Tarhos Kovacs's Questionnaire

Tarhos is a wanderer, with his home lost to time like everything else and in a strange new world, he has no concrete home currently and he does what he knows. Camping, although it’s not quite like how it was during the crusades, no more drunken laughter from his fellows. Just the crackling fire and his quiet contemplation of the retaking of Jerusalem. His camps usually have the bare essentials, a tanning rack for any animal he might’ve caught that day, an obligatory campfire of course, a lean to of some sort to shelter him from the worst of the elements, and a latrine a few 30 meters away. One camp was recently intruded upon by a strange Jewish man, so Tarhos is always on edge while in his campsites.

Being from the 1300s and winding up in the present day, Tarhos is confronted with the perplexing concept of money. Accustomed to a barter system and a world of chivalric codes, Tarhos finds himself in a modern labyrinth of transactions governed by currency. His bewilderment is palpable as he grapples with the abstract notion of value assigned to pieces of paper and metal. From his point of view money is unnecessary when he could simply take what he wants and kill those who oppose him. He learned recently from an unlikely friend in a strange desert that the world has changed a lot and he can no longer simply kill and plunder, so he will have to find a way to fit in to this strange system.

Tarhos is from the crusades, and despite thinking the god most men fought for was a load of shit he still felt at home on the battlefield, like he was meant to kill those weaker than him and take their land from them. After 700 years in a dark cave, this sentiment still carries on in his undying heart. While he may not have any army with which to do it currently, Tarhos can still accomplish one single goal that those before him died for. To retake Jerusalem, he does not want to do this for a god of any kind or for any racial prejudices, he simply wishes to complete what he couldn't 700 years ago. And may god have mercy on any who try to stop him, as he surely won't. If he must die for this goal, so be it, but he will not go gentle into that goodnight. He will rage into the dying of the light as any true warrior would.

The most defining event of Tarhos' life was not the cave he was trapped in for what felt like an eternity but it was actually his first kill on a battlefield. He was trained by what he thought to be the very best of the pope's army but he was still shaking with nervous excitement as he marched into battle. And when the charge began he was almost trampled by the much more experienced men around him, but he was saved from this pitiful end by none other than the man that trained him who looked upon him with such disdain it made Tarhos sick to his stomach. He swallowed his shame and charged forth with newly found vigor and looked for the nearest person not draped in the churches armor and cloth, and when he found them a man who had felled at least three soldiers and was moving onto another, Tarhos moved before he could even think about what he was going to do. He plunged his sword into the man's side and without hesitation and with great effort, he pulled his sword out and swung it as hard as he could at the man's neck in hopes that he would decapitate him. The man's head did not come off entirely, as Tarhos could not cut through the man's spine. But as he removed his sword the man's neck opened up. And Tarhos' fate was sealed as a killing machine.

Tarhos was never particularly close with anyone but he did consider a select few his comrades. Baldwin, a stout young man with long blonde hair and a proficiency with Axe's. Constantius, an incredibly devout man with a long black beard, a scar over his eye, and a proficiency with the bow, and while Tarhos did not agree with his religious practice, he respected Constantius' skill. And finally the closest to him, the man whom trained him in the way of the blade. Ekkehard, a tall man with short red hair and a preference for getting up close and personal, Ekkehard wielded his rage better than any blade which Tarhos respected above all else. But this was a long, long time ago and these men are no longer around to share drinks with Tarhos, but on quiet nights by the fire, he can still envision them drinking merrily with him into the night.

Tarhos had parents, but all he remembers of them are his mother's dying screams and his father choking on a blade shoved into his throat. His childhood was filled with blissful ignorance until his village was razed by an army during the crusades and he was taken as a child slave that polished armor, brushed horses, cleaned the stables, etc. He was caught by his future mentor Ekkehard, waving a stick around trying to mimic what he saw the man doing with his sword. And after being punished for slacking off, Tarhos was taken under Ekkehard's wing and trained rigorously to be a killing machine, another cog in the pope's war machine. One day this Ekkehard was felled in battle and driven by rage at the death of the closest thing to a father he had known, Tarhos slew the large man that dealt the final blow to Ekkehard in brutal fashion, and this accomplishment and with Ekkehard's prior recommendation Tarhos was appointed to lead in Ekkehard's place. 

