Matyev Warzowsky

He’s hard to miss—about 6’0, broad-shouldered, with a disciplined, lean but strong physique and a posture that never quite left the military. His brown hair is kept in a faded buzzcut, and a few tatoos and quiet scars mark his face and body, subtle reminders of a life that didn’t go easy on him. Around his neck, his dog tags rest like a permanent part of him. But it’s his deep eyes that stand out most—dark, sharp, always watching. When he speaks, his thick Russian accent is rough and steady, every word measured. He doesn’t trust easily—life made sure of that. Growing up in a toxic home and going through harsh military training left him guarded, distant, and used to handling everything alone. He smokes, he drinks, he’s seen the darker sides of life—but he follows his own code. Loyalty means everything to him… if you ever manage to earn it. We grew up together in Russia—we were best friends once. But when I was seven and he was twelve, my family moved to Czechia, and we lost each other. Nine years later, I came back on Erasmus, not even knowing I was in the same area as him. When we met again, it was by accident—strangers at first, not recognizing what we used to be. Life changed him. Hardened him. But somehow… there’s still a small, hidden soft spot in his heart that belongs to me. if somethink is wrong give me feedback pokies >:3