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Warden

Hero: "It takes a thief to catch a thief."

0 · 149 views · located in Grey London

a character in “The London Grey”, as played by Odysseus

Description

Warden

“It takes a thief to catch a thief.”







Description


Image

Full Name
Mikhail Aleksandrovich Kruglov

Spoken Name
Mikhail (“Misha” to a select few close friends and former prison mates)
Nikolai Fyodorovich Belyakov (Russian alias)
Alex Stanton (English alias)

Title
N/A

Sex
Male

Age
29

Appearance
Not especially imposing, Mikhail is close to average height, approximately 5’ 10” and 170 lbs. Years spent in the gulag forced him into a lean, athletic build; not especially large, but packing power nonetheless. He sports short cut, dirty blonde hair, which he typically keeps tucked under a grey newsboy cap. Pale blue eyes that border on grey peek out from beneath similarly blonde eyebrows. Mikhail makes an effort to shave as often as possible, but with a good razor, shaving cream, and decent water often hard to come by, he can occasionally be found with the stubbly beginnings of a beard. His clothing is generally simple and nondescript: a button down shirt, a worn pair of grey pants, black shoes, and a snug black pea coat. He always wears a pair of grey gloves with the fingers cut off at the middle knuckle, so as to cover the tattoos on his hand and fingers.

Beneath his clothing, Mikhail also has a large number of tattoos, listed below. Just below his left armpit is a large scar from where he was once stabbed in prison.

Tattoos
Chest: Virgin Mary with baby Jesus
Back: Spider’s web with spider facing downward
Left arm: Sleeve including an Orthodox cathedral with two spires, three skulls, and eight tombstones, each inscribed with a year from 1939 to 1947.
Left hand: Across the back of the hand are the words “ОМУТ” and “СЕВЕР” in Cyrillic script, and beneath them is a devil’s head.
Left index finger: Circle with a dot at its center, just above the middle knuckle
Left middle finger: Rectangle with an Orthodox cross inside, just above the middle knuckle
Left ring finger: Half-black, half-white diamond, just above the middle knuckle
Left pinky finger: Skull, just above the middle knuckle

Equipment
When not costumed, Mikhail carries only a six-inch stiletto, a Zippo lighter, and a small but useful lock picking set, occasionally going so far as to hide a piano wire garrote in one of the pockets along the interior of his pea coat.

When in costume, he carries two Enfield revolvers in shoulder holsters, as well as two pairs of brass knuckles tucked away in his pants pockets. These are in addition to the gear he carries when out of costume; the stiletto strapped to his left wrist, Zippo in his right pocket, and garrote threaded around his belt.

Costume
Mikhail’s costume is about as practical as they come, with absolutely no pomp or flair to it. He wears a black, heavy-knit dockworker’s sweater, beneath which rests hardened leather plates that cover his chest, shoulders, and back. Similar leather guards cover his arms, with painstakingly constructed joints allowing him free movement, and a pair of black leather gloves (thin, so as not to hinder his dexterity) cloak his hands. His pants are equally nondescript, also black and with a few more pockets than his normal pair. A slightly thicker, brown belt hoists up five or six additional small pouches, and black combat boots with padded soles and a lovingly-sewn black balaclava complete the costume.

The thinking behind such a simple costume is its similarity to the standard uniform of many dockworkers, allowing him to blend in and escape pursuers more easily along the riverfront.

+=====+

Mentality


Alignment
Neutral Good

Likes
Vodka: True to his heritage, Mikhail has a definite affinity for drink, vodka in particular, and is capable of consuming a remarkable amount for somebody of his size.

Philosophy: Mikhail spent much of his time in the gulag debating with and learning from an English professor; he finds it both mentally stimulating and enjoyable conversation.

Literature: Often faced with considerable day to day stresses since childhood, Mikhail often finds refuge in books, favoring those by Russian greats such as Dostoyevsky and Tolstoy.

Swimming: Mikhail spent much of his youth along the Neva River in Leningrad, and his time spent there have given him both a love of the water and a talent for swimming.

Dislikes
Communists: Though young at the time, Mikhail has not forgotten who was responsible for the purging of his parents and his own imprisonment. Though he isn’t always forthright about it, he generally loathes anybody who freely chooses a life in service to communism.

Xenophobes: Mikhail shared the gulag with men of all nationalities and ethnicities, and his experiences quickly taught him that no race or state can lay claim to any sort of moral or intellectual superiority.

Insects: While he certainly doesn’t fear them, when you spend most of your time in a small cell that you cannot leave, you tend to develop an unhealthy hatred for unwelcome guests.

Excessive heat: Growing up along the same latitude as Anchorage, Alaska, Mikhail was never really bothered by the cold; however, he often finds himself uncomfortable and restless on days with high heat and humidity.

