Post by hrothgar on Aug 10, 2009 16:04:22 GMT -6
Character Name: Hrothgar, Clothair Varangoi, Lothar of Caesarea, Dr. Luther Christophsen
Age: 1733
Gender: Male
Sexual Orientation: Straight.
Power Level: Elder
Kind: Earthen.
Description:
Humanoid:
Hrothgar's image has changed throughout the centuries often times to fit in with the surroundings he's found himself in. Try as he might however his image has never lost genetic trappings of his origins in Northern Europe. He has always been broad shouldered and tall with muscles packed like tight wires around his body. His form seems to have been built for endurance rather than pure strength although his draconic heritage has given him plenty of that. He has often been described as blond although his true hair color tends to shift from a dirty blond to a light brown given his circumstances. His body is bereft of Piercings or tattoos which is strange given his vast background in various cultures that would have easily given him justification for such trappings. He feels his human form is a celebration of the physical attributes he admires most in people and does not desire to add to something he already feels that the gods have made wonderful with complex imperfections and deviations. His human face carries a warmth to it as well, with rich dark brown eyes wrinkled slightly at the edges from years of service in the name of compassion and care and seem to be filled with an immense sympathy. Everything about him speaks to his nature as someone who has seen the world at its worst and works every day to see it at it's best.
Draconic: Hrotghar's draconic form reflects his affinity for the earth. His scales are dark in color, usually ranging in the earthen tones. For a majority of his body is not covered in scales however, at least not in the literal sense. The vast majority of his surface is covered in what appear to be natural rock formations that produce a gravel like texture on his outer body and in some places, especially around the shoulders haunches and down his spine the rocklike protrusions are more pronounced to the point where his body seems chiseled out of stone by the elements. As a dragon he bears no wings, this is compensated for by his legs which seem made for endurance and long treks. They bear a predatory resilience and strength which allows him swift travel over most terrain, although it pales in comparison to the speed that flight grants.
Hybrid/Avatar In his 'halfway' form Hrothgar seems to bear more resemblance to a shifter of Crocodile Stock as his scales change to a murky green color with horizontal stripes down his back. The rocky protrusions on his outer body are less pronounced although still present forming something of a natural armor around him. His tail remains elongated for balance and climbing while moving through any terrain he finds himself in. His body keeps that sleek mobile quality about him that his fully Draconic form possesses as something of a compensation for his lack of wings.
Personality: While ever the staunch realist about the world he exists in, Hrothgar has never given himself to a sense of fatalism. He believes that, while the world may be bleak and cruel, there is no excuse for simply letting it exist that way. His world experiences have taught him that all problems exist to be solved or remedied. He feels he works best on his own sometimes but knows how to value help when he receives it.
History:
The beginning of it all is always a hard subject for me to recall with any clarity. My ambitions have been small compared to those shared by my brethren, as such to this day I have made no real effort to detail the life I've lived or maintain any record by which I may validate my existence. I have held on only loosely to the memories of who I once was and what I had been in the past, so in fear of loosing them I now make some sort of attempt to reclaim the past and record it so that at a later date I might not loose a hold of what little sense of identity I still cling to.
I remember the earliest part must have happened in Jutland, I was a child there during what I have heard people call the dark ages. I remember cold snows, bitter frosts and the scent of pine trees. I am told the place goes by a different name but Jutland shall forever be the name I call the place where I was born. From there I can remember getting on boats, longships I think, and leaving on a long journey through the Northern Sea where there was promise of food and shelter and a better life. I was one of many people who would come to arrive on the green island of Britain in those days. It was a different place then as I can recall, it had been abandoned by the Romans and we, like insects on a carcass, made our place in the lowlands of the island and attempted to thrive where the greatest empire in the world had failed. If memory serves me correctly it was a happy time, there were tensions yes, but at least we were safe from so many things that the world had deemed fit to curse us with. Later I would learn it was because of invaders that we had been forced to leave Jutland... displaced by the fearsome southern tribes known as Goths, who had been driven from their own land by even more Fearsome people known as Huns. The world I was born into was volatile, but sanctuary on the green island was a blessing I suppose I can be thankful for to this day. Yet even in the sanctuary we found here I was treated as an outcast within my own home.
