Day 10: Kalmos Halkianne, (human) Muscle (for Terror Target Gemini)

Kalmos’ family had a farm on the verdant Martinean Peninsula, and Halkianne was a name practically synonymous with hard labor in the olive groves of since time immemorial. Kalmos was strong, even as a child, and he worked hard every hour Fair Helia sent.

Kalmos was ten when he had his epiphany, not that he’d use a word like that. The old ox Noko had always carried whatever was fastened to his yoke, but now he was old. The faithful creature was sent off to the rendering plant with little fanfare. That, Kalmos realized, was his fate. He would work until he was clapped out like Noko.

Kalmos held on for a few more years. Duty and family are strong after all. The ache in his muscles and little to look forward to but more ache won out though, and Kalmos stowed away on a grain freighter bound for the Maju.

Due to his size and his aversion to manual labor, Kalmos often found work as a bouncer, debt collector, but he really felt like he hit the jackpot when he met Abelhanz and became a Runner.

Abelhanz Gray considers Kalmos an ideal agent, since he is eminently capable of using violence without questioning it, or getting emotional about it. He’s neither squeamish, sadistic, or feels that he needs to prove something. Hell, he doesn’t even hold a grudge against someone who’s beaten him to a pulp in the past.

Kalmos isn’t naive or stupid. He’s just learned that there are very few answers that make him happier than he already is.



Name: Kalmos Halkianne

Bloodline: Human

Class: Mercenary (Berserker) (lvl 1)


STATS

Power: 3

Coordination: 0

Intellect: 0

Charisma: 0


SKILLS

Training: 2

Handcraft: 1

Arcane: 0

Communication: 1


FEATS

Rage: You may attack with a Snag to double your melee damage.

Die Hard: You do go down, even with your guts spilling out. You don’t die at 0 HP (but the next damage you take kills you).

Protector: You may take melee damage directed at a nearby ally.


HEALTH (2d8h): 8


STARS: 1

Money: 45 wen

GEAR:Heavy spiked club (2d6, 2H) Makeshift armor, a jar of fine olive oil.