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Server time (UTC): 2020-01-24, 18:40 WE ARE RECRUITING
Vasily Gregachev
Character information
  1. Mental
    Carried away
  2. Morale
    Jaded, completely jaded
  3. Date of birth
    1983-10-01 (36 years old)
  4. Place of birth
    Казань (Kazan), Tatarstan Russia
  5. Nationality
  6. Ethnicity
    Eastern backgrounds
  7. Languages
    Russian, Chernarussian, and English
  8. Relationship
    A dead woman
  9. Family
    Those whom he could find
  10. Religion
    Eastern Orthodox (Non-practicing)


  1. Height
    180 cm
  2. Weight
    63 kg
  3. Build
  4. Hair
    Short and unkempt
  5. Eyes
    Harboring darkness
  6. Alignment
    Chaotic Neutral
  7. Occupation


October 1st, 1983 - Act I

I was born from Kazan, western Russia. Although it was a fairly large city, I always knew there was nothing there for me. My sweet Mother raised me and my siblings alone, a seamstress from the East. My father liked to refer to himself as "Dignitarian" and we barely saw the man whilst he tried to forget his mistaken spawn. The years crept through me, I was lowborn, my mother made dollars a day, my younger brothers and sister asking me difficult questions, it must have been no surprise when I started coming home with loaves of bread in my pockets, spare change. I was always been an estranged boy, in my genes, a father who didn't want me in a world where I was looked down upon the same as my mother, my siblings of different fathers.

What little friends I had made were nothing if not fare-weathered. We would likely cause trouble in the Gorki metro any given afternoon, but as soon as authority boots were pounding the concrete I never ran along side my friends, I ran to catch up. It might have been my dwindling reputation, or my mother's evening habits with strange men. But all the more piled up and once the arrangements were made, my father left the city, and he left the persecutions of my mother with it. I never saw him again.

September 30th, 2001  - Act II

I was no longer a boy in my mind, I had grown enough to call myself a man among my peers, but my peers were much less than. same as I perhaps. What age I had overcome I made with a talent for taking things, doing what I must to keep my mother and siblings alive turned into greed. I was overcome with animosity for my home, for my father's whim to leave, for my sister's complaining about bullies. I was the oldest, I was the man of the house though I made boyish decisions, and I would come to wish I had learned from my lessons through the years.

After a school filled day of failing classes and detentions, I found myself under bridges and tunnels with those same loud boys. We had come to respect one another to a point, I would always start off a round of nightly antics with kicking over trashcans, but it only escalated from there. My mother hated those long nights and my siblings worried over my darkening path, but I was a boy, who made boyish decisions, irreparable decisions. I didn't care of the smug and self centered truth as I celebrated my birthday with those boys during the fall, one of the boys had glued his fingers to bottles of rancid liquor outside of a shop, another had planned to yell into the park until the sun rose again, I felt I had finally found myself as the alcohol poured and the mental replays of my mother's scoldings unfastened. But I was a reckless boy, and my undisciplined urgency led us to drunkenly robbing a man of his car, the feeling of his keys in my hand, he was pushed away, and I sincerely froze as I was pushed towards, towards the door of the car. The mood was different as we sped off, my friends yelped and applauded, we felt of men. But running over trashcans in nightly antics was much different than kicking, and once the police had stopped us they knew to give me up entirely, and so they had. The liquor was mine, the robbery was my idea, I had driven through all of those mailboxes and trash bins. We were going to celebrate until the sun came up, with my true friends, I had known that my mother's words were useless, and that my dreams of leaving Kazan would come true. Only one of those were true as I spent my eighteenth birthday being processed into the next two years of prison. Only my first time to visit.

December 14th, 2003 - Act III

I was released from Matrosskaya





Vasily wears a suit of mixed Russian prison tattoos:

A mundane dagger over his collar bones, sticking through his neck
Scrupulous writing over his sternum reading "О Боже
, защити и спаси своего слугу"
The Alexander Nevsky Cathedral spanning between his back shoulder blades
A woman lifting her own skirt across his left sided ribcage
Crumbling brickwork across his lower abdomen/bellybutton
A faded green serpent coiled over his right bicep
A ring over his left handed index finger, a red colored jewel in the centerpiece
A ring over his right hand middle finger, the Orthodox cross embedded in a coffin
A black band over his left wrist
The theater masks of Thalia and Melpomene on either thigh
"Улыбнись и используй другой день" wrap his right ankle in tall lettering
An iron binding wraps his left ankle
Coupled skulls on each foot top


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