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Harran "Razor" Rager

Victorious warriors win first and then go to war, while defeated warriors go to war first and then seek to win.

0 · 421 views · located in Vinlund

a character in “Wilde Jagd”, as played by Jag

Description

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ID Code: 139267


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Full Name: Harran Rager (HAIR-un RAY-gur)
Aliases: Razor
Age: 47
Gender: Male
Rank: Senior Hound -- Training Supervisor

Appearance: Rager stands at 6'2" and clocks in at just over 200 pounds, the thick build of someone who adapted to life where a hardened frame made all the difference in the survival category. Probably once a fairly handsome young man, it is clear that years of age coupled by harsh conditions have weathered him. The "old man" persona isn't one of decrepid age, however, as his frame belies the strength beneath.

The most striking feature, no doubt, is the loss of Rager's right eye, covered by a black patch wrapping through course hair and an accompanying beard.

Skills: Rager is proficient in just about all aspects of soldiering, his years of experience in the field having embued in him the necessary traits for coming back time and time again, often when others did not. Firearms training, physical conditioning, and combat tactics replaced much of the softer and more refined knowledge others gained during the same time.

Rager has developed into quite effective instructor despite his harsh and demanding methods.

Witch Mutation/s (If Character is a Witch): N/A

Preferred Equipment: Rager seldom rises for breakfast without a combat knife strapped against his outer leg and a large caliber pistol as a stand-off weapon. He takes great care in the handling, storing, and maintenance of Hound weaponry.

He's also been known to enjoy cigars whenever they are able to find them.

Weaknesses: Rager is not a politically-adept individual and lacks the ability to smooth over situations or exercise social finess. Additionally, there is no question that he has lost a step after decades of fighting, physical punishment, and pain.

He lacks the technical skills to be anything more than barely-competent using computers or advanced technologies.

Persona: Gruff, difficult, demanding. An untenable ass. There was a reason most of the Pups knew Harran Rager simply as "Razor" Rager. His tutelage was not a course undergone lightly, either physically or emotionally. With an outward-stated goal to drive out anyone seeking to become a Hound that wasn't truly ready to serve as war dog, Rager isn't exactly the most popular among those in training, but a grudging respect has been known to develop over time with those strong enough to stick it out, learning that Rager's methods made them survivors.

In the end, Rager takes his assignment very seriously and, although hidden by practiced loathing, cares deeply for the future of the Jagd and those willing to carry its banner as Hounds. The loss of those beneath him have created layer of psychological scars matching external ones, although far harded to analyze and heal.

Among his fellow Hounds, Rager's attitude is more than of a pragmatic realist. Never one to sugarcoat, Ragar asks questions others would often prefer to go unspoken. His lack of political skill have often prevented him from moving higher in the ranks when opportunities arose.

Actually possessing a decent sense of humor when not in "Razor" mode, his deep, crackling laugh can be contagious.

Known History: Rager's history to most within the Jagd is that of a frontline Hound who continued to come back time and time again. He speaks little of this time prior to joining them and those who probably did know his history have either moved on or been around long enough to know better than to try prying it out of "the Razor."

His insitutional knowledge from decades of experience are regarding as a useful tool for those that know how to get it out of him.

So begins...

Harran "Razor" Rager's Story

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Character Portrait: Harran "Razor" Rager Character Portrait: Oren
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#, as written by Jag
Harren "Razor" Rager
Hunter's Case -- The Core
Barracks


Awake. Not the calm, refreshing wake of a sleeper rising from a long slumber after the body recharged and brought itself to face the day on its own terms. Not the begrudging, stubborn resistance of a sleeper dragged awake when slumber beckoned for a continued embrace. Not the startled wake of a sleeper jolted forward by a sudden sound crashing through the barrier of an otherwise pleasant slumber.

No, Rager awoke into the paralyzing embrace of an absolute and ineffable fear. The wake of one broken by a nightmare such that the sleeper's eyes break, but the rest of the body remains completely still as if restrained by whatever demons the sleep imagined from the cover of night. The wake of one for whom the mouth opened only to find the voice, the ability to scream, had been stolen and held hostage by the those same demons.