Tarhos was in love once, a young slave girl that showed him his first act of pure hearted kindness. He had been punched by a drunk soldier and fell down, a young girl named Isabella was appointed to care for him and treat his wounds. Never before this since he had been enslaved was he shown even a hint of kindness. Isabella was simply a kindhearted and beautiful young woman and Tarhos was a slave to his newfound love for Isabella, until a fateful day where one of their camps was attacked and Isabella was killed right in front of him. It was at this moment, that Tarhos decided love was for the weak and he could NOT be weak ever again.

I have known many people, all of them afraid of something. I was no different, I AM no different. When I was a child, still living in the village, my greatest fear was being snatched away by the bogeyman. I was snatched away, but not by the bogeyman, my captors were much more real, more tangible than a story told by my mother in an effort to curb poor behavior. When I was taken, I was shown there are greater things to fear than the dark and what may lurk in it. As I was being trained for combat by my captors, my greatest fear became losing and being killed like the other “defective soldiers”. This fear drove me to the battle prowess I know today. As I was sent on my crusade to retrieve the holy grail, my greatest fear was failure, not because I feared the punishment of returning empty handed, but because I felt it was my purpose to find this grail for myself. Upon finding and drinking the grail, my fear of failure was very quickly replaced by an overwhelming terror of being unable to leave the cave I found the grail in. This terror was realized and I have known no greater suffering than this, being physically unrestrained by time and the need for food but unable to do anything with it but sit in the dark, alone, forever. 

My most prized possessions are a blade I was given by a gang in Japan and a brooch given to me by my mentor long ago. The blade, I earned after being shot in the face and still rising regardless, this seemed to greatly impress the gang I was in the company of, and they gave me a traditional blade of their country. My brooch, once simply a piece of metal I would wear into the battlefield, it must have been infused with my own blood lust as it has become much more than a piece of jewelry, it grants me powers I have never known, powers I would loathe to be rid of. I sincerely hope the blade undergoes the same change and attunes itself to me as the brooch has, it’s potential is great but in its current inert state, I feel as though I am not able to truly let loose in battle.

The biggest problem in my life is that I am a nationally wanted fugitive being hunted for a police officer I cut down, along with escaping from the prison they held me in afterwards. Luckily I have grown since then and have been formulating a plan to make it seem as though the infamous “Jim Melgrin” has been slain. Should this plan of mine go smoothly this problem will at the very least be abated momentarily, allowing ample time to plan and grow a far better strategy. Should this plan go awry however, the consequences I fear will be dire and I may find myself out of my depth, it is my hope this will not occur. If my plan is ruined, I feel I may lose myself to insanity and kill as many people as I possibly can on my way out. I will not go gently into that goodnight.

My typical mornings originally consisted of waking up early, before the sun rose and cleaning up whatever camp I may have made. I would then continue my travels, walking into eternity searching for a place in which I could call home for even a brief time. I encountered a friend by the name of Benjamin who allowed me to stay with them upon freeing myself from prison. This did not last long though, and I was shortly back on my own in the wilderness and streets. I eventually met a kind Japanese gentleman by the name of Takara Hikaru who not only offered me employment, but a roof over my head. He seemed to take a liking to my swordsmanship which he witnessed during a few jobs I’ve completed with him. I sincerely hope to perform as he expects of me, living on the streets is a difficult lifestyle and I would not enjoy being forced back into it.

There are not many occasions in which I would feel the need to dress myself nicely, as I feel function of attire far outweighs the appearance of it. Perhaps if a job given by my cosmic benefactors demanded me to attend a party with a formal dress code I would have to comply, in which case I would contact my good friend Hikaru and ask him if I could borrow a formal suit from him. I would disguise myself to be a pleasant looking older gentleman and I feel I could have all of this done within an hour at best. I would of course have the complication of concealing my blade as swords are probably not classified as formal wear. This is a complication I will need to amend in the very near future, maybe my benefactors will call on me soon, and I can gain the power to stow my belongings in a place only accessible to myself

My next birthday will be no different from the previous 500+ birthdays I have had, I will treat the day as any other and I will do my utmost to keep any acquaintances knowing my birthday, as I would prefer to avoid a celebration in my honor. I feel that birthdays are a waste of time, energy, and effort. Why celebrate coming closer to the grave? The entire ritual perplexes me to no end, the only thing worth celebrating in my opinion is victory over an enemy or the conquest of their lands. My birthday will not be celebrated with a party, but with the spilt blood of those who would get in my way.