Erevan was born in Vyrkova to Lia and Tyana Siannodel, provisioners to the household of
Vladislav Anchabadze IX. While not nobility himself, he grew up around the castle, interacting with guards, staff, and the occasional noble down in the kitchens for a snack. He saw his parents gain the eye of the nobility by shrewdly getting to know the preferences of each one, and keeping such supplies on hand. While his family made only incremental movement in the hierarchy of the castle help, Erevan dreamed of surpassing his parent’s mercantile efforts. Carefully, he took note of what the nobility, or their powerful hangers on, wanted, and began to search out how he could be the one to supply these rare goods instead. He wheedled his way into libraries, charmed experts to reveal to him tidbits and stories, and studied and studied books of lore, of geography, or herbalism, absorbing the names, uses, and locations of any of a variety of flora, fauna, and minerals.
He made use of his skills in little ways as he and his family ventured around Ruskovich, meeting with suppliers and occasionally putting his skills to good use. Building on the base that his parents supplied, he began to procure more and more difficult to obtain items for the nobility of Ruskovich and making a name for himself. He found he liked the prestige, and with his prestige he began to make friends. No movers and shakers, but minor nobility, second sons and third daughters. The kind of nobles who like to have a good time, and waste good gold to consume the rare and boutique. And Erevan could provide. He was spring for a few years like this, disappearing to source his goods, and circling back to party and slowly dole out the good stuff. He gradually broke away from his parents, who stayed on the straight and narrow and kept working their little corner of things.
Erevan passed his 20s like this, never getting in too deep, but being a useful hanger on to a group of hangers on. He honed his skills, gaining access to more and more libraries and hearing more strange stories from the varied people who come to Ruskovich to be entertained. And this was the capital, after all. Many people came.
It’s here everything spiralled down for Erevan. One late night after some soiree, he opted to go to one of the libraries to read a book of some lore he had just been delivered - the staff rarely cared if he stayed late, usually at the behest of some of some noble. He entered, and began reading, until he fell asleep in a corner of the stacks. He awoke to hushed voices. Not wanting to be discovered, he hid, hoping they’d leave.
“Do you mean to say it’s true, Vorotynsky? The bastard exists?”
“Yes, my old friend. And she’s abroad. But after so long the divinations are clear. And this thread can be tied up.”
Barely able to contain himself, Erevan made to escape, using his stealth skills he’d honed over time. But almost as he made the door, he jostled a table, and darted out of the room as heads turned his way. Without even a look back, he ran.
Even the common folk know the Winter Court is a den of belyi medved. Hungry ones, at that. One such as he could easily go missing for even being suspected of hearing such a secret. Hoping that it would be some time before he was recognized, if ever, he made to leave. Perhaps to some smaller city where the currents did not go so deep.
With but a brief stop at his apartment to gather what gold he could carry, and some of his favorite books, he made his way out of Vrykova, but not before he felt the cold chill of some magic directed his way, and the feeling of being watched. He fled West, and the sense of being watched grew ever stronger. He made use of his survival skills, camping rough when towns were not near, and trying to stay ahead of whatever might pursue him, but to no avail. It was deep in the barrier forests along the border of Patlov when his pursuers caught up to him. Veiled shapes barely seen through the mists as Erevan stumbled deeper and deeper into the primeval forest to escape his pursuers, praying to Akmon for justice, and finally Barasios for a deal. The mist swirled then, and Erevan found himself buffeted by a stiff wind as the mist parted and revealed a strange archaic edifice. What appeared to be a small foregn manor house appeared in the woods, flanked by high towers peaked with bulbous domed roofs. Doors and windows stood open, without any of the necessary insulation a proper home would need in the harsh lands of Ruskovich. He stole inside, finding the place eerily empty and breezy, but hearing snippets of conversations in a stange language drifting from other rooms, and shadows suggesting other beings just out of sight. Alarmed, Erevan rushed to make his way through the manor, only to hear the breeze whisper
“I can protect you, son of the Fey. Bind yourself to me, and phenomenal cosmic power shall be yours. Only swear.”
Panicked, Erevan blurted out “I swear, just get me out of this.”
The wind blew even harder, and whispered again “Take his as a token of our bond.”
Almost as though the air stitched it together itself, the wind coalesced into a glass and chrome jar, perfect and otherworldly. As Erevan grabbed it, he felt something pour into him, a power unlike any he had known. But the wind blew, forcing him out and away from the manor, and pulling the fog tightly around him.
He continued running, blindly, terrified, led only by the wind. Things loomed in the fog, new dangers just beyond his senses, but he was protected. He made like this for days, weeks even. Close scrapes saw him lose much of his pack, his precious books, and his coin. But at long last the fog thinned, and he found himself in Patlov. Nearly penniless, disheveled, and alone. But alive.
He made his way West, trying to put as much distance as he could between himself and anyone who might be looking for him. His demeanor and lack of coin were a stark contrast to his manners and demeanor, but they helped him little. He had little to offer, and his knowledge of the wilds and of useful goods was less and less applicable the further he roamed. He begged rides in haycarts, did odd jobs, and finally found himself in Eisen. His first nights were spent in culverts or flop houses, and he has barely gotten his feet underneath him even two years later. He’s rented a small apartment and sectioned off part to double as an office, and taught himself the local names and geography so he can put his voluminous knowledge to use and regain the prestige he once had.
Contract transferred to Akilah Easifatan in December. Tasked with tracking down a noble who trapped her to power eletech.
Found pieces of the eletech device, he's seen the noble's face, he saw the size of the wagon, and knows he is a noble.