I was told in those days that my lineage was mixed, one half of my family belonging to the Angles the other Half Belonging to the sea raiders that had been called Norsemen. By all common opinions I was my mother's son, she bore me out of her womb, never discussing with me who my father was, only that the man whom she married was not the man who sired me. The man who's home I shared held a cool distaste for me, I was the result of Viking Seed and as such deserved no more hospitality than was required of him. He kept me at arms length and did not bother teaching me his trade the same way he would come to teach the children he had with my mother. And yet I discovered rather quickly that the information regarding my lineage was more than skewed. By my fourteenth summer I had begun a change unlike anything I had been prepared for. Like any other adolescent my age I was expecting the transformation from Boy to man, but the transformation that overtook me was one of Boy to Beast. I can say that at first the change was a jarring shock to my senses. My immediate response was to mistake my changes as a waking dream of some sort, a hallucination or witchcraft or both. But it was hard to ignore after weeks of soreness in my limbs, of changes in my body that would not allow me to forget them. It was the skin I think which stood out most when the changes began to arrive in full force. My flesh grew a pebbly texture as bumps and ridges on my shoulders and elbows began to jut out like craggy rocks from a hillside. For this I was cast out of my father's house under suspicion that I had brought some sort of strange leprosy with me from Jutland. It would be revealed to me later (much later) that my mother had known of my heritage since my conception. She herself was of draconic stock, hiding (for fear of what I do not know) amongst the people of the Anglo Saxon tribes and dared not reveal her secret even when it meant I would have to leave the safety of their villages.
I cannot say that I felt any desire to return to that house, albeit it was the last of my family I would ever see. I had dealt enough with my stepfather's lack of compassion to understand a few cruel realities of the world. It was in solitude in the wilderness that I underwent my metamorphosis. I have fond memories of this time in the wilderness. I honed my newfound draconic strength, I embraced full force the stony complexion of my race which grew like armor on my body, perfectly fitted to allow a range of motion for me. I found myself at home away from the humanity that had cast me out, I hunted and I grew into my new forms. I became a dragon in every real sense of the idea, shifting through forms as they suited me and caring little for the wings that the gods had seen fit not to bless me with. I had no desire for the sky when the earth held enough bounty on its own. I was at home in caves and in the forest. Wherever I could feel solid ground beneath my feet, that’s what I called home.
Yet time changes people and places, a century amongst the wilds had given me a chance to understand myself but had provided me with no companions. I sometimes wonder if it as loneliness or just plain curiosity that drove me back to the world of men but by that time I was ready to take human form and explore the world. I was a strong built lad and in those days I would come to find out that a good pair of legs and a good set of shoulders was all I needed to make my way in the world. In this respect I became a sell-sword, finding myself in a place called Dublin. I became fast friends with mercenary work and learned through trial and error how to swing a sword, heft an axe, hold a spear and row a Longship. Numerous and countless are the adventures I had in those days aboard Viking Galleys. We thought ourselves to be invincible then, the Franks of the Continent trembled before us and appeased us with land tributes in the North, the Saxons called us enemies and brothers all at the same time, the Celts gave us good sport and even the far East seemed within our Grasp. These were happy times as I can recall as well, with a blade in my hand and a sea to my back I waded through rivers of blood and claimed all manner of prizes as reward for battles well fought. We were gods then with whom all begged for mercy, their Christ seemed powerless to stop us .. And yet even amidst such rampant success we were soon to learn that we were last bloody roar of a bygone time.
Even gods may bleed and if they bleed then one day they must fall. I will not forget this now or ever. Our time came to an end, it was not a sudden thing. We had success and when an army is successful they begin to run out of reasons to fight. Every horde must disband, and I am sad to say I was there when it happened. We had seen our sunset drawing near, and in our last glorious ways we made an attempt at retaking what we thought was ours. But we were stopped in the year 1066, defeated for the last time at the Bridge in Stamford, not far from where I grew up as a child some 600 years prior. We swore an oath to a man who would die that year, King Harold the Usurper, that we would never again step foot on British soil. With this promise I said goodbye to what was once my home and it is an oath I have never broken. With defeat to our keel we turned our ships to the east, sailing as far as the sea would let us to the realm of our cousins in Kiev. Many of our lot stayed there as Kievan Rus but young and brash as i was I refused to settle down in this place and pushed on with the others towards the promise of prosperity in the last bastion of Rome, those strange people who had abandoned my homeland so many centuries ago.
