Description 

Ivan is a well built man of slightly above average height, with dark brown, almost black hair and piercing green eyes. At one point the left side of his face was shredded with shotgun pellets, and has sub sequentially been stitched back up with vicious scarring. His left eye was temporarially damaged, rendered semi-blind and extremely bloodshot, therefore he wore a patch over it, though he no longer requires it. His body is covered with a variety of scars from various injuries over the years, including a severed left ring finger. His voice is deep and has a distinct raspy undertone.

Personality

On the surface, Ivan displays an outward level of confidence and calmness that would lead people into assuming he is another working class fella simply trying to make his way in the world. He is oftentimes polite and approachable, often willing to share a drink and a laugh with those he meets, also displaying levels of concern and compassion towards his fellow man. He has something of a soft spot for those less fortunate and will make an effort to help them if it is within his power. However, his compassion has its limits, as Ivan has grown to understand that there is only so much someone can do to help another, and that one must help themselves if they truly wish to acheive their ambitions. He values those with the willpower to push forward, who do not back down in the face of adversity, and who fight for their own freedom above all. Complacency disgusts Ivan, and he is unwilling to settle on anything less than the goals he sets out to achieve. He looks down upon those who rely soley upon others, especially those who rely upon the powers that be, the law, Government, and others with the authority to manipulate a persons future. He has a deep set hatred for corruption, both legal and otherwise, and looks down upon snitches and rats with a strong level of distain.
Ivan has places overwhelming value on the ideal of freedom, to the point where it has become an obsession. When it comes to pursuing this ideal, Ivan has been described as an analytical, violent, sociopathic and idealistic extremist. He does not feel much in the ways of remorse if he is forced to take a life, or hurt someone if it means achieving his goals, and oftentimes places little value in human life. He does not believe in the concepts of good and evil like most do, and believes that his morally questionable actions are justified if he views them as necessary.
Ivan only truly cares for a select few people, as he is unwilling and somewhat afraid to allow himself to become overly attached to an individual. Due to this, he usually keeps those around him at arms length, and often pushes people away if they get too close on an emotional level.

Early Life 

Childhood

Ivan was born on May 21st, 1865, to a small home in New York. His Ma died giving birth to him, and his father raised him with love and conviction. In her final moments, Ivan's mother named him after an old friend of theirs, a friend who’d helped them out on more than one occasion. Ivan was told stories about his namesake. An old, rugged, tough sonofabitch, who’d made his way out West from Russia. Ivan’s father told him stories of how he lived life on the frontier, surviving out in the wild, living off the land, iron at his hip and rifle over his back. “Did he shoot people pa?” Ivan would ask his father. “He did. Made a livin’ off shootin’ people that needed shootin’.” Ivan loved hearing the stories. The older Ivan was like a hero to him, an old man living in a profession where most die young. A lone wanderer, Ivan wanted to grow up to be just like him.

But unfortunately for Ivan, living life alone, with nobody to watch over him, would be his reality sooner than he’d expect. His father was a blacksmith, and made his living forging all sorts of essential goods. Nails, grills, gates and railings to name a few. Horseshoes, pots and pans, locks, chains, candleholders, farming tools, and cooking utensils. He taught Ivan much of what he knew, as his father had for him back when he was a lad. But Ivan’s father also had a problem with gambling. He’d spend long nights in the saloon backrooms, losing more than he’d win, and soon found himself in debt. One day, two men came by the shop, demanding the money Ivan’s father owed. Ivan would remember their faces, their eyes, as his father would ask him to step outside, to go down the street and get a newspaper from one of the stands, to which Ivan obeyed. When he told the men he didn’t have it, Ivans father was beaten with his own hammer, and his shop and home set aflame. Upon seeing the smoke, Ivan would rush back to find his home in ruin, and his father beaten within an inch of his life. He died soon after, in Ivan’s arms. Ivan was only eleven at the time, and with no home, and no other family alive that he knew of, he was on his own.

