Name Nicholai R. Doran
|Eye Color||His right is blue; the left is murky inky black.|
|Physical Description||Appearance matters to those who can afford the maintenance; Nicholai is not one of those esteemed individuals. He is too skinny, a scarecrow whose garments are just as torn and shredded. His face is thin because of his weight, obscured partially by a beard that makes him look much too old for his twenty-five years. His dark hair is often greasy but it serves its purpose: to disguise the cracked and leaky left side of his face, the remains of an incident he would rather not recall. From the cracks ooze a substance that resembles blackish glue.
He wears what he has, creased and wrecked pants and shirts, hopefully a pair of good boots. And always the same long thick trench coat.
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|Equipment & Gadgets|
Personality & Traits
|General Overview||He is a quiet sort of person, standoffish at first and after a while, standoffish still. He isn't quick to reveal anything about himself to others unless he sees good reason to. He is blunt and sarcastic and pessimistic but never insincere. He may withhold the truth but he does not lie.
The effects of the incident come and go. He gets the trembles sometimes, shakes so bad that he feels an earthquake; his senses go funny sometimes, in ways he can't describe, and he gets terrible mood swings. In those instances, he will separate himself from other people.
|Strengths & Weaknesses||He's good with guns, especially for a fella with one functional eye.
Children are a weakness of his. Their honesty and innocence is appealing to him, and in the off-chance he forms a bond with a child, he will protect them at any cost.
|Hobbies & Interests||Back when things were still good, he liked to read little stories. Novels were too much of a bother, too long and complicated. Cooking is enjoyable if not very interesting. Smoking is a vice, whether it be a pipe or a cigarette. And he'll take up sketching every now and again.
Sleeping, though, is the best activity any person could indulge in.
|Personal History||Nicholai's mother was a foreigner to the Old West; his father was a native of the small mining town. They had eight children, seven more than they could ever afford. Nicholai's place was somewhere in the middle, between four girls and three other boys. They got along well enough for a group so large in a small house. As they got older, his siblings were pushed out of the house to make their own livings. The boys went to the coal mines, to go in clean and be shit out covered in black. Some of the girls made good lives, got married and had children, but one or two occasionally strayed into prostitution.
The town where he grew up was poor and uncompromising, a world of traditions that should not be broken. So when Nicholai was found out to have had "improper relations" with another man, a large number of the young men in town took it upon themselves to show him how unclean this behavior was. They strapped him down and poured hot coal into his eye socket, gouging out his eye, melting it from the outside and replacing it with a crude organ that did not see. It was the most excruciating pain, pain he didn't know existed.
Remarkably, he did not die. He ran away, moved from town to town, from the West to a ship that took him to other continents. He bartered whatever he had, things he stole and services he promised. Nicholai might rather be dead, not knowing if existence hurts more than nonexistence.
|Family||He has four sisters and three brothers, none of which he cares much for. If anyone should ask, he has no family. In his opinion, they don't deserve a verbal acknowledgment.|
|Steamhawke Wiki Page||Nick's Page|