"Van"

**Class(es)**
 **Level**
 **Alignment**
 **Sheet Link**
 **Height**
 **Aliases**

*"Hardest part about doing nothing is having to wait and watch other people do it for you. Then you've* really *got nothing to show for it."*

## Appearance

At a glance, Van strikes a distinctive and stentorian image that can be a might intimidating. His is a figure broad and stocky, possessed of a carefree demeanor attributed to one inured to worldly travails. Much, if not all of his body is clad in aged plate, nigh featureless and tirelessly stoic. Along his arms and over his chest sit caged orbs, similar in hue to the brilliant cyan of his eyes. In all this, along with numerous mechanisms within his arms and legs and an aura more magical than human lends him an appearance somewhat unnatural*—*a facet he makes no effort to hide.

In a similar vein, he makes no secret of his calling. Where some favor proper, more fanciful attire, Van is almost never without arms and equipment, preferring the familiar weight and comfort of tools and blade to the vulnerability of being without either.

One could be forgiven for dismissing him as little more than a brute, whilst the more attentive might notice a number of effects atypical of a simple fighter present on his person. A pair of hard-bound books cling to his waist on the ends of small chains; a varried assortment of tools peek out of his pack, appearing a little worn but otherwise very well-maintained. Most, if not all of his equipment carries a fresh and polished gleam.

## Personality

Despite the austerity of his appearance, Van is a soul some would consider ‘eccentric’ even in modesty. Beneath a general candor of aloofness, he is an easygoing man who meets the world with light-heartedness and joviality; all while lacking a sense of responsibility. He often appears at ease no matter his circumstances, leading others to think him either some measure of detached or arrogant—both answers Van flatly refuses to dispute.

On account of his nature as an Ironwrought, he is prone to powerful streaks of restlessness during moments of down-time, which themselves often wind up getting him into trouble. By result, he strives to keep himself busy whenever possible. When there is little else in need of doing, he can usually be found either hunting (should such be possible), reading or practicing with anything ranging from weapons to attempting (and failing, more often than not) to learn new trades.

Regardless of whatever impressions his attitude may convey, Van takes an objective view of the world, and though he is all too mindful of the cruelty within it, he takes unto himself the onus of changing his woes into something happier. While in the presence of others, he regards nearly all interactions as a game of reciprocity. Act in poor taste, and those you’ve slighted will respond in kind. By consequence, he regards others with stoic neutrality—while within, he cares more than even he may be willing to admit. Van is fiercely loyal to his word, and expects similar standards from his friends and allies. He is also rather intolerant of internecine, or pointless, conflict, and holds outright contempt for treason without regard for motives or context.

Though he makes every effort to appear content and without troubles, Van recognizes that he, as a man turned machine, will forever exist as something of an outsider in society;  believing that with the physical vestiges of his humanity went any chance he had of building truly meaningful relationships with other people. That doesn’t stop him from trying occasionally, of course, but to date no efforts have been successful.

That's a bummer.

## Background

The boy who would eventually become "Van" was born an unknown number of years back, to a stable family living in a farmstead somewhere far from the frontier; both more haze now than true memory. As his parent's eldest and only son, he was saddled with tough expectations early on. From his father, he learned discipline, obeying the same mentality given him by a long and eventful career in the military, whilst his mother saw to his education and judgement. He also attended a middling-resource school within a neighboring town, being one of a sparse handful of children with similar circumstances. Despite his rugged life and the strain of balancing both academics and farm work, he became an accomplished student.

During his childhood years, Van was unrelentingly headstrong and deeply resourceful, determined to not only meet, but overcome any and all obstacles in his path. His stubborn attitude left him with a remarkably stunted circle of friends, but to those few who stood by him, he was fiercely loyal and dependable. Sorana, a girl only one year his younger and by far the most fulfilling, entered his life after his seventh winter had passed. More than any other, she instilled calm in his heart, tempering his youthful impetuousness with an attitude gentler, and more thoughtful. Where he saw little of worth, she saw nuances he hadn't thought possible; what he repeatedly took for granted, she helped him learn to appreciate. Their bond developed quickly, growing with them well into their teenage years. Before long, the two of them were an inseparable team, and would spend long hours of their days off in the fields of Van's farm or somewhere off in the woods. Sorana had a penchant for the arts, and would regularly use these moments to capture whatever caught her fancy. Of everything that transpired between them, her drawings stick and the awe he felt upon seeing them, stick with Van to this very day.

When his coming of age finally arrived, Van set his mind on thoughts of marriage. With his parents' blessings, he soon went to propose, and was elated to have his feelings requited. High on the rush of life, he threw all of his caution to the wind. Just three days before the hour of his wedding, Van held a celebration with his would-be wife and several childhood friends. The lot of them were swiftly lost in their cups, and Van, in a fit of drunken bravery, challenged one friend*—*now a member of the town watch*—*to drink 'with a flaming tankard' with a wager. The resulting blaze ignited the tavern, which began crumbling over their heads. Forced to pick between his friends and his wife-to-be, he chose the latter, though not before she sustained life-threatening injuries. Once she was secure, he doubled back, but was caught by a fallen beam a few paces beyond the doorway and knocked unconscious.