Vladislav Anchabadze IX. While not nobility himself, he grew up around the castle, interacting with guards, staff, and the occasional noble down in the kitchens for a snack. He saw his parents gain the eye of the nobility by shrewdly getting to know the preferences of each one, and keeping such supplies on hand. While his family made only incremental movement in the hierarchy of the castle help, Erevan dreamed of surpassing his parent’s mercantile efforts. Carefully, he took note of what the nobility, or their powerful hangers on, wanted, and began to search out how he could be the one to supply these rare goods instead. He wheedled his way into libraries, charmed experts to reveal to him tidbits and stories, and studied and studied books of lore, of geography, or herbalism, absorbing the names, uses, and locations of any of a variety of flora, fauna, and minerals.
He made use of his skills in little ways as he and his family ventured around Ruskovich, meeting with suppliers and occasionally putting his skills to good use. Building on the base that his parents supplied, he began to procure more and more difficult to obtain items for the nobility of Ruskovich and making a name for himself. He found he liked the prestige, and with his prestige he began to make friends. No movers and shakers, but minor nobility, second sons and third daughters. The kind of nobles who like to have a good time, and waste good gold to consume the rare and boutique. And Erevan could provide. He was spring for a few years like this, disappearing to source his goods, and circling back to party and slowly dole out the good stuff. He gradually broke away from his parents, who stayed on the straight and narrow and kept working their little corner of things.
Erevan passed his 20s like this, never getting in too deep, but being a useful hanger on to a group of hangers on. He honed his skills, gaining access to more and more libraries and hearing more strange stories from the varied people who come to Ruskovich to be entertained. And this was the capital, after all. Many people came.
It’s here everything spiralled down for Erevan. One late night after some soiree, he opted to go to one of the libraries to read a book of some lore he had just been delivered - the staff rarely cared if he stayed late, usually at the behest of some of some noble. He entered, and began reading, until he fell asleep in a corner of the stacks. He awoke to hushed voices. Not wanting to be discovered, he hid, hoping they’d leave.
“Do you mean to say it’s true, Vorotynsky? The bastard exists?”
“Yes, my old friend. And she’s abroad. But after so long the divinations are clear. And this thread can be tied up.”
Barely able to contain himself, Erevan made to escape, using his stealth skills he’d honed over time. But almost as he made the door, he jostled a table, and darted out of the room as heads turned his way. Without even a look back, he ran.
Even the common folk know the Winter Court is a den of belyi medved. Hungry ones, at that. One such as he could easily go missing for even being suspected of hearing such a secret. Hoping that it would be some time before he was recognized, if ever, he made to leave. Perhaps to some smaller city where the currents did not go so deep.
With but a brief stop at his apartment to gather what gold he could carry, and some of his favorite books, he made his way out of Vrykova, but not before he felt the cold chill of some magic directed his way, and the feeling of being watched. He fled West, and the sense of being watched grew ever stronger. He made use of his survival skills, camping rough when towns were not near, and trying to stay ahead of whatever might pursue him, but to no avail. It was deep in the barrier forests along the border of Patlov when his pursuers caught up to him. Veiled shapes barely seen through the mists as Erevan stumbled deeper and deeper into the primeval forest to escape his pursuers, praying to Akmon for justice, and finally Barasios for a deal. The mist swirled then, and Erevan found himself buffeted by a stiff wind as the mist parted and revealed a strange archaic edifice. What appeared to be a small foregn manor house appeared in the woods, flanked by high towers peaked with bulbous domed roofs. Doors and windows stood open, without any of the necessary insulation a proper home would need in the harsh lands of Ruskovich. He stole inside, finding the place eerily empty and breezy, but hearing snippets of conversations in a stange language drifting from other rooms, and shadows suggesting other beings just out of sight. Alarmed, Erevan rushed to make his way through the manor, only to hear the breeze whisper
“I can protect you, son of the Fey. Bind yourself to me, and phenomenal cosmic power shall be yours. Only swear.”
Panicked, Erevan blurted out “I swear, just get me out of this.”
The wind blew even harder, and whispered again “Take his as a token of our bond.”
Almost as though the air stitched it together itself, the wind coalesced into a glass and chrome jar, perfect and otherworldly. As Erevan grabbed it, he felt something pour into him, a power unlike any he had known. But the wind blew, forcing him out and away from the manor, and pulling the fog tightly around him.
He continued running, blindly, terrified, led only by the wind. Things loomed in the fog, new dangers just beyond his senses, but he was protected. He made like this for days, weeks even. Close scrapes saw him lose much of his pack, his precious books, and his coin. But at long last the fog thinned, and he found himself in Patlov. Nearly penniless, disheveled, and alone. But alive.
He made his way West, trying to put as much distance as he could between himself and anyone who might be looking for him. His demeanor and lack of coin were a stark contrast to his manners and demeanor, but they helped him little. He had little to offer, and his knowledge of the wilds and of useful goods was less and less applicable the further he roamed. He begged rides in haycarts, did odd jobs, and finally found himself in Eisen. His first nights were spent in culverts or flop houses, and he has barely gotten his feet underneath him even two years later. He’s rented a small apartment and sectioned off part to double as an office, and taught himself the local names and geography so he can put his voluminous knowledge to use and regain the prestige he once had.
Contract transferred to Akilah Easifatan in December. Tasked with tracking down a noble who trapped her to power eletech.
Found pieces of the eletech device, he's seen the noble's face, he saw the size of the wagon, and knows he is a noble.
Appearance
Mentality
Personality
The major events and journals in Erevan's history, from the beginning to today.
The list of amazing people following the adventures of Erevan.
Social