The place was called Miklagard by the Norsemen (the name Meant Big City a testimony to how creative we were in those days), but to the people living there it was called Constantinople, and to them we were known as Varangians. We came at first seeking fortune in this mysterious city with wealth far greater than any warrior king of the west. We made for ourselves a home in this city, joining up as soldiers and guards and making a name for ourselves. In time we earned the trust of the City's nobility, and in this trust I found a new transformation. It was easy enough to kill, as elite soldiers of these people who called themselves Byzantines we wanted for lack of throats to cut or blood to spill. Although our titles and trappings changed there was not much about us that was different from the sea raiders of old As the years passed though I found myself for the first time questioning my place in this world as a killer. It was good sport to be sure, and it had won me acceptance within the walls of Miklagard. Clothair they called me now, Clothair the Varangian, as close a name as they could muster to the one my mother had given me half a century ago in Jutland. Battles won and triumphant returns had seen them fit to title me as a noble in their courts and for the first time I knew pleasures outside the clash of blades or the spurt of blood. I learned to read, I studied the culture and wisdom they set before me. I learned of Heracles and Jupiter, of Apollo and Theseus, I learned of their God of the Tetragrammaton and his Avatar and Son who they called Christ. The Poetry of Virgil and Ovid, the philosophy of Socrates , Plato, St.Augustine, were all made available and in time I saw less and less of the life of combat that I had known so closely before. Knowledge became my pastime and my passion, I tried to learn a little of every vocation that I could lay my hands to, woodcraft, Rhetoric, Blacksmithing, Alchemy, Poetry, Gardening. I became lost in a world of minds that had eluded me for the first part of my life. But questions began to arise, as they tend to do... for by this time the people of the city had noticed my oddities, why It had been 30 years since I arrived and I still appeared to be 35 when logic dictated I should have aged to 60 by now. Suspicions arose and accusations some wild, some not, flew regarding just what had given me my unusual longevity. I could answer none of these without endangering my well being and the decorum of the city so I did what I had to, with all my earthly possessions I went into hermitage in the deserts to the west, traveling to Palestine and Egypt settling eventually into a comfortable land stead within the vicinity of Jerusalem. I spent my time here continuing my pursuit of knowledge but my safety came to a swift end within a single decade.
The west I had almost forgotten had caught up with me, and I found myself at the center of a war of Righteous afflictions. The year was 1097 and my little manor had become a stopping point and a safe haven for Crusader Knights from all over western Europe... I met warriors from France, England, Italy, Spain, Germany and Poland. To each I spoke, I learned what had happened in Europe during my absence. Things had changed. My home of Britain had unified under a single banner, the man to whom i made my oath never to return had died in battle with Norman Invaders from France who now ruled the island. Germany had fallen under the protectorate of The holy Roman Empire and the alliances of the princes incorporated therein was slowly becoming shakier and shakier... I realized I was far detached from my old life yet I still held a conviction and investment in their struggles. At least this is what I told myself when I agreed to ally myself with them during their Crusade to take back Jerusalem from the Saracen Turks.
I became a knight, a Crusader Knight no less. I was dubbed Lothar of Caesarea. I felt the role was somewhat Ironic given my identity as a dragon. I had read the stories of St.George and the Dragon, of Belerophon and the Chimera. of Sigfried and Fafnir... I was greatly amused by the thought of living such a Dichotomy of Champion of man and Embodiment of Primeval monstrosity. I like to think though that i fit the role well. I was not warrior during the crusades, I had arms and armor yes, I had soldiers at my command and training to defend my lands, but I always considered my role to be one of the protector. I did not partake of the all out bloodshed that erupted between the Christians and Muslims, instead i turned my Manor into a Hospice and set my soldiers to protecting pilgrims and refugees.