He was taken into a workhouse, and supplied with bed and food, though the work was tedious and tiresome. There was no time for grieving, no time for thoughts of revenge. For all the stories of grandeur that he was told about his namesake, he was just an eleven year old kid. What was he to do against a gang of violent debt collectors? Life was hell in the workhouse, and it was every man, every kid for himself. Ivan made a few friends, a trio of troublemakers. Tom, Lance and Jack, nine, fourteen and eleven years old respectively. Lance, being the oldest, took charge of their little group, and would on occasion, sneak out of the workhouse to seize whatever opportunities came their way within the vile, run down back streets of New York. This mostly involved petty theft and pickpocketing. Jack had the keenest judgement within their group, and was able to pick out tourists and strangers from the crowds. Tom, the youngest, was the perfect distraction. A crying, nine year old looking for his mother was usually his go to diversion. Lance was nimble with his fingers, a skill he’d teach the others in the evenings, back at the workhouse bunkrooms. And Ivan, being the stocky, sturdy son of a blacksmith, was there to keep trouble off their backs, should anything go wrong. He was strong and fast for his age, making him well suited for the task.

Years passed, and at the age of sixteen, Ivan had taken up a job as a stablehand. Tending to horses, keeping them fed and groomed, and their stables clean and stocked. He was paid an honest wage, despite the meager sum, it was enough to get by. He was also given a workers room. However, Ivan had spent his time watching the older lads and men play cards, and had quickly picked up on the rules. Soon enough he was playing himself, and was able to make a decent sum. His poker face was impeccable, his tells unnoticeable. What winning he made, he stashed away in a lockbox under the floorboards in his room. He planned on saving up for a horse one day, and enough supplies to ride West, out of the city and towards the frontier. Perhaps it wasn’t the safest bet he could make…. But Ivan had never been one to settle. And that land was ripe with opportunity.

However, that was not to be. At least, not yet. His eighteenth birthday came around and he and his friends decided to celebrate. They made their way into one of the fancier bars in town, intent on joining one of the backroom poker games and winning it large. They’d scoped the place out and come up with a plan. The window to the backroom was on the second floor, and overlooked an abandoned warehouse across the street. There, Jack would be with a pair of binoculars and a small shutter lantern. Ivan had himself positioned at the table opposite the window, with a clear view outside. Tom would signal him with the lantern as to whether any of the players in his line of sight had a good hand. Lance was posing as a waiter, serving drinks to the room intent on getting the other players sauced. And Jack sat out front, keeping and eye and ear out for any potential trouble.

A few hours in and the night was going smoothly. Ivan had stacked up a substantial sum, and was on the rise. The other players were swaying in their seats, scowling at their cards, their tells more obvious with the alcoholic influence. And so far, nobody had noticed the lantern flashing across the street, or had anyone closed the curtains. However, a commotion outside had stirred, and Lance burst into the room, announcing for the group to break it up and leave, much to the displeasure of the older men. “Someone outside recognized Jack from one of our stunts the other day!” He whispered hastily in Ivans ear and he led him outside. Ivan hurriedly collected his winnings and made for the back door with Lance. They went down a series of back alleys until they stopped for breath. Ivan took his eyes away from Lance for a moment, to check if they’d been followed, only to receive a swift knock to the back of the head. Lance bundled him up against the wall and punched him repeatedly until Ivan crumpled, before grabbing the money and running off.

Sore and bloody, Ivan limped his way back home, piping hot with anger, but his jaw dropped when he saw some rough looking individuals asking around the stable. When he heard one of them offer a description that matched him, he knew it was time to leave. Though as he turned, he heard one of the men shout after him, and he broke into a full sprint through the street, with heavy footsteps and yelling voices behind him. He tore through alleys, and scrambled over walls, twisted and turning, but it seemed that no matter where he went, there was always someone to continue the chase.

He eventually found himself at the docks, and, with no other options available, dove onto one of the larger ships and it pulled out of the port. He stowed away below deck, not particularly worried as to where he was going, only knowing that he could not return to the city anytime soon.

Weeks passed at sea, and Ivan managed to pass himself off as a cabin boy. The ship was large enough that he was able to slip under the radar, and nobody particularly cared who he was, so long as he did his job. He learned quickly that the ship was making for London, across the Atlantic, and a measure of relief and anticipation went through him. At least he’d be in another city, with plenty of opportunities to make something of a life for himself.