Fears
Failing to lead a worthy life: Grateful for the fact that his life turned around during and after prison, he cannot bear the thought of returning to a life of selfish crime or falling short of the ideals he has set forth for himself.

Loss of freedom of movement: Having experienced this for a large part of his life, Mikhail has no desire to return to any form of restraint, be it imprisonment or physical paralysis.

Personality
Mikhail tends to wear different faces for different situations. He makes a point of being friendly and open-minded, particularly when meeting new people, but he can easily shift to a cold, threatening demeanor when provoked. Criminal life has taught him that making enemies fear you is critical, and while he has significantly increased his efforts to turn enemies into friends after his transformation in prison, he rarely hesitates to return to his old behavior. A life of poverty, crime, and squalor has also left him with a sense of humor, though one that is often darker than many appreciate.

That said, if one does not make an enemy of him, Mikhail is a remarkably open person, happy to discuss all manner of topics, ranging from intellectual pursuits, philosophy, literature, politics, etc. with anyone he calls a friend. His personality can often seem to reach extremes depending on how one interacts with him; he is incredibly generous, kind, and benevolent with those he perceives to be friends, and brutal, cruel, and violent with those he sees as a threat to himself or those he cares about.

Views
A definite opponent of Stalin’s communist regime, his discussions with White Russians in the gulag left him leaning towards what in Russia constituted a conservative outlook, though he is probably better classified as an adherent of classical liberalism. He’s quite accepting of other ethnicities, nationalities, and lifestyles, if only because he’s seen just about the worst mankind has to offer already. Though raised an Orthodox Christian, he has not attended mass in nearly ten years; he does, however, pray on occasion, though he is hardly certain that there is anybody listening.

Mental Health
Inquisitive to the core, Mikhail’s cunning and curiosity allowed him to rise quickly through the ranks of the bratva, and he continues to put his creative thinking abilities to work as a vigilante. He has been desensitized to violence for years, having committed three murders himself with little remorse. However, he is not a sociopath, and he is occasionally known to show a strong compassionate streak, though his threshold for what constitutes hardship is considerably higher than most, even in war torn London.

Relationships
New to London, Mikhail is single, and it seems unlikely that he’ll be dating any time soon. An only child when his parents were taken in Stalin’s purges, he has no direct family, though he may have more distant relatives left in Russia. He maintains close ties to a small network of former friends from his old smuggling network, both British and Russian. As he is new to London and a latecomer to the vigilante scene, he has no real ties with other heroes or villains.

September: Mikhail (posing as Alex Stanton) had a brief encounter with September out of costume in a BCCP soup kitchen. A slip of his glove while reaching to the floor for a scrap of bread momentarily revealed the Orthodox cross tattooed on his middle finger, a faux pas that September undoubtedly picked up on but chose not to comment on.

Candyman: The Warden has clashed with the Grinning Men once during his tenure in London, staking out one of their smuggling operations and incapacitating a few gang members. He then passed the crates along to one his dock contacts, complete with altered shipping labels. The crates later were later found delivered to Westminster Palace, accompanied by a simple note reading "Courtesy of the Warden."

Sexuality
Heterosexual; open to romantic possibilities, but is more preoccupied with situating himself in his new city and profession than with love or lust.

Mental Strengths
Mikhail is inquisitive and curious, and he never ceases to seek out new things. While this can sometimes get him into trouble, it has done more good than harm and left him with a substantially larger wealth of knowledge than the common Russian criminal. He has no trouble thinking outside the box or engaging in critical thought, and he has a penchant for manipulating and bending legal loopholes to his advantage. Mikhail is also an incredibly capable English speaker, essentially fluent and speaking with little to no accent, which has allowed him to assimilate well into London life.

Mental Weaknesses
Life as a criminal is never easy, and it’s often hard to keep anybody close for an extended period of time. As such, Mikhail is often mistrustful of those who try to befriend him, and while he will remain polite and friendly until they make a direct threat, he will also keep them at arm’s length with regards to anything of importance. When facing threats to himself or to those he cares about, he can also become incredibly angry, threatening and cruel, even in situations where such emotions or actions are uncalled for. This is another relic of criminal and prison life, in which perceived passivity in the face of threats could be a death sentence. While he has tried to make progress on these issues, he has seen little true success.

+=====+

Physicality


Physical Strengths
Mikhail’s real strength lies in his agility. He is remarkably quick on his feet, and his speed has allowed him to best far bigger, stronger men in combat. Leningrad street life taught him the basics of brawling, and he developed a strong affinity for physical combat with age, supported more by his reflexes and dexterity than a brute force he does not possess. His time in prison left him able with a knife, as well. He is also a highly capable swimmer, with remarkable stamina in the water, a leftover from his childhood along the Neva. This increased lung capacity pays dividends when running, as well.

