V I K T O R - W O L F F
Details
Name: Viktor Wolff
Race: Human/Dranoch Botchling
Sex: Male
Age: 87 years old
Height: 6 feet
Weight: 190 lbs
Birthdate: 9th of Ash, Year 4534
Birthplace: Daravin
Profession: Mercenary
Factions:
Languages:
Fluencies: Common & Gentevarese
Appearance
Viktor is a man of above-average height, with medium-length brown hair and brown-colored eyes, which seem to be clouded in a white-colored mist. He kept his beard short and trimmed. He has an athletic build physique formed from his years working as a mercenary. His upper body was fully tatted from the neck down. His Mark of Resonance was inscribed vertically running the length of his spine purposely weaved into the tattoo design that covers his whole upper back. He could be usually seen with a piece of cigarette stuck in between his lips.
Personality
Viktor is a complex individual. Those who met him at a pub/tavern/social gatherings could describe him as an easy-going and friendly drunkard. While those that did business with him described him as a professional and a man of his words, using any means necessary to achieve his goals. Unless for the unfortunate few who somehow managed to survive (usually left alive to live a life of constantly looking over their shoulders) after backstabbing him, they described him as being a cold and ruthless bastard. Unsympathetic to those that wronged him, not caring whether they are young or old.
Those that were lucky enough to be considered one of his own, described him as being ambitious, loyal, protective, vengeful, authoritative, and hot-headed.
During intense battles, Viktor occasionally falls into a frenzied fighting state, urged by his determination for victory and undeniable proof that he is the strongest. His combative style is characterized by his aggressive and domineering attacks while flaunting his mastered techniques to his opponents. Furthermore, he is capable of being cold-blooded, prioritizing his enemies' destruction over saving innocent people when he believes that the sacrifice is unavoidable.
History
Viktor was a member of a mercenary group called “The Jagged Reaper”. Their group usually worked together with other mercenary companies and the Halamire of the Entente that hired them to perform military-grade sabotaging operations on the Imperial trade fleets. Due to their high success rate, their number grew over the years. They are professionals. They kept their heads down and moved the goods to Shitport to be fenced through the Empire’s proper channels. Receiving a small percentage of the profits and other benefits. To further fill their coffers, during their downtime they would go on raiding vessels passing Daravin’s waters, careful enough not to attack those flying Daravin’s colors.
It was just another typical raiding night for them, they’ve received a report of a small fleet of non-military grade ships sailing north. They surveyed the fleet from a distance. They concluded that due to the lack of armed personnel on board, that it was either a merchant fleet or a smugglers fleet either of which would make for a good payday.
They assembled their raiding fleet and managed to board the ships without much resistance until they set foot on board. They’ve come prepared to fight enemies of flesh and bones. Instead, they came face to face with Hollows, not just the regular kinds of Hollows, but the rumored “Hunter” Hollows. A misfired cannon, a broken hull, and broken chains. The chain of events changed Viktor’s life forever. Unbeknownst to them, the fleet was transporting a Dranoch Cardinal. It was as if fighting the Hunter Hollows and their retainer Argent Knights were not enough, they have to worry about the Dranoch Cardinal.
When the Dranoch Cardinal made easy work out of the Argent Knights and their Hollows, Viktor knew that they stood no chance against this beast. He did what he did best, hiding. But alas, there’s no such thing as hiding from a creature who could use your blood as a homing beacon. Up to the present moment, he could never figure out if he was the luckiest man alive or the unluckiest. There he was with the ocean behind him and a blood-crazed rampaging creature in front of him.
That was fifty years ago. Viktor never envisioned himself living close to a hundred, let alone past his thirties. Due to the professional hazards for people in his line of work. Yet, here he was, not looking a day older after that fateful night. After burning the ships and leaving traces for The Jagged Reaper’s employers about their “demise” on a raid gone wrong, he went into the Badlands and formed his gang, made up of the survivors of that night fifty years ago.