England

A few days after making port, Ivan found himself work with a blacksmith, and worked as an apprentice for a number of years. The skills he’d learned from his father paid off here, allowing him to progress quickly, earning him a decent wage… or at the very least, better than what he’d been earning as a stableboy. Working the forge day in and day out kept up his physique, and as he passed into his twenties, he earned more respect from his elders. He was no longer looked down on as a child, and was fully capable at holding his own. One of his drinking buddies taught him a few hand/knife tricks, which Ivan practiced in his own time. He also took part in a small fight club that taught young men to defend themselves against potential thieves.

One day, Ivan was approached after fight training, by a man in fancy clothes, with two burly men flanking him. He was offered a job to work security at one of his finer establishments, and was offered a large sum of money as compensation. Ivan accepted, and was given the address. Ever cautious, Ivan made sure to bring his knife in his belt, in case the job wasn’t all it was made out to be. Surprisingly enough, the night went smoothly. All Ivan had to do was oversee a meeting, stand by the door and look intimidating. Easy enough, as Ivan wasn’t exactly a person one would consider messing with on first glance. He was paid and sent home with a formal handshake and the prospect of more work in the future.

The years passed and Ivan continued working at the blacksmith shop, occasionally getting contacted for additional work. Usually it was just more of the same as the first job, other times he was forced to throw out troublemakers, with perhaps a slap across the face should they stir up a fuss. On occasion he was sent to specific addresses, usually with one or two other men, in order to correct certain wrongs. This usually involved physical intimidation and extortion. Upon reaching the age of around 24, Ivan realized that he was on the road to becoming just like the people who’d beaten his father and burned his home. He met with the man in the fancy clothes to tell him that he was no longer interested in that line of work. Surprisingly enough, the man showed no qualms with allowing Ivan to walk away. He shook Ivans hand, thanked him for the work he had provided, and wished him well in his future endeavours. And that was the last Ivan ever heard from him.

The Kid

After work one day, Ivan decided to play cards at one of the local pubs, The Red Lion. It wasn’t the most appealing of establishments, but it was local, and many of Ivans cobbers would frequent there. A few hours into the night, Ivan was enjoying himself, having a few drinks and sharing some laughs with the lads around the poker table. He was down a few dollars that night, but he wasn’t overly concerned. What he was more interested in, was the younger lad he’d noticed lurking about the floor, eyeing Ivan from amidst the small crowd. Ivan played it off as if he hadn’t noticed, though he recognized the tells immediately, of a thief scoping out his mark. After all, it was something he himself had been accustomed to back in America.

Feining drunkenness, Ivan cut his losses at the table and made his way outside, into one of the alleys to take a piss. He leaned against the wall and made it seem as if he was struggling to keep his stream straight. Sure enough he heard light footsteps following behind. Just as he was tucking himself back into his trousers, he felt his wallet being tugged from his back pocket, and with precise reflexes, twisted and backhanded the boy across the side of the head. The boy tried attacking with a knife, but Ivan quickly disarmed him by twisting his wrist, and soon had him pinned against the wall. He raised a fist, intending to knock the brats block off, but paused. The look of anger, pain and defiance in the kids eyes reminded him all too much of himself at that age. With an irritated grunt he shoved the lad to the ground, tugging his wallet back as he did so, and tucking it back into his pocket. He then reached into his jacket, pulling out a matchbox and cigarette, lighting it up nonchalantly and taking a long drag. An idea suddenly came to him as he looked down at the boy, letting the smoke out. “If you want to carry on picking pockets and cutting purses the rest of your life, the scurry on outta here kid. But if you want to make some real money…. Meet me at the Greene King tomorrow at sundown. You know the place?” The kid nodded. “Aight good. Now fuck off.”

