Kaluga had died in the late 1800s in the aftermath of the American Civil War. He was in the upper parts of Tennessee where he lived most of his life but disaster struck when he was shot while riding away from battle as he was already heading west. He managed to stave of the wounds inflicted by the shot in his shoulder. As time went on and months passed, he began to fall ill and was on his last legs in the Winter of 1896. He stumbled into the mountains away from a small town called Amersberry that afternoon in a blizzard. He was never seen again by mortal eyes. He heard a calling from what sounded like an owl. "Stolas is who you speak to as of now," the owl had said in an alluring tone after a few soft hoots. From that point on, he had been working for Stolas before meeting a group of assassins and running jobs for both of them.
The pictures below are of Kaluga and myself. We are one and the same.