Kirov Sudenna

Description:

He was oddly tall compared to those on the boat: six foot three, with hair jet black. His jawline was well set for his age, but lacked facial hair. His hazel eyes were solid and menacing, and his gaze was intense, as it shifted around, observant. His skin however wasn’t pale like most nobles, no, it was darkened, and scarred in some places. Burns and cuts, going down his arms and legs. He covered up well, usually with his green and black attire. His face had one scar, going down the left side of his face. He was thinly muscular, and agility was moreover his strength rather than pure muscle. He carried with him his father’s bastard sword: a fitting tool for the bastard child himself. Yes, those marks aren’t war wounds. They are wounds left by his father. His philosophy for raising young Kirov was to put him in line right away.

Bio:

The name Sudenna means something else in the far lands of Geroia. There, it is a name that brings entropy. It is a name that brings bad memories. It brings reminders of those that served for or against this House. The slaughters, the War for the North Plains. House Sudenna had finally fallen, after twelve years. All but one lived. His name, was Kirov Sudenna. He was sixteen when he left his lands. The youngest warlord of his house, and he bore the name of King Sudenna – his youngest son. He taught him what true power was like, and how to master it. He taught him War, taught him Trust, Respect, and the largest virtue of all was one lesson: Do it yourself. Learn never to be dependent, never shortcut or outsource. These are not only lessons he learned young, but they were his father’s final words, before the ship was sent out to the feuding kingdom across the sea: Calradia. This boy, now eighteen (sailing takes a long time memes) looks over the bow to see the cliffs of the venerable Rhodok city Yalen. He was oddly tall compared to those on the boat: six foot three, with hair jet black. His jawline was well set for his age, but lacked facial hair. His hazel eyes were solid and menacing, and his gaze was intense, as it shifted around, observant. His skin however wasn’t pale like most nobles, no, it was darkened, and scarred in some places. Burns and cuts, going down his arms and legs. He covered up well, usually with his green and black attire. His face had one scar, going down the left side of his face. He was thinly muscular, and agility was moreover his strength rather than pure muscle. He carried with him his father’s bastard sword: a fitting tool for the bastard child himself. Yes, those marks aren’t war wounds. They are wounds left by his father. His philosophy for raising young Kirov was to put him in line right away. Unlike his two elder brothers, both who betrayed his father, he wanted to make sure his son lived his legacy. Which is exactly Kirov’s goal: to surpass his father and tame the mighty beast of Calradia, from the bottom up.

Kirov Sudenna

Horse & Sword: Marauders chaotishrabe chaotishrabe