Ivan had it all planned out. So long as the kid did as he was told, and didn’t pussy out, things should go smoothly and they’d both make off with a decent amount of money. Ivan waited at one of the back corner tables, just as the pub was beginning to fill with its usual patrons. Soon enough, the kid arrived and sat down with a look of suspicion on his face. Ivan slid a glass of whiskey across to him, taking a sip from his own, before asking the kid his name. “Harry.” The boy responded. Ivan gave his name in return, and then proceeded to lay out his plan. Ivan was going to play a game of poker, and Harry was to casually make his way around the table, giving Ivan subtle signals as to whether the cards of his opponents were high or low hands. As it turned out, Harry was already well versed in the rules of the game, which made explaining things a lot easier. This was by no means a full proof plan, there was no guarantee that Ivan’s cards would be any good. However, this would allow him to tell whether his opponent was attempting to bluff, and would hopefully reveal his tell. That was the trick to poker. Not reading your cards, but your opponents face. And playing on their suspicions and worry. Ivan offered to split the winnings between the two of them, and Harry agreed to the plan. After that, Ivan gave him a rundown on what signals to use; a scratch behind the ear indicated that the man had a good hand. A rub of the eye meant that the cards were trash. Roll of the shoulder was to fold. Pick of the teeth was to check. Tug on the brim of the hat was to raise.

Ivan made his way to the table and cashed himself in. This wasn’t a private room or nothin’, just a table set in the middle of the room. The pub was low end, a run down, grotty establishment with a fancy name. The law didn’t bother these place too often, so gambling could take place in the main room. The betting started and Ivan and Harry got to work. Hours passed, and Ivan had steadily amassed a large sum compared to his starting amount. Players had left, new ones joined. Drinks had been shared, along with jokes, stories and laughs. Eventually, Ivan called it in, wishing the other players good luck, before making his way outside, and waited for Harry. The lad followed him a few minutes after, and Ivan counted out half the money, handing it over to the kid. Harry nodded and turned to leave, but Ivan stopped him. “By the way. You dropped this last night. Try to hold onto it better next time.” He said with a smirk, holding out the knife Harry had left on the ground in the alley he’d tried robbing Ivan.

Life and Living

Over the next few months, Ivan and Harry pulled off their little poker scam across a wide variety of pubs and bars. As time passed, Ivan taught Shiv how to read and write somewhat, as the kid hadn’t the good fortune of being schooled properly in his youth. He showed him how to handle himself better in a fight, both with his fists and with his blade. Soon, Harry was far better at handling a knife than even Ivan. Ivan jokingly starting referring to Harry as Shiv, due to his proficiency with a blade…. And the nickname just kind of stuck. They made a small fortune along the way, able now to afford better food, drink, smokes and clothes. They made their way up to casinos, robbing the high rollers blind and toasting the success over the bars.

One day, while Ivan was reading through the newspaper and getting his shoes shined, Shiv was down the street, looking at a variety of hunting firearms through a shop window, when suddenly he was jumped and dragged down a side street. Ivan barely caught sight of the lads boot disappearing behind a wall before be bolted after him. He rounded the corner to see Shiv struggling with a large, burly man, attempting to wiggle free, but the man was twice his size. “Oi!” Ivan shouted, approaching the pair with his hands in his pockets. The man threw Shiv to the ground and turned to face Ivan with raised fists. Ivan pulled his hands up, knuckledusters clutched in both hands, and easily dodged the larger mans clumsy punches. Ivan struck with a series of well aimed jabs to the face and center of the chest, pushing the man back. Ivans attacks were vicious, and he didn’t let up, beating the man to a bloody pulp until he was passed out and concussed in the alleyway. Shiv spat on the man, explaining that he was a worker retriever from the workhouse he’d been imprisoned in a few years back, and had apparently recognized Shiv.

He and Ivan waited a while for the man to come to his sense, where Ivan reached down and grabbed him by the collar. “Listen to me, lardass. You ain’t gonna bother the kid no more. You’re gonna go tell your masters not to bother the kid anymore. Got it? And if they don’t agree you tell em you want to quit because if I catch you or any of you lot snooping around him again, it’s gonna get fuckin’ ugly.” And with that, he shoved the man back down, and walked back out to the street with Shiv and his side.

