Mikhail Tchovsky, from The Remnants, a roleplay on RPG

Mikhail Tchovsky

Physical appearance

Age: 24

Mikhail is a tall, broad-shouldered man, built like a brick wall. He is around 6 feet tall, plus a few inches, and well over 200 pounds. He is hardly slender, but not overly bulky, and capable of quiet, quick movements. Mikhail usually sports a rough beard, and doesn't enjoy shaving on a regular basis. He is also quite dirty, not seeming to mind the lack of bathing availability. Typically, he is covered up in dark colors - filthy canvas jeans, tattered boots, and a lightweight jacket and scarf. He doesn't seem to mind the heat, but does resent sunburns, and tries to keep covered from the unyeilding sun.

Personality

Fears: Mikhail greatly fears death - it's his highest motivation. Aside from his panic regarding his own mortality, Mikhail's only other true fear is his past crimes.

Comforts: He enjoys a good book here and there, and the calm of hunting game.

Priorities: Mikhail seeks to extend his life as long as possible, and has no qualms with how he has to do so.

Soft spot: He harbors a soft spot for children, under the age of 13.

Greatest strength: Mikhail's physical prowess and lack of morals leaves him atop a pile of bodies. He is ruthless, focused, and can get a job done efficiently and quickly. He is intelligent and a fast learner.

Greatest vulnerability or weakness: He is rash to act, quick-thinking, and often is too harsh with words. Mikhail's lack of trust in others has left him untrusted in return, and can make him seem abbraisive and aggressive, even arrogant.

Biography
Mikhail grew up in rural British Columbia, in a mountain town. He was lovingly raised by his parents as an only child, graduated high school proudly, has an associate's degree in economics, and was happily engaged to a woman. Upon the day of the Rapture, Mikhail woke to find his beloved gone, his parents unresponsive, and his neighborhood all but empty. Quickly realizing the gravity of the situation, Mikhail packed his things, 'procured' supplies and simple weaponry from other neighbors' homes, and set off down south, following a trail of clues left behind in U.S government buildings. He came upon the empty American embassy, and then the capitol buildings, before reaching the northern border of California. He isn't sure what he's looking for, but answers are driving him further and further away from home.

Sin
Wrath

Face Character
Tyler Hoechlin

Mikhail Tchovsky's Story

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Setting

Apocalyptic Earth

Characters Present

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#2014-08-01 02:10:56, as written by MysterySnail

The sun peaked at the highest point in the sky, crowned by a few wistful clouds that glimmered orange. Since the Reckoning, the sky was an unfamiliar, dangerous orange, as if the sun were perpetually setting. Even at night, in the dark, the stars and the moon were eternally yellowed. Clouds were scarce - burned away by the waves of heat radiating from the crust of the baking planet.

Mikhail stared up at the sun, a calloused, square hand shielding his face from it's scalding glare. His cheeks were pinked under his beard, his nose peeling a little. Light eyes contrasted with the steep shadows of his rapidly aging face. The sun beat upon him like a lash, and he nearly reeled back from the heat. It seeped through his dark clothing, sticking his boots to his socks and his feet, slicking his unruly dark hair down to his skull and forehead. He almost resented his choice in clothing, if not for the lack of burns across his body. He could handle the irritation on his face and hands. The road spilled out before him, sprawling like the web of a spider stretched a little too thin. He had come to the top of a hill, and stared down the country road, through the fir trees and past the bones of cattle that had grazed in a field a few hundred feet from the hilltop. The fir trees were withering, crisped by the sun. They engulfed a few fields of yellow grass that bubbled off of the slithering asphalt highway. The Southbound was potholed and cracked, if not from the sun, then by trucks. In the distance, smoke billowed from the national forest. He could smell the cinder even five miles away.

The road is unforgiving, he thought, looking at the wear on his boots. Granted, he had walked more than a thousand miles in two weeks. He licked his cracking lips and tore his gaze from the sky. From the hill he could see the valley - the small settlement town, the blaze in the west, fields, the southbound to Los Angeles. He resumed walking, ignoring the twinge of pain from his blisters and bruises. The city of angels. How ironic, he sighed, walking beneath an overpass sign. It was still a month's journey to the gleaming city, the central hub, but he hardly let that bite at his mind.

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