 | There are multiple variants of this person, please refer to Vladimir Zima Disambiguation for a list of the variants. |
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Vlad carries a heavy burden of traumatic experiences and guilt for murders he committed in his homeworld. Despite this the years away from the brutal circumstances of his birth have managed to center his mind in a positive way. He seeks reconciliation with his grim past and the possibility of hope that he has found in Solas Tempus. As such he can seem unapproachable and distant but whoever pushes past first appearances that will find a sincere, loyal and humorous person.
Special Skills
- Has training with all firearms available to TempOps.
- Has experience fighting using a metal staff.
- Has training to pilot fighters and normal aircraft.
- Has training for Temporal flight.
- Has training to repair all aircraft.
- Specialty in mining
- Precious gem appraisal
- Ad-hoc repair
- Combat sense in CQC
Special Abilities
- Mental fortitude protects against mind attacks and demonic possessions
- Acute Sense (Smell)
- High Pain Threshold
- Rapid Healing
- Eidetic Memory
Background
Vladimir Zima is from the Russian town of Kasimov. Kasimov is a town on the edge of the siberian tundra and was next to a coal mine, the only source of jobs. He lived there with his brother Dmitri, his mother Sasha and his father Grigori. Conditions in Russia were rough ever since the start of the Crimean War. The war left the country crippled, many young men did not return home. Early in the war his father was conscripted to fight, consequently he and his older sibling were forced to work full time. The work in the mines coupled with the fact that their family had just enough money coming in to feed themselves properly meant that he grew up tough and strong.
Russian military law allowed only 48 hours of leave a year for conscripts but the train ride to and from was subtracted from this. Every year Vladimir and his family would wait at the train station for his father to arrive. His father would get off the train hug them, hand them some letters he wrote and get back on the train. Three years into the war Grigori returned for much longer and had brought some meat for them to eat. He had been promoted to private and would be paid for his service. Little did they know that this was the last time they would see him. Soon after returning to the front Grigori died in a suicide charge ordered by a noble that did not understand tactics and strategy.
His life was like this until reaching the age of 15 when his mother sold him off to a businessman for money. Apparently the local Lord had been supplementing his income by running a trafficking ring. His mother desperately needed money after the death of his father and his brother was conscripted. The Lord offered a hefty sum of money, well hefty for a serf. His mother signed a document that claimed Vladimir had run away to avoid being conscripted and Vladimir was smuggled out of the country to be sold off.
The first place he arrived in was Ottoman Turkey, there he became was forced into underground prize fighting. Unfortunately, he was not very good at unarmed combat and lost most fights. Despite this he began to garner attention from his ability to absorb damage and his stamina. Soon he was being pitted against vastly more experienced fighters so the crowd could bet on how long he could last. After two years of this fortune smiled upon him and a British soldier bought him, the soldier had been spared by Grigori during the war and upon seeing this unbelievable coincidence he resolved to aid Vladimir. After the two met the soldier tried to pay for someone to smuggle Vlad back to Russia, luckily Vlad picked up just enough English to explain that if he returned he would be executed for desertion. Feeling defeated the soldier opted to send him on a merchant vessel to a random corner of the world. With a short goodbye Vlad left to unknown shores.
On the boat, Vlad discovered that the man who saved him also left him one last present. His late father’s military uniform along with a letter. He wanted to read it but since it was in English he could not understand it. That however, was no longer going to be an obstacle as it soon became clear that the merchant boat’s destination was Britain. In England he had to deal with violence and discrimination from the locals. Frequently he would be harassed and beaten not only for being a beastman but also for being a Russian, the scars of the war were still fresh. During this time he earned the infamous name “Kaiman” because of his blood lust. Still bitter about the death of his father and his exile from home Vlad would kill any who dared attack him and could not get away. He became proficient with using a metal staff to fight multiple attackers.
Around the age of 18 he started drinking heavily which only contributed more towards his violent behaviour and bad reputation. Despite this he did make one friend from his new habit, John Watson the landlord of the bar where he frequented. Their companionship started since he always paid his bar tab and protected his favorite place from trouble.
In London Vladimir was exposed to bolshevism and found its revolutionary message of liberating the working class from their shackles appealing. What appealed to him was the denouncement of the bourgeoisie as the source of the workers struggles. It made him seethe with rage when he remembered that his mother sold him to keep paying their bills and that the Englishmen attacked him because of the machinations of their bourgeois masters. His exposure to communism focused a lifetime of rage from the poor Englishmen, that were as much victims of exploitation as he was, unto the nobility and merchant class.
After a few years of living in Britain, Vladimir was finally able to read the note given to him by the soldier, it read
To Vladimir,
I met your father during a Russian attack at night. I was caught by surprise when your father appeared out of the dark with a musket in hand. He pointed it at me and I panicked, I thought for sure this was the end so I started pleading with him. Though he could not understand my words he somehow knew what I felt at that moment. He lowered his weapon and motioned me to go, in respect I told him my name and he, comprehending what I was feeling again, uttered his.
The only thing I could catch was Zima, I did not know if this was his given name or surname. Thanks to his act of kindness I am alive today. Unfortunately I was unable to repay the favor. One month later we met again for the last time. The Russians prepared a large assault on our position and luckily or unluckily I happened to see Zima in the charge. He had been hit several times but kept going, running like a man possessed. Soon he reached the British line only to stop and drop to the ground face first. I rushed over to see him and I could tell from the amount of blood pouring out that he had little time left. He kept repeating the same three names Sasha, Dima, Vlad, before he closed his eyes and died.
I took his trenchcoat cleaned it and patched it to serve as a reminder of the man that saved my life. I wondered if I would have the chance to repay my debt to his family one day when the war became a thing of the past. That is where you come in. A year after his death I had taken to seeking more exotic thrills as I felt myself losing interest in thing I used to love.
One of the places I went to was the underground prize fights the Turks had. There I saw you and had a moment of deja vu. You look almost exactly like your father and that got me to thinking that there was a small chance that you could be his son. I asked around as if I was to place a bet on you and was told your name was Vladimir Zima. At last a chance to repay my debts! I saved money for the rest of the year to buy you (luckily since you lost so much you were cheap).
Your father made me realize good people are everywhere, before I thought of Russians with disdain. I do not know why your father and i had to go through this but I am happy that I could help someone from his family. Best of luck in your future endeavours, I hope you become an honourable man just like your father.
Best regards Elliot Bailey