This was the way Rager awoke, the man with demons plenty enough to stay with him for the remainder of his days among those on the surface of the world still turning. Eventually, the demons released their hold, the conscious mind finally firing with synapses of waking logic that broke through the hold, the paralysis, the demons, with the simple thoughts that broke through all such nightmares. Words of comfort, supposedly.

It was all just a dream.

Rager rose to the spartan accomodations of his portion of the Barracks, feet finding the floor and the boots positioned perfectly a few inches to the left within seconds. Not quite the literally definitely of sleeping with one's boots on, but close enough. The man rose and stretched, a back pain that hadn't slept with him for many years now rising with him like a faithful companion. Or a nagging wife.

Rager dressed in the darkness and relative silence of the sleeping world. There were days he would have trainees awake for more than an hour already, going through the paces. No such luck today, no Pups to train into true, proper Hounds. No, today was a day for the field. A good day to die, the old Hound thought to himself and he placed the patch down over where a right eye had once glared at the world.

Stepping out into the light of the morning, Rager cleared his throat and spit off to the side. Maybe today would be the day the nightmares finally called Rager home. Or just another story, one to twist and relive in sleeping hours. And waking ones, too.

Speaking of bad dreams. Rager heard crunching footsteps and looked down the path to see a very familiar face. Scrunching his features together with a hard swallow of the morning, he address the early-risen face of Oren.

"Think you strayed a bit far from the cave. You do know this is where the real work is?"

Setting

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Character Portrait: Harran "Razor" Rager Character Portrait: Oren Character Portrait: Vera
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Vera gave the lace of her vambrace a final sharp tug, feeling the plated leather hug firm to her forearm through her long cotton sleeve before tying off a deft knot with one hand. She rolled up onto her toes to reach her satchel where it lay on the top shelf, her feet feeling similarly snug in a pair of sturdy, flexible ankle-cut boots. Her hand touched the cold metal of the door handle, and she smiled at the sting of the sun in her eyes.

Vera Tetchneri had always been a morning person. Shutting off the delicious sensory input of being alive for the sake of sleep had always felt like a pitiful waste of time. She jogged to the meeting point, making her own breeze to cool and dry her short, metal-blonde hair, which still hung slightly damp from her earlier quick douse at the water pump.

Her manner seemed more akin to heading out for a morning of leisure than the arduous work of travel and risk. It would be hard to find any trace of the sobriety that probably should have been warranted, considering the relatively high likelihood of dying on the job. But she loved the job. She lived for the field.

Which was probably why seeing a lab rat outside took her aback a bit.

Vera caught Rager's sarcastic remark, so she announced her approach by replying, in her far North accent, "Ease up. You cannot be blaming her for wanting to be where fun happens." She looked at Oren, and managed to seem to be looking down her nose a bit despite the fact that she was a solid half a foot shorter than the researcher. "Kovalenko, yes?"

She trusted an explanation was in order. She dearly hoped this wouldn't slow them down.

The setting changes from The Core to Vinlund

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Harran "Razor" Rager Character Portrait: Nadel Character Portrait: Oren Character Portrait: Vera
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Jall - Vinlund - Three Days Prior

The room was full of lit candles, but it somehow still seemed dim. At its center sat a wooden table, adorned with dancing candles of its own, which illuminated a map that lay spread open on the table's surface. Two individuals stood on either side of the table, both appearing to examine the map closely. One of them was a rather corpulent man, though he seemed to wear the weight well. He had a large mustache that not only seemed finely waxed and cared for, but it also must have been perfumed, for the person opposite of this man could smell the fragrance wafting over the stale air, boasting.

