, semi-wedded couple in the city of Aberness, even as far as the first day of her birth, she had her work cut out for her. By the workings of a faulty, novice doctor, Charlotte's birth had been mispracticed, and as soon as the young woman would see light, she would very well have to fight for her very life. Her whines were muffled, coarse and interrupted by an incessant cough, with each shortening breath drawing closer to an abrupt end. Through no small feat did the infant persevere through the malbirth, of which her parents gave a most appropriate half-rejoice.
Yet, her life was far from comprehensive at the age of 1 hour. There was much, much more in store for the fledgling Charlotte. But, all credit to the woman, she, as she so competently showed at her coming, displayed she possessed the fortitude and constitution both to endure through the hardships at hand, for in Aberness, they would seem to escalate aplenty. Her parents would remain together - if only for the children, a fact they both made audibly known whenever the chance arose - and provide a dilettante level of parenting preferable to urchinhood. Obvious, then, was it that Charlotte would do well to find her own role models and tutors. After all, it took a whole village to raise a child, and Aberness was full of such villages.
From a young age, Charlotte took up work wherever was possible, whether that be as courier or crier or pickpocket through the bustling abbeys of Aberness. For that short while, with friends who always seemed to come and go, Charlotte found the work steady, yet always kept a few sterlings at her ready, knowing full well that such steadiness would likely go like a coming wave. Yet of course, coming of age to be a woman, Charlotte had already dismissed the notion of marriage twofold; First on account that she much preferred to do the work herself, having grown fond of the uncertain yet thoroughly intriguing nature of working the most basic rungs of society. On second account, in spite of the homely appearance of the young Miss Faulkner, there remained good reasons as to why she had not attracted a suitor with more than passing interest in the prospect of matrimony.
The bulk of her adolescence spent her time working around one of Aberness' more unsavory taverns, perhaps not best to her immediate health, yet Charlotte was fully crafty enough to quickstep around any peril. In truth, that was what she loved doing; A strange bar hosting strange folks with strange whispers, drawing enough strangeness to turn to adventure at any notice. Through song, dance, disarming smiles, and clever reallocation of purses, Charlotte memorized the ins and outs of socializing, and for every sterling she earned - rightful or not - two more stories did reach her ear from all manner of mariner. For just seconds, she could put past her immediate odds, so enthralling were the tales spun so expertly by these men and women of the sea. Why, out on that endless ocean blue, there were bound to be endless riches, coupled with an equally infinitesimal number of escapades to be had. Why work in some hole in the wall when she could be out living a life of splendor?
That twofold pattern resounded once again; Charlotte possessed few skills worthy of seafaring, and her only true option would be to be pressed into the lowest quarters of the ship. In earnest, she considered the prospect, so enticing was the idea of it all that she would throw herself into near-servitude for so meager a chance at seeing the world belong Aberness' taverns. Though she wouldn't get her chance at piracy true, she at least earned passage to Aira following occurrences perhaps best left unspoken. To that, Charlotte thoroughly was a stranger in a foreign land, but this was only a trifling concern; after all, she had lived her entire life working around strangers, for what were a few strangers but friends who didn't know it yet?
And of course, her fancy wordplay would inevitably grease up the those in a most favorable position. Her request was simple, if expensive; a few good men, a fine vessel, and a Letter of Marque, all to go after the country she once called home.