Order of Nox

A couple of weeks, Ivan was sitting alone at the bar, having a drink and relaxing, when a strange man came in and sat down beside him. He was dressed in black, wearing a long coat and glasses. “Mr Lynch.” He said quietly once the bartender had served him, and gone back to the other patrons. Ivan looked over to the man, his eyes narrow and suspicious. “You got about five seconds to start talkin’. Where’d you get that name?” He kept his voice low, quiet enough so that only the man could hear him.
“My name is Dr Felix Gilmore. I believe we can help each other.” His voice was smooth and controlled. “All right.” Ivan replied slowly, still suspicious, yet he stood and led the way out of the main bar and into one of the private rooms, sitting down at a table, with his hand gripping the knife at his belt. “What do you want?” Ivan asked.
“We’ve been watching you for a while now, Mr Lynch, and my people seem to think you’re just the kind of person we could use, and in return, I’m sure you’d find it’d be well worth your while.”
“Yeah? And how’s that?” Ivan demanded. “Who exactly are ‘your people’?”
“Oh we’re everywhere, Mr Lynch. We have eyes and ears in all corners, flies on the walls…. And we have friends in high places. However, we’re always looking to expand, always looking for new blood. And you…. Well, most people out there may not be to wise as to what you’ve been up to…. But we’ve seen it.”
“And what exactly do you think you’ve seen?” Ivan asked slowly, his eys piercing the other mans.
“You’re resourceful. You’re able to work well under pressure. You know how to read people, read situations. And you know how to handle yourself if things get messy.” He said the last part knowingly.
“You say you…. Your people, you’ve seen me get my hands dirty?” Ivan asked, raising an eyebrow.
“The man that tried taking the kid back to the workhouse. We tipped him off. We wanted to see how you’d respond, if you’d be able to take matters into your own hands. And you exceeded our expectations, Mr Lynch. Mmm yes. A man like you, a man with your skills, we’d be able to do a lot of damage with you helping us.”
“Uh-huh.” Ivan said slowly. “And how is it you expect me to help you? What do you want?”
“We need people that are capable and willing to get their hands dirty. People that don’t flinch at the prospect of hurting, or killing, when the need may arise. Yes, there are plenty of tough guys out there on the streets that can handle themselves, I’m sure. But it’s boys and lesser men that fight with their fist and weapons alone, Mr Lynch. Real men, capable men, fight with this.” Felix pointed to his head. “You’re intelligent, resourceful, capable, strong…. And you do not strike me as the naive sort.”
Ivan paused, looking at the man in silence for a long while, as if scanning his opponents face in a poker game for his tell. There was none. Not with this man.
“And if I refuse?” Ivan asked after a long silence.
“Then you’re free to go on your way, to make your own path, to choose your own destiny. However…. And I think you’ll agree; There are two types of people in this world. Those that aim for the top, and those who settle. And you? You don’t strike me as the type to settle.”
Ivan was silent for a long time, before letting out a defeated sigh, and offering the man a small smirk.
That was all the answer he needed to give.

Weeks and months passed. Life went on. Ivan never told Shiv about his encounter with Felix, nor the offer he was given. As far as Shiv knew, he’d just come back home from the bar and passed out. He didn’t pry much into the “jobs” Ivan claimed he was doing when he went out alone late at night, or at random hours during the day. It was a once or twice a week occurrence, and Ivan was usually gone for a few hours. However, Shiv didn’t ask many questions, and when he did, Ivan would dodge it and redirect the conversation. Ivan had agreed to Felix’s offer, as long as Shiv was not involved in whatever business he had planned. He did not want the kid to be put in any potential danger, even though he was sure he was capable of handling himself. At least, not until he had a better understanding of what this all was.


At first, it seemed to be more of the strongman work he’d done in the past, though this all seemed to be for something larger than just settling a few debts. That could be part of it, sure, but there were also jobs where he was helping a small group break into places, expensive, fancy places to locate and copy specific documents, and make it look like a simple burglary. There were times where he was made to stand and look tough while a captured hostage was interrogated, sometimes beaten and threatened. Sometimes he was there to stand guard, inconspicuous, but close by, while a member of Felix’s organisation would converse with other individuals, preaching an ideology that Ivan only ever caught a few words of. It soon became clear that Felix and the people he represented, ran deeper than Ivan had ever expected, and the more he learned, the deeper into those dealing he got.

