Aaron Volkov, last of the Volkov Family - ON HOLD

The Volkov family always knew conflict. Brought up in the The Principality of Asheria by artisan smiths from Soreine, the Dominion of Might seeking a new territory to trade, they made their business in exotic arms and armor with ascetic to them. They pushed in the production of blast furnaces to modernize Asheria's output of metallurgic goods. Many local lords and families refused in funding of the furnaces from the blueprints secrecy and pollution they would bring. This was only their beginning as they took a more hands on approach that would solidify themselves. The Volkov family would invest heavily into the augmentation of Asheria's military, going as far as to create a "Noble Militia". A plan initially was to train warriors from inside their household to form a military company of noble blood loyal to the dominion's intent on pulling Asheria into their territory peacefully. This organization, The Eidolons Taktiki, prepared the few nobles that applied to aid leaders in their armies for the protection of the Principality in the future. This was where Aaron thrived during his youth, and fell when the war finally came to the capital.   Aaron Volkov was 3rd in line to the Volkov house. Born to Lydia and Leon, Aaron followed in the footsteps of his family with pride, learning to run the forges and the military drills, both paramount to his life. He was always a studious boy, taking in all the knowledge he could of politics and battlefield conflict to walk as easily through a war room meeting as well as a ballroom soiree. This led down the path of a war courtier, studied in the battlefield and single combat, yet able to weave support for his house in most political situations. Though a young life of politicking did not leave him unchanged. He fell in love with the game, the drinks and joy of one upping those allied against his house became a love for the more debauched portions of society. While still focused on their role, he slowly garnered a reputation for being a drunkard and braggart of his skill with a blade. Getting himself in many drunken duels with rival households and even those who are inside the Eidolons Taktiki was not an uncommon event. This brought him down in the eyes of his family and the Taktiki, so that when the war broke out his petitions for leading a frontline squad were turned down, he was left with a capital garrison force. This lackluster station would leave him away from the glory he sought, to meet blade to blade with their previous holders. Yet this kept him alive after the devastating defeats and able to witness the horrid fall of the capital. Months turned to years and with every defeat, his petitions continued to be rejected.   During the fall, fires lit up the night and the thundering of cannons and spells smashed the ramparts and ballista fire blew apart the gates. Aaron, sobering up quickly, ran to the battlements with his soldiers. The sounds of a roaring artillery assaulted the ears of the defenders and made the fighting on the walls seem silent in comparison. The drones of metal meeting metal, stone crumbling, and the screaming of dying men and women were the last things he heard as the portion of the ramparts fell and he saw nothing but dust and death. He awoke sometime later, rolling away on a cart with other injured peoples of Asheria. He had failed, like the people around him said. Within his mind, his family and his comrades were gone because he couldn't control himself and his urges. The final nail in the coffin of his failure was as a brother, seeing his eldest sister lying burnt half across her body in tearful agony...she didn't live past the first few days of travel. This was it, this refugee train heading west to gods know where. Maybe this would be the place he reclaims what little honor he has or finally go off the edge and do whatever is necessary to live in this new world being made. Or maybe he would find solace once more in a bottle to quell the demons that taunt him in the night.