"Now, as you likely know by now, for you surely would not be standing here in front of me if you didn't know, we've been having some, how would you say, issues with some of our trade routes. More specifically, we've been receiving reports about attacks on the route that runs through Vindolanda here-" the man leaned forward over the map to examine it briefly before pointing to one of the numerous lines that decorated it, "and even moreso on the route that runs through the mountains a bit further to the East, here." His finger hovered over the map until it located another one of the many lines and he tapped it.

"I know I don't have to go into the details of just how important it is for these trade routes to be clear of such threat, and normally this would be a problem we could solve on our own," a blatant lie, which both parties present knew, "we're just spread a little thin right now."

The other person, a woman clad in armor and hair the color of straw, remained quiet and attentive as the man spoke, though her brow was furrowed. She held up a flat palm to the man as he finished speaking, as if to halt him from any further speaking.

"Captain, I did not think that I would need to clarify to you again that I'm a diplomat here and not some blade for hire. You must stop calling me here under false pretenses, especially when there are other Hounds you could just as easily employ in my stead."

The captain gaped at her for a moment before gathering himself and beginning to shake his head.

"The very reason I summoned you, Nadel, is because of your diplomacy. Maybe you can reason with these people, convince them to help guard the routes in exchange for coin." Another bold faced lie, another they both recognized.

"I'm sorry, captain, but no. I'm going to take my leave now, because your waste of my time has admittedly insulted me, but I will still do you a service and pass along your troubles to a Hound that's more suited to do something about it. Good day."




En Route to Vindolando - Vinlund - The Next Day

She was on horseback now, heading South due for The Core. She was on one of the more prominent trade routes that ran through Vinlund, the very same the captain had referenced the previous night. It went through Vindolando, a bordertown located just north of the foot of the mountains that separated the two provinces. The peak of these mountains was known as Mount Koan, a name she was told meant "great doubt". She examined the stark peak and supposed it was rather foreboding, so she could see how it could inspire a great amount of doubt in a person.

Neither her or her steed were any stranger to passage through the mountains, however, so she saw it fit to appropriate prepare for the task when she arrived in Vindolando.




Vindolando - Vinlund - Some Time Later

After arriving in the little bordertown, Nadel sought after what few provisions she required. When she had done so, she momentarily considered the possibility of staying overnight at the inn and setting off early in the morning, but figured it'd be wasteful of her to not travel as far as she could before actually growing tired. So her time in Vindolando came to a rather hasty end and she continued.




Camp - The Borders - That Night

Nadel found herself grateful for her armor's lack of heat dispersion that night, as the mountains grew cold once the sun declined below the horizon. She had stopped to make campground, in a place long familiar to this sort of treatment. Her movement as she flitted about to gather firewood and then subsequently worked to build it up kept her warm, so warm that she considered sleeping in it. As she ate a modest meal of cheese and bread, her consideration turned into a decision. She curled up near the fire and slept after.

She woke early and set out, surmising that she'd be back home by the next morning.




Hunter's Castle - Barracks - Present

Once Nadel arrived at Hunter's Castle, the first thing she did was return her horse to the stables, parting from her equestrian companion with a pat on its muzzle. From there it was straight to the barracks. She had decided to skip sleep that night to finish up the final leg of her journey, so its call tugged at the back of her mind as she trudged onward. The sun had only begun to rise, but Nadel knew of at least one certain individual that would be up at this hour, and he was the perfect candidate to pass the information she had received in Vinlund onto.

Considering the barracks were East, she angrily squinted against the sun's rays as they shone over the ramparts. The walk wasn't a long one compared to the journey she had just taken, and when she set down what could be considered the final path before coming upon the barracks, she was somewhat surprised to see two more people than she had expected. As she approached, all were recognized, but only one mattered to her at the moment.

Harran "Razor" Rager. A Senior Hound and a man Nadel thought more than fit enough to become a knight such as herself. She clenched a fist and held her arm against against her chest, her armor clanking appropriately as she did so. She held this in a brief salute to the others and then dropped it, immediately addressing Razor.

"Sir, may the morning greet you well. I bring word from Vinlund, some of our established trade routes suffer from bandit attack and they require assistance in the form of steel."