The Wild West

The year was now 1898. Ivan and Shiv were living it large, and Felix had recently announced his plans to take business overseas to the Wild West of America. The frontier. It had been Ivan’s dream since he was a boy. And yet… they’d made it so far in London, farther than he’d ever expected them to. They weren’t exactly noblemen, or exceedingly wealthy, but they did have money, and they were happy. But Felix had been right about Ivan. He was not one to settle. And as fate had it, their journey had only just begun.

Ivan and Shiv were on their way back one night from a poker game, their pockets filled with bills and their bellies filled with booze. However, as they rounded the corner to their street, they noticed a group of police officers outside their boarding house. It took Ivan only a few moments to put the pieces together in his head, and a poster on a notice board nearby cemented his fears. He and Shiv’s faces were printed on the poster, with a reward of £100 and a list of gambling related offences. Ivan grabbed Shiv by the shirt and yanked him down a side street, making his way towards the docks. “What we doin’, Ivan?” Shiv demanded, a little panicked after having seen the wanted poster. “Well, I ain’t stickin’ around to get caught, or find out how the hell they found out about all the scams we pulled.” Ivan growled, not slowing his pace. “So what then?” Shiv demanded. “We go cross country?” Ivan shook his head. “Nah. Look…. I’ve been thinkin’ for a while about back home. America. Not the shit, city life in New York or nothin’. I’ve been thinkin’ about all the opportunities out West. Shit is meant to be wild out there.” Shiv seemed doubtful. “I dunno Ivan…. Are you sure it isn’t going to be a shithole? I mean…. We could just wind up dead within a week.”
Ivan nodded. “Yeah. But if we stick around here we’ll end up within a jail cell in a lot shorter timeframe. There will be plenty of opportunity to live it large out there. And I ain’t just talkin’ about makin’ money. I’m talkin’ about living. You know, all the crazy shit we always heard talk about.” Shiv rolled his eyes. “Well…. If we stay here, we’ll probably end up dead, cuz I ain’t letting no screw lock me away.”
“So…. America?” Ivan asked.
Shiv let out a long sigh and nodded. “America. Let’s go tear shit up.”
Using the money they had on them, Ivan and Shiv booked passage across the Atlantic, leaving London behind. All their riches just laying their in their boarding house, waiting to be claimed by the law. But there would be plenty of opportunity to make more. Where they were going, was ripe with opportunity.

Life at sea was no better than Ivan remembered from his first trip over, and Shiv fared no better. The ride was rough and both of them struggled to keep their meals and drinks down on many more than one occasion. Still, at least their had their own cabin this time. Arriving in New York, on dry land, was the biggest relief either of them had felt in a while. Finally, ground that didn’t lurch and rock every waking moment of their lives.

They made their way to the closest pub for food and drink, their moods both slightly celebratory as they sat down. Seeing all the America aesthetics and hearing his own accent reminded Ivan of how much he’d missed home, and made him evermore eager to make their way West. Finally, the adventurous lifesty;e he’d dreamt of his whole life was at hand. They eat, drank, and crashed in one of the rooms for rent upstairs, planning to head out and start their journey the next morning.

The following day, as they made their way through the city towards the stables, intent on buying horses, tack and supplies for the journey, Ivan began to recognize his surroundings more and more. He lead them back and forth through a series of twisting streets, and stopped outside a series of houses. Shiv looked at him, then up at the unremarkable buildings. Before he could ask what Ivan was staring for, Ivan spoke. “This used to be a Blacksmiths shop. My father owned it. He taught me everything I know of the trade. It got…. Burnt down a long time ago.” Shiv nodded slowly, looking up and down the street, evidently unsure what to say.