Physical Weaknesses
The shiv that took him beneath his left armpit broke slightly while inside of him, leaving him with a scar that is still fairly sensitive to the touch, let alone to blows, which would likely render him in extreme pain, if not momentarily stunned. He also isn’t particularly strong in terms of sheer lifting ability; if he isn’t able to find a weak spot or an opening on an opponent, his fists are going to have a hard time doing significant damage, regardless of how fast he is. Mikhail has recently discovered that he has a rather nasty pollen allergy, as well.

Physical Health
Mikhail learned the importance of physical fitness in prison and has continued to maintain his body through a series bodyweight exercises, runs, and swims along the Thames. His old shiv wound still bothers him from time to time, especially when irritated, and he generally eats like garbage, a result of poor living conditions more than choice. Alcohol has taken a bit of a toll on his liver, though he has yet to suffer any serious problems from drinking. Pollen allergy aside, he is fortunate enough to be free of any major disease.

+=====+

History


Reason
Once a selfish criminal, Mikhail developed close ties to English professor Alexander Stanton in the Norilsk gulag. Stanton provided the first real intellectual opponent Mikhail had ever faced, challenging Mikhail’s choice of a life of crime and pressuring him to think more deeply about his future. The two were soon debating philosophy extensively; as Mikhail was further exposed to true moral introspection, he began to undergo a transformation. Following his escape from prison, he decided to seek redemption for his past crimes, fleeing to London to avoid political prosecution (and legal persecution) and seek out atonement. He arrived in London a month ago and donned his mask almost immediately thereafter, seeking to use the skills he had obtained as a criminal to improve the life of his fellow man rather than destroy it.

Home
Mikhail lives in a rundown hovel about four blocks into the Wembley district, taking advantage of his status as a Russian in BCCP territory (using an alias, while simultaneously claiming that his Alex Stanton alias was simply to fool unwary Brits) to obtain a home with both a small stove and a separate bathroom, though limited to a dirty sink, shower, and toilet. It does not have electricity, but a small fireplace provides sufficient light at night. He stores vigilante gear and costuming in a secluded, heavily padlocked storage shed in the recesses of London’s docks along the Thames.

Nationality
Russian

Faction
Independent (at least initially, depending on where things go)

Bio
Mikhail was born May 30, 1919 to Aleksander Vladimirovich Kruglov and Natasha Petrovna Kruglova, peasant farmers from the rural outskirts of what was then Petrograd (now Leningrad). He led as pleasant a life as any Russian peasant child could hope for, helping his father with tasks around the farm during the day and taking reading lessons from his mother in the evening. Stalin’s rise to power, however, cut his childhood short; in 1930, the Soviet dictator launched an extensive purge of the kulaks, a class of semi-affluent farmers, and Mikhail’s parents were caught up in the slaughter. Mikhail managed to escape, and at eleven years old he fled to Leningrad an orphan.

In Leningrad he quickly fell in with a street gang, carrying out petty tasks for local crime bosses and spending his free time bloodying the noses of boys from rival syndicates. It was in these early days of his criminal career that his ingenuity and cunning first began to show, and by the time he was sixteen he had developed a number of criminal ventures. He did a brief stint in prison for robbery, but was released as a juvenile in 1936. He was quickly recruited to join the Russian mafia, or bratva.

Mikhail’s time with the bratva was remarkably successful, and he rose through the ranks with ease and guile. He soon found himself taking on the role of a subcaptain in the bratva’s smuggling operations, which included sending arms and supplies from Soviet caches to British black marketers throughout the European continent. Despite a few years of success with the smuggling ring, he was ultimately arrested for his actions in 1939 and, accused of political subversion due to the recipients of the shipments, was sent to the Norilsk gulag. He quickly assimilated into the gulag’s branch of the bratva, and he was awarded the rank of vor v zakone, or “thief in law,” in 1944 for murdering a prison snitch, his second murder after killing a man who tried to rape him during his first week in the gulag.

During his time in the gulag, Mikhail had developed a close friendship with Alexander Stanton, an English expatriate and philosophy professor arrested years ago for associating with the White Russian anti-communist movement. The two men shared an appreciation for literature and philosophy, and Stanton continually challenged Mikhail to more closely examine his life and choices. He taught Mikhail English and moral philosophy, and the pair bonded over Stanton’s old English copy of Dostoyevsky’s Crime and Punishment, one of Mikhail’s favorite works. Mikhail was ultimately convinced by Stanton’s arguments for leading a life of good and promised to do so if he was ever released.

Such a day never came, however, and in 1948 Stanton was brutally murdered by a prison guard for no apparent reason. Mikhail was infuriated, and no longer believing that he could do good in the world without first removing the evil from it, he hatched a plan to escape, strangling the guard who had killed Stanton, stealing his uniform and papers, and fleeing the camp by train. Upon reaching Leningrad he sought out his old smuggling contacts to find passage out of Russia and fled to England, where he took up Stanton’s name as his own. After settling into the BCCP district of London, he donned his mask and began his quest for redemption.