The wars lasted, on and off, for 200 years. I grew into the role of Protector and followed that path until we were forced out of Palestine by the Ottoman Turks. I returned to Constantinople once more in 1299 and continued to study Medicine and physiology. In what I had deemed another Ironic turn, I had found a new joy in saving lives, rather than ending them. The methods were primitive then, but I learned everything I could, even practicing my art to save lives when the Black Plague reached the Crimean. My natural resistance to disease had allowed me to work closely with those afflicted and study the symptoms, the causes and the physiology of the outbreak. Science had only come so far at that time but my attempts at least saved enough lives to make my efforts worthwhile.
It is this time that I remember with the least clarity. I did a great deal of things regarding my new found craft in the arts of Medicine. I felt perhaps I was fulfilling some strange path that the gods had set out for me when i was born. I understood I was in my element with the earth and the more I studied the natural world and the physiology of plants and animals in pursuit of my art, the more I felt at home with the natural world. Time passed in great quantities and I cannot say with any certainty that I called one single place my home in these times. I remember learning that I could not return to Constantinople, which had been renamed Istanbul. I remember wandering central Europe from1500 to the 1800s. I learned a great deal in that time, I witnessed the rise and fall of both nations and the end of the era of Christendom. It was in these later years that I changed my name once more, abandoning the ways of old to embrace the oncoming storm of enlightenment. I do not remember how or why I took the name Luther Christophsen. It seemed only to fit with the one I had before. So different i was now from Hrotghar the Sell-sword. I did not mourn the loss of my old ways though, I had found myself swept up in a torrent of new knowledge. It seemed every year the leaps and bounds made in medicine and science progressed exponentially. I studied music as well as the world caught fire with enlightenment, in those days I worshipped the arias of Puccini and the Symphonies of Mozart. They filled my life with glorious inspiration even after their bodies were laid to rest. Perhaps it was for them that I decided to become a Doctor. I studied wherever I could, Berlin, Madrid, Venice, Alexandria... the world was open to me and my hunger for knowledge was Insatiable.
I remember More wars following the age of Enlightenment, apparently People had become enlightened to how much their neighbors despised them as part of their discovery. I was in Germany for most of these conflicts and saw a great deal of fighting between France and Germany, First under Napoleon, then under Kaiser Bismarck. I had participated in every conflict fought on German soil from 1805 to 1945. I knew my place in the world by this time... I was a Surgeon and a Doctor, a man of medicine and science who had devoted his life to easing the pain of the wounded and mending the bodies of the sick and dying. Things happened quickly in these days and most of it has become a blur of muddy trenches, of artillery fire and pitiful cries for a swift death. I remember blood and dirt and field hospitals, often times overcrowded with the wounded or dead. I recall sweltering summers and bitter winters and with each one I can recall faces, some begging for help, some whimpering for death, and some blessing me for ensuring that they would live another day.
Most starkly I can remember my time during the last war fought on German Soil. The face of combat had changed so much in such a short time as did the rules. When I had accepted my tour of duty with the Bundeswehr to fight on the Eastern front I had done so thinking we were to go as knights of the new Empire and put down only the opposition which stood in the way, but returning back from our failed campaign had revealed the underlying nature of our cause. In Poland we had stopped in the town of Chelmno. Before I had discarded the sentiments of my government as so much rehtoric, but what waited for us there was a glimpse into hell.
I cannot recall how many faces I saw there, downcast, malnourished, some frightened and others resigned to their fate. Escape from here seemed an inevitability for the captives at Chelmno, as they all knew that they would someday be set free from their torment and escape through the smokestacks of the crematorium which loomed over them. I was naiive to their plight... my instincts cried out inside my mind telling me that they needed me here, and I'm certain that I must have listened. We had no recollection of this being the plan for the new Reich, and I was laughed off when I offered to lend my help to the Wehrmacht in order to provide medical treatment to those in the camp. We stayed only for a few days, and it was their silence that haunted me, they did not protest, they were beyond fighting back, they were beyond salvation... and there is even so much a dragon can do. I did not forget their faces for the rest of my term. After that I knew my fight was no longer to save Germany from the Allies, but to save Germany from itself. Every ounce of my strength went to keeping my brothers alive after that, not so that they could fight back the Russians, but so that when the end of the war came, they could tell the rest of the world what they saw in Chelmno.
