Danya

> ![[danya.jpg | left | 200]] > ### **Danya** > **An immigrant clockmaker bent on revenge for his fallen mentor.** > Full Name: **-** | Pronouns: **He/Him** > *-* > > Group: **[[RPGs/The New World/Groups/Garrox Squad.md|Garrox Squad]]** > Places: **-** > > | Tier | Social | Mental | Physical | Mystical | > | ---- | ---- | ---- | ---- | --- | > | **1**| **1** | **2** | **2** | **1 ** | ##### Story **Background Detail** I’m thinking about a character who was a locksmith, clockmaker, or jeweler before the war. Maybe apprenticed and just at the point he became a journeyman and struck out on his own, everything went sideways. He now is very good at overcoming mechanical systems (picking locks, cracking safes, sabotage, etc.). I’m also strongly considering using a less than good Eastern European accent. **Vice Detail** He’s a bit of a gourmet and loves exotic and fine dining. **Looks** An immigrant who moved here before the war for a better life. He is round-faced and just below average height, but with a surprising gracefulness. He has a prominent mustache and keeps his dark hair very short. While his appearance is relatively unremarkable, he is naturally gregarious. **Motivation** The invaders killed my master and destroyed his shop. That shop was a second home for me and one of the few places I felt comfortable here. My master loved this city and I defend because it is what he would have done. **Quirks** - Danya has unfortunate lightning shock trauma - Danya working on making something with starwhal horn - Scrimshaw - Gets help from Wizened elder [[Legless Jack]] --- > [!NOTE]- **Backstory** > It is hard to say where I am from; I have lived so many places, but I do not fit in any of them. I was born in Claymor,a small mining town. It was a hard life; we were very poor and my father worked in the iron mines, which did not bring in much money. I am oldest of six and my five siblings: Sasha, Vanya, Gregori, Anna, and Maria; so, my parents were always struggling to make ends meet. We often went hungry and my mother and father worked > themselves to the bone to us. When I was old enough, I left home in search of employment so I could help my family; I had no interest in the mine and had seen first-hand how it made my father sick. I dreamed of striking it rich and moving my siblings to a big house far from where we grew up. > > Initially, I went to Rampseed to find work. I was only able to find odd jobs as Claymorians are looked down on by those in the big city. Mostly I worked as a laborer, but due to my size I was not particularly good at it. At first, I was able to make enough to send a small amount to my parents each month, but it did not last long. > > Before my first year away from Claymor was finished, the Falonian Empire invaded. I watched foreign troops marching in the streets and the horrors that came with them. The whole economy fell apart overnight, while the Falonians imposed martial law. They exploited the people, ransacked businesses, and defaced the city. I had hated my life in Claymor, but this new version of Rampseed was far worse and spent the next year working to get out. The powerlessness of poverty was made worse by the oppression of occupation and I had not a taste for either. > > The resistance groups that operated in Rampseed after the invasion did their best to help people escape, if those people had the money necessary to make the trip. I began stealing what I could from the Falonians. The wallet of a drunk soldier here and a mislaid crate of supplies there eventually added up to the money needed to get out. I was no > longer able to send anything to my family as it would likely have been stolen or else taken months arrive. As I packed my few possessions, I received one last letter from my sister, Sasha, urging me to get out and informing me that my parents had both died, killed by the influenza. I left in the dead of night and never looked back; I have not heard from my family since. > > I eventually made it to Ferreland and was taken in by Milo, a master clockmaker who had grown up near Claymor himself. He took me in and treated me like a son. I became his apprentice and spent the next few years mastering the fine mechanical working of clocks and locks. It was the closest thing I ever had to a happy home and it was probably the best time of my life, though I still worried about my siblings and hoped to someday find a way to smuggle them to safety. > > Unfortunately, the armies of war always seems to find me. In my twenties the Falonians invaded Ferreland and I again faced with the realities of occupation, but this time it was worse. This was primarily due to Milo’s death; the Falonians burned the shop to the ground in the middle of the night with Milo in it. I was dragged out of the burning building by a neighbor, but Milo was not so lucky. His death changed me. I was no longer content to run; I had made up my mind that the only way forward was to resist. > > My years of clockmaking prepared me for sabotage and infiltration. I became a gifted safe-cracker and a competent burglar, which allowed me to strike back at the invaders from the shadows. > > I have made many friends in the resistance (I’ve always been good with people), but they always seem to keep me at arm’s length. I think it is because I am foreign, but I hope that I can prove to them that I am different than the Falonians that invade their land. Even though it is not the same as when I first came to Ferreland, it is the closest I have to a home and I will fight for it alongside its natural born defenders. > [!NOTE]- Associations > ![[MasterBase.base#Associations]]