He did not wake for a week, tormented all throughout by terrible dreams and visions. When at last he returned to his senses, he was greeted not by wood and ash, but by bandages, and cool sheets. Over him loomed his father, radiating a disapproval so palpable Van could not bring himself to lift his gaze. In words harsh but calm, he was told he was being sent off to join the military, that he might one day make good upon the debt he now owed the town and his family. Despite his best efforts, he could gather no information on Sorana, or the men he could not pull from the fires.

After several long days spent in silence, he shipped off burdened heavily by the life he threw away.

Van struggled for a long time with the one that took its place. The physical aspect of training as a soldier did not trouble him overmuch, for long years of menial labor more than prepared him for such rigors. Nay, some part of his mind rebelled, raging for nothing more than a chance to erase what had happened. Thus, he had great difficulty building a rapport with his fellow trainees, who 'affectionately' lent him every manner of names for his distant behavior.

Over time, the walls he'd built between himself and those around him began to crumble. He made good with another trainee, Grant, and the two eventually found friendship despite Van's efforts to dissuade him. Van took a liking to Grant's stubbornness, seeing in him some of his former self. His companionship meant trouble more often than not, but Van quickly learned to how and when to set Grant straight. They trained together regularly, soon becoming proficient at what the latter often described as playing 'whack the farmer'.

Slowly, Van managed to bury some of his aching scars.

Together, both were eventually assigned to the same unit, taking the first real steps down a long and soon-to-be eventful military career. Whether blessed or simply lucky, Van's life within the military was but a pale echo of the war-torn past his father endured, but neither was it quiet and without danger. Where it led him and for what reasons, he cannot remember; only that he saw his share of death and violence. It only further served to harden his nerves, and though he weathered conflict well, every loss weighed on him bitterly.

When at last the window arrived for Van to retire, he did so with few regrets. It was here that he parted ways with Grant, who chose to remain a soldier. Yet, when he returned to the farmstead of his youth, he found it in the hands of another, a face familiar and haunting in equal measures. Sorana. Still visibly marred by the fires of yore, but hale and happy. Van slowly came to a sinking realization, then. He could not bring himself to face her once more, no matter the yearning within his heart. To spare her (and himself) that, he would have to find his way elsewhere in the world.

For a time, he wandered, seeking opportunities and finding little worthy of his time. He lapsed into poor habits, which only exacerbated the bodily wear he'd suffered from spending long years marching and fighting. Were it not for blind luck, such is likely how he would have remained until his days were done. Word reached him of a man recruiting willing souls for an expedition off towards the frontiers, and seeing little else, Van volunteered.

Thus, he found himself in the Nazarun Expanse. It wasn't paradise*—*far from it, but it was something. As little more than an indentured worker, Van spent much of his time in a mine outside of Lodram. There, he fell in with an informal band of fellow miners. With their help, what had otherwise been a difficult and stressful cycle of scraping by found a modicum of comfort. Even so, Van could not deny his years and service were catching up to him. Such only worsened when, through a combination of weariness and poor judgement, one hapless worker struck the wrong vein. Before anyone could properly react, the mines were flooded with ambient and unstable magic, irradiating a large sum of the tunnels and rendering others completely impassable.

Among those affected were Van's newfound friends, leaving him with few choices and even less by way of time. Some time before, notices hit the mine of a new development, known as 'Ironwrought'*—*a development made to better aid workers brave the dangers they faced almost daily. Willing volunteers would undergo a process that would forever change them, but in exchange, they would receive a stipend and peace of mind in their fields of work they hadn't before.

Seeing it as a chance to save his companions, Van was among some of the first to volunteer.

The processes he underwent were harrowing, far surpassing his expectations. The man he was upon going in died that day, and in his place emerged something... altogether different. It was as if he awoke in the shell of something alien. Metal replaced flesh, plates where once he had skin, limbs that did not tire and a belly that needed no nourishing.

With the coin he received for his troubles, he made good upon his word. Life within the mines thereafter changed for him completely. He had little difficulty meeting the demands of his foreman, as his new body let him work near endlessly without once needing a reprieve. Yet, only in his spare time did he truly realize the extent of what he'd become. Gone were nearly all of his talents. A blade felt unfamiliar in his hands, as did the motions of training and sparring. Even such things as eating and sleeping had somehow become foreign to him.

But more than that, he found holes in his memory. He knew he had parents, but could not remember their faces. He recalled a farm, but could neither remember where it was nor what it was they grew. He had a name, but it eluded him. Shattered and disjoined images of his youth flitted through his head, and with them, a sadness he hadn't felt in a long, long time.

Van grew restless, even through long days of work. Questions arose that he could not answer. It grew worse and worse each night, until he could stomach the feeling no longer.

Thus, with little more than what few belongings he yet possessed, Van abandoned the expanse and made for the mainland.

What an interesting journey that was going to be.