So begins...

Warden's Story

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The Warden

9:45 AM

There can only be one permanent revolution – a moral one; the regeneration of the inner man.



A dull buzz filled the docks, occasionally punctuated by sharp cries and bouts of unruly laughter. Thick, heavy clouds hovered over the river, indistinguishable from the dark, grey smog billowing up from the industrial district just a few short blocks away. A chill occasionally swept in from the river and over the wharfs and piers, sending shivers up the spines of the many men darting back and forth, loading and unloading the smaller shipping crates while monstrous cranes, behemoths of twisted metal and cable, sent the larger containers sailing through the air to their destinations.

The men who worked there knew him as Alexander Stanton, Alex for short. Despite the benefits of Russian nationality in BCCP territory, Mikhail had long ago decided that he would be far less conspicuous as a Brit, and the official who had processed his housing application had agreed. Even then, he had given the clerk the name “Nikolai Fyodorovich Belyakov” as his Russian name. It wouldn’t do to have his real name circulating London; there were still those who would be familiar with his name, especially within London’s small Russian community.

There was, however, one man in the city who knew that behind the many masks was Mikhail Aleksandrovich Kruglov.

“Vasili, you fat prick!” Mikhail shouted with a chuckle, locking the older man in a warm embrace as the two patted each other’s back.

Vasili grasped the back of Mikhail’s head with a gouty, gnarled hand, pulling him in close and whispering in his ear with a thick Russian accent, “Eh, Misha, it is good to see you again!”

Vasili was an older man than Mikhail by nearly twenty-five years, though he had never revealed his actual age. He was about the same height as Mikhail, perhaps an inch shorter, but considerably larger. A remarkably rotund man with a bushy, graying black beard and a thin comb over of similar color, Vasili was what Santa Claus might have looked like in the awkward phase between middle and old age. A loud snort escaped his bulbous nose as another thunderous chortle revealed his yellowed, rotten teeth.

“It is better to see you, old friend. Thank you for the job, it means more to me than you know.” Mikhail reflected on how disappointed Vasili had been when he had arrived in London only to tell his old friend that he would not work as a smuggler again. Vasili had been Mikhail’s criminal contact in London, and the two had met frequently when Vasili accompanied his shipments to and from Leningrad. Thankfully Vasili was an old school vor, and he had taken Mikhail’s insistence that he had left the criminal life with a respectful grace.

Vasili raised a finger, pointing up to the sky. “God would damn me if I did not help such a good friend, Alex.” He placed a momentary emphasis on the alias. “I owe you much, no? It would not be right for me to turn you away. Anyway, come, I show you what job you do here.”

As the pair walked down the docks, Vasili momentarily changed the subject. “So you have seen this Wraith, no? He is an odd one. An American, they say. Did you see the stages on your way here? They are not so far away. Those little shits who follow him everywhere tried to give me a pamphlet. A speech at 9:45, they said. 9:45! It is too early for work, not to mention speeches. Stupid fucks, I say. Should get a job.”

As it happened, Mikhail had passed the massive gathering on his way over. Wraith. Nothing but empty promises and violent chaos. Bastard.

He reminded Mikhail of the Communists, and few types of people irked him more than the Reds. Wraith was no better than Stalin. He promised a revolution that would transform London’s political landscape, but all he would ever deliver was demagogic mob rule and an iron fist. Mikhail had seen it happen firsthand in Russia, and he didn’t intend to allow it to happen in his newly-adopted city.

You’d think the last ten years would have taught Londoners better.

At that moment a series of massive explosions shook the docks, fire erupting from a nearby factory. Both men instinctively dropped to the ground (Vasili with slightly less grace), Mikhail pressing a hand over his hat. As he looked back up, he spotted the flames; he jumped to his feet, slung on his coat (which he had until now been carrying under one arm), and yanked Vasili back up to his feet, struggling under the older man’s weight but succeeding nonetheless.

“Vasili, there might be survivors. We have to go.” He took off at full speed, sprinting towards the nearby factory as Vasili grunted, turning back towards his office on the docks and waddling off, shouting loudly, “You go, good Samaritan. I have business to run.”

Mikhail ignored him. He approached the wrecked remains of the factory, tossing off his coat and hat before noticing the diminutive Japanese woman from the soup kitchen struggling lift a large chunk of rubble. Collecting his things, he dashed over to her, grasping the other side of the wreck and lifting with the full force of his entire body. As the rubble slid upward and off of the ruins, he wiped his brow and nodded at her.

“You seem like you could use some help, friend. No need to work alone.”

With a wink and another deep breath, he grabbed onto the next piece of rubble and began lifting.