Kubrat Asenov

Reaver of the Coin Kubrat Asenov

Thud... Thud... Thud...
His footsteps echoed through his bones as he strode upon the battlements. There were so many, and they were so young. He looked to his right from and saw the countless torches struggling to stay lit in the freezing winds. Their meager flames keeping the night at bay as best they could. He looked left. The courage of the soldiers who were to hold the line against a horde of frenzied savages flickered like the flames they were holding. Behind him men were running from wall to wall with supplies and ammunition. Ballistae were given a last oiling before they had to unleash their fury onto the enemy. Boys were fastening and refastening straps on armor that they were yet to grow into, if they were ever that lucky. Slowly the commotion died down. The men stopped running. The ballistae were as oiled as a pleasure house whore and the fidgeting had ceased. For all felt that oppressive blanket. The calm before the storm.
And then it started. Like every night for the last two weeks. First the drums echoed through the valley below. A frantic savage rhythm. A rhythm of death and carnage. He glanced at the man to his right and to Kubrat's amazement he caught the man yawning. All along the lines soldiers were trying to hold their legs from buckling and their bowels from emptying and this man couldn't give two shits about the oncoming terror. Kubrat couldn't help but laugh. A laugh fueled by tension, fear and the maddening rush of oncoming battle. He roared a belly laugh as loud as he could muster and all along the lines men's jaws fel open in amazement. Had their commander lost it? Had the White Judge finally lost it? Had his age caught up to him? But none of them could grasp this madness that they saw unfold before them.
"What is your name soldier?" Kubrat asked the man who had incited his outburst. "K... Kiril, my lord" the man answered, now dumbstruck and confused. "Kiril." Kubrat repeated and then stepped forward, turning his back to the valley and all the pain that would roll forth from it in mere moments. "LISTEN UP ALL OF YOU!" His voice thundering over the battlements "Kiril here was so bored with the same spiel over and over every night that I caught him yawning and falling asleep on his bow next to his lord commander." he looked over the lines of archers and the axemen behind them, letting his words flow in the wind, carried by gentle magic infused in his helmet. "I too am bored of these savages!" he yelled and as if rehearsed, the ground began to tremble under the footfalls of their assailants. Another pause. "TONIGHT WE DRENCH THE VALLEY IN THEIR BLOOD!" he screamed and four thousand voices roared from the walls of Cherna Krepost. All tension had disappeared from their ranks as the stunned amazement at Kubrat's outburst had turned to fervent frenzy and bloodlust. "TONIGHT THE CROWS SHALL FEAST AND WE WILL CLIMB THE MOUNTAIN OF THEIR CORPSES TO THE GODS!" another ear shattering roar drowned out the animalistic screams of the countless enemies below the walls. They were nearly upon them and Kubrat turned to face the sea of scimitars, gleaming in the light of the fires that his men were holding. Fires that now seemed to blaze like an inferno to all who witnessed this night. "COME CLOSER YOU BASTARDS!", he howled at the enemy. "WE ARE THE MEN OF THE BLACK KEEP", another outcry from the soldiers behind him. "WE, ARE, DEATH!"
Thud... Thud... Thud...
His feet were heavy, his axe dragged on the blood slicked grass for he had not the strength to lift it. All around him men were screaming in agony, trying desperately to hold on to what little life remained in their broken bodies. His vision was a haze of pain and he was functioning on instinct. Kubrat didn't register that he sidestepped a swing, he didn't realize that his arm moved on its own to bury his blood soaked axe into the back of another faceless corpse. He was a machine. Moving without thought, killing without compassion.  His mind was elsewhere. Back in Rodina.  Back at the temple.
Masha, one of the temple's orphans held a snowdrop up to him. Her face beaming because she was the first to find one this spring. Such innocence.
He was stirring a pot of stew. He'd managed to trap a fat hare earlier that day. The children couldn't wait for the first taste of meat that season.
Tiny motes of light floated from his fingers as he recounted the tales of King Simeon and the founding of Starograd, the children hanging from his lips with eyes as wide as saucers.
He sidestepped a spear and ducked under an axe swing. "How many more?" he wandered as his axe moved effortlessly through the spearman's skull. He turned towards the axeman. Another dodge, another spray of blood, another body. He kept moving. Staying still meant death. How many wars had he fought? How many castles defended? It all blurred together and the blood never stopped flowing. He held up his shield this time to block an arrow meant for his eye. The arrowhead pierced through the wood and splinters peppered his face. Adding to the myriad of other cuts and bruises he didn't feel. Kubrat threw aside the shield and unsheathed his sword in the same fluid motion and the world became blurry again.
Thud... Thud... Thud...
The ram battered the gates of the enemy keep with relentless rhytm. The stench of burning oil and flesh filled his nostrils as the savages tried desperately to stop him and his men from breaching their final stronghold. But the shining barrier his lord had granted him held. The god of strife was with him that day and Kubrat could see the end. He would soon disembark from this doomed ship, sailing on a river of blood. He would soon return to his beloved monastery where he could grow old and fat. But he wasn't there yet. A final ear splintering crash and the battering ram broke through the iron reinforced wood of the gate. One more swing and his soldiers would engulf the keep like a flood. Kubrat waited for the back swing of the ram and jumped on top of the meter thick tree trunk that made up the mass of the siege engine. He yelled the word to release the ropes and ran forward. 
It must have seemed like the gates of hell were flung open to the defenders standing behind the gate. The immense bronze goat head burst through with such force that the left gate was wrenched from it's hinges. At least fifty men perished as it came crashing upon them. But that wasn't what turned the hearts of the savages to ice and their feet to stone. It was the silver clad demon with eyes of blue flame that leaped from the ram's head, roaring a bestial battle cry that nearly sent them running. 
At least six more men lay in bloody heaps at his feet before the defenders had found whatever courage was left in them and charged him. With dispassionate precision he cleaved his way through their ranks and again his mind drifted to faraway places. 
Thud... Thud.. Thudd...
Kubrat shot up panting, drenched in sweat and wide eyed. Three more knocks on his door. "I'm sorry to bother you sir, but the guildmaster requests your presence." came the voice of Tasha, the guild's innkeeper. "I'll be right there" he managed with some difficulty as the adrenaline was leaving his body. Another night, another battlefield. His dreams were getting worse by the week and he wasn't sure his old body could take the stress if this were to continue. Kubrat heaved himself out of his bed with some difficulty as his ancient joints protested to the sudden request for movement. He made his way to the mirror and stood there for a moment, observing the countless scars covering his leathery skin. He saw flashes of the dreams he'd just awoken from and traced the old wounds on his chest for a moment before shaking the past off of him and dawning his white tunic. He'd see what the devil of the coin wanted of him and then make his daily rounds in the commons. This might not be the monastery life he had hoped for but at least he did some good here. He hung the bronze medallion denoting his faith around his neck and opened the door to be greeted with raucous laughter and jubilant cheers coming from down the hall.  He'd never thought that this den of delinquents, ruffians and braggards would become his new home. But he sure was glad for it.

Physical Description

General Physical Condition

Kubrat seems lithe but very nimble for his age. His armor often hides his true physique but ones who have seen him in his normal clothing claim a muscular, though somewhat gaunt and wiry look.

Body Features

Pale skin covered in scars from head to toe.

Gender

Male

Eyes

Bright blue

Hair

Short silver with streaks of black

Height

1.78m

Weight

80kg