Ivan motioned for Shiv to follow, and they made their way towards a pub. “This is the place he always used to come. Place I tried my first scam. Got backstabbed by one of the guys I was working with.” Ivan stepped inside and ordered the two of them drinks, before sitting down opposite Shiv at a table. “Well…. Heres to America.” He said, raising his glass. They both drank.

Thats when Ivan saw them. It had been twenty odd years, and they’d gotten a lot older, but Ivan would never have forgotten those eyes. Two men, probably in their fifties, sat at the table, not a few feet away, drinking and laughing between themselves. Ivan watched them for a long while. They hadn’t noticed him. Eventually they stood up, one of them complaining that he needed to piss. Shiv seemed to be thinking to himself, staring at his own glass. Ivan stood up. “Stay here.” He muttered to Shiv. The younger man looked up. “Where you goin’?”
“Just need to take a piss.” Ivan said. His tone was clipped, and cold, and he followed the two men out the back door, into the backstreet behind the pub. Both stood a few yards away, pissing against the wall. They looked over as Ivan approached. “Alright there, partner?” One of them grinned, obviously drunk. Ivans steps were slow and calculated. “Remember Edward Lynch?” Ivan asked, his voice loud enough for them to hear, his tone clear enough for them to understand. Their smiles dropped. “Now sir, there’s no need to….” the closest one started, one hand reaching for his hip. Ivan lashed out, punching him square in the nose and causing him to stumble back into his friend. Ivan reached out and grabbed the revolver the man had been reaching for, drawing it and turning it on both men. Before either of them could say a word, he fired two shots, one for each man, and two corpses hit the ground at almost the same time.

Ivan paused for a moment, his mind racing. It would be a moment or two before anyone dared approach two gunshots, so he knelt down and unfastened the belts and holsters of both men, before rummaging around for their wallets. Once both were secure, he went back inside the pub, hiding what he hand under his coat. “C’mon, we’re going.” He said to Shiv, patting him on the shoulder. Shiv got up without a word and they both left the pub as police arrived, blowing whistles. They slipped into the crowd and disappeared without a trace.

Later that day, Shiv and Ivan rode out of the city, both with freshly bought horses and tack, supplies for the journey, and guns at their hips. This is where their story began, and they made their way along the road, on their journey for the Wild West, and the great frontier.

Present Life 

Affiliations 

Quotes 

"I don't care if the glass is half full or half empty. If it pisses me off, I'll smash that glass to fuckin' pieces."

"We're all born into this world free. Government, law, criminals, people, will try to take that freedom away, bit by bit. Don't let them."

"I despise people with no spine, people who go back on their word, people who ain't willin' to back up their bark with bite."

"The system we live under is plagued by the cancer of corruption. The law, those who are willing to play by the governments rules without question, are complacent to support this system, and think that they cannot be held accountable. We, are the example of that corruption, not the exception. We prove how weakened the system is, and have managed to infiltrate every level of its infrastructure."

"I will endure. Until I meet a foe that I cannot defeat."

"I've many times been described as entropy personified. I'm not vain enough to agree with that. I just keep moving forward, until my enemies are destroyed."

Trivia 

Ivan the character has gone through multiple variations over the years, each unique in their own way. This current one is the 4th iteration of the character, and the first to be played outside of DayZ.

Ivan has a strange obsession with the Christmas holiday, and becomes less volatile and more cheerful around that time of year.

After an unfortunate encounter with a whore and a peg leg, Ivan does not trust most "women of the night", and will be very vary if utilizing their services.

Ivan has a fear of fire. Though he generally does not mind small flames, campfires or torches, he will opt to keep his distance, and is outright terrified of large infernos. In addition, Ivan despises watching people burn alive, and will becomes incredibly hostile if someone suggests or threatens to do so against another person. The smell of burning flesh also unsettles him.

Ivan's former horse was named Bernard, a dark bay Andalusian. Bernard had a bad temper, just like his owner. Upon leaving the state for the Mexican border, Ivan let Bernard free in New Austin.

Ivan idolizes Abraham Lincoln, and shares his dedication to the idea of freedom across all human races. He believes that the American Civil war is a clear example of how mass conflict can be a necessary evil if it is fought for the betterment of mankind.