Description: Standing at 5'6", Irakli is of average height, with a lean build. He wears heavy, well-worn leather riding boots, brushed steel spurs attached at the heels. Dusty brown trousers and a pale, washed-out green shirt cover the rest of his body. Over his shoulders a darker green poncho, faded by dust, and trimmed with blue thread. A wide-brimmed leather hat sits atop his head, shrouding his face in shadow. Across his hips a thick leather belt from which hangs a holster, faded by age, containing a oiled and polished pistol.
Personality: Quiet and pragmatic. Living rough on the range has made Irakli understand that there is little time for niceties, especially when dealing with those who would do you harm. Justice must be swift and decisive. And justice is one thing Irakli values above all else - he has been taught, and believes, that law and order is essential to a functioning society. Because of his upbringing, and the society he grew up in, he values freedom almost as much as law. Irakli tends not to waste time and energy on unnecessary talking or action, keeping a tight rein on his emotions.
Background:
The Hyertine Plains. An arid, grassy, scrub plains dominated by the semi-nomadic Gnoll Clans. They are, however, not the only people to call the plains home. Some choose the plains for the freedom, the lawlessness, the ability to do what they choose, without the threat of reprisal. The Felinus who have carved out a home on the plains, however, are not those people.
Centuries ago, they lived among their brethren in the distant land of Caruthia's Rest, the ancestral home of their feline race. There, the people lived their lives peacefully, troubled only by the neighboring Goblins. Still, the Felinus enclaves' clung to the worship of the long-dead Caruthia. There were some among the Felinus who chafed under the ever-present religion, resenting its influence over the people. Had they not fought and died to be free from overbearing "Gods", and the chance to determine their own fate? The ultimate schism between the Felinus and those who left was painful and lingering, though bloodless.
Many long years the caravan of Felinus people crisscrossed the lands, looking for a place to make their home. Many died, never knowing rest, many left the caravan, never to return. Much diminished, the band of Felinus finally came to the Hyertine Plains. Ostensibly ruled over by the Gnolls, the leaders of their caravan negotiated a truce with the Clan Elders of the Gnolls: they could settle in the eastern ranges of the plains, in exchange for preferential trade agreements on farmed goods - something the nomadic Gnolls were in short supply of. And so the Felinus began the task of building houses and farms on the open land. Centuries later, that small village has become several, scattered across the eastern range connected by a network of dirt roads.
A land so expansive and populated by such an unpredictable people as the Gnolls is not easy to protect. Thee Felinus do not have the easy, peaceful lives of their distant kinfolk. Here, on the plains, life is hard, often brutally short. Wild Gnolls often roam the fringes of the Felinus lands, raiding farms and ranches for whatever they can make off with. Most Felinus young can shoot a bow before their 10th birthday. But bows and farmers are no match for the raiding Gnolls - and others, some perhaps worse than Gnolls - on their own. For that reason, the Felinus maintain a force for the protection of their lands and peoples; a highly-trained, dedicated, troop of soldiers trained in the mastery of firearms. The Marshalls are the best of the best - trained to shoot, ride, and enforce the laws of the Felinus lands. They spend their lives riding the plains going from town to town, keeping an ever watchful eye on the horizon for new threats.
This is the life that Irakli Vakhtang was born into. The third son of a Felinus rancher, he was taught from a young age to ride, shoot, and handle the animals on the ranch. Though they lived in untamed wild, Irakli was always taught that law and order was what separated them from the raiders, that without the structure of laws their society would dissolve into complete chaos. Anytime a Marshall came through the area, his father would point them out, telling stories of their amazing prowess and how important their job was. When he was old enough - barely 15 years old - he, inevitably, left the ranch to become a Marshall.
The training was intensive; morning to night, training, learning, riding, shooting. Irakli had never handled an actual gun, before joining the Marshalls. Within a few months he could strip, clean, and reassemble his pistol blindfolded. The gun was the most important tool in the Marshall's arsenal. The enforcing hand of the law - a Marshall without a gun was just man, no more or less. The recruits were taught to keep their weapon on them at all times, always prepared for danger. Drills would be staged at any time, day or night. Recruits would be expected to be up and alert at the drop of a hat. When they weren't training, they were learning - the letter of the law, geography, survival techniques. For four years this went on, until Irakli was given his badge, a fully-trained Marshall of the Felinus Range in the Hyertine Plains.
Irakli spent the years that followed living the life he had trained so hard for. Riding alone across the plains, keeping the peace. It was a hard life, one that demanded constant vigilance and alertness, and he only had the chance to see his family perhaps a handful of times over the course of those years, but it was a life he enjoyed. Perhaps he lived in discomfort, in constant threat of death or worse, but his perseverance meant that others - his family, the people in the towns, the livestock, travelers through their lands - could known at least a little peace and freedom. When the word reached the leaders of the Felinus in Hyertine, their decision was quick. They, the Felinus of Hyertine, had travelled across the lands, endured hardships for centuries, to be free of religion - for a new "God" to try to force itself on the people of the world would not stand. They picked one of their best and brightest - Irakli Vahktang - and sent him out from the plains to represent their interests to those who would put a stop to this unwanted religion.
Two days ride from Eagle Hollow. Two days ride from the closest thing to civilization anywhere around. Out here, it was just dirt, rocks, and the occasional patch of grass. And cattle. Nearby ranchers ran the herds through this expanse once or twice a year to market in Eagle Hollow. A couple miles to the south there was a narrow river, on both sides of the dusty grass, cliffs of red stone. A perfect spot for an ambush. Which is, one might surmise, exactly what the band of orcs hunkered around the fire there also thought, when they killed the ranchers and rounded up their herd. They left the bodies about a half mile north of their camp, dragged into a ditch.
The soft clink of spurs was almost quiet enough to be buried under the crackle of the fire and the noise of orcish conversation. The sound of the gun's hammer being pulled back, too. The orcs didn't even notice the lean man walking towards the campfire. "Seems to me we have some cattle rustlers," the silhouetted man says, stopping 30 feet from the fire. Startled, the orcs jump up grabbing their swords. "You are bound by law. Drop your weapons and --" The orcs howl, lunging forwards towards the man. The gunshot echoes across the valley like a crack of thunder. The largest of the orcs drops to the ground, a crater where the back of his head used to be. The other two orcs stop, taking a small step back but still brandishing your weapons. "As I was saying: drop your weapons and surrender. You will be taken to Eagle's Hollow where you will be remanded into their custody. There are two of you, and I have 6 more bullets. Reckon even orcs can count that high." A long second passed, the orcs looked back and forth between themselves and the man with the gun. They dropped the swords and raised their hands in the air.
The gunman slowly walks forward, into the firelight, the flickering flames illuminating the feline face under the wide hat. He keeps his steely gaze on the two orcs. He slowly holsters the pistol. "Good choice. Let's go."
Aug 14th, 2014, 03:04 AM