I came to learn later that of all the camps liberated, Chelmno was not among them. For all I had tried to do I was powerless to help them. I know I was not to blame myself, there was only so much my station allowed me to do. But when the war ended, I knew there was no returning to Germany. The Germany I had fought for had died as the deranged nightmares of a mad old man, crying blood and revenge for injuries that had never been. When our unit was disbanded I left Germany as quickly as I could. I was never tried the way my superiors were. They had erased any evidence of my unit's presence at Chelmno... but I saw to it that my comrades spoke up and gave their accounts at Nuremberg. For what my efforts were worth they had survived to point out the people who had been responsible and who had aided the destruction of innocent people.
War and death were behind me, or so I thought. Ill memories were all I could find in central Europe and England remained forbidden ground for me. So I sought refuge in America after the war. For nearly a century I was happy in America, living in Pennsylvania where my Germanic descent would be relatively justified. But fate had other plans in store for me...
I cannot say I didnt try when humanity began to falter... I tried to save as many as I could. I found shelter, I studied the illnesses, I treated the victims of war. But even as a dragon there was only so much I could do. I will not blame myself for not having saved more lives... the gods had given me more than my share of lifetimes to learn the art of protection from so many things, they would not have done so if they hadnt meant for me to put this to good use.
Strengths and Weaknesses:
*Dark Age Man-at-arms
-Anglo Saxon Fyrdman (Dirk, Spear)
-Viking Huscarl (Long-bearded Axe, Longsword and Round Shield)
-Varangian Guard (Foot-soldier Training, Formation and Phalanx combat)
-Crusader Knight (Mounted Combat, Lance and Mace, Chivalric Code, Heavy Armor training)
*Worldly Skills
-Carpentry
-Blacksmithing
-Hunting (rifle, Bow, Spear)
-Music (Viola, Cello, Upright Bass, Guitar, Mandolin, Piano)
-Polyglot (English, Gaelic, Norweigan, German, French, Latin, Italian, Romanian, Greek, Arabic, Russian, Turkish)
-Gardening
*Medieval Scholar
- Medieval Literature
- Medieval and Islamic Medicine.
-Classical Rhetoric Study (Homer, Virgil, Ovid)
-Classical Philosophy (Plato, Socrates, Aristotle)
-Classical History (Pliny the Elder, Herodotus,Thucydides)
-Classical Theology (St.Augustine, Thomas Aquinas, Muhammad, Zoroaster)
*Modern Physician (Hrothgar has kept his Medical Liscenses current since 1920)
- Surgery (self explainatory)
- Internal Medicine. (Long term treatment, operation of most modern medical machinery and technology)
- General Practice (Checkups, diagnosis of most medical ailments)
- EMT (First Aid, CPR, Resucitation.)
*Sanitätssoldat (German Army Medical Corps 1914-1945)
- Basic Training (Basic understanding of Rifles, Handguns, and Submachine guns)
- Survival Training (Self sufficiency in most wilderness settings)
- Field Surgeon (Like being a regular surgeon only you do it while people are shooting at you and you mostly deal with gunshot wounds and shrapnel)
Weaknesses:
*Earthbound: Hrothgar was born without wings and cannot fly. He has largely accepted this though and has no desire to acquire flight of his own.
*Humanitarian: To say that he is a bleeding heart is something of an understatement. He has an all out love for humanity, as humans have been the only companions he has ever found. It is not so much a love for any one group of people or individuals as it is a full fledged compassion for every human being. For many dragons it may be considered a liability as it seems Hrothgar would be willing to save a human life even if it meant loosing a draconic one.
*Hippocratic Oath: Hrothgar made a promise back when swearing an Oath meant something. A mixture of his own personal believes and his sense of chivalry bar him from causing pain or suffering beyond what may be deemed necessary and justified. He abhors torture and suffering to a degree where he will often disregard it an option even at the risk of loosing more lives.
*Protector: Hrothgar, while versed in combat arts to a degree, does not consider fighting a favorable course of action if it can be avoided. He is not a pacifist however, he understands there are situations that must invariably result in a test of arms, but he only considers this a viable alternative if he knows it must be done to protect lives. He is hesitant to kill if the situation does not require it, and will often avoid front line combat if there are other places where he can help.
*Blood Oath- Hrothgar has sworn on his own blood never again to step foot on English soil. See Battle of Stamford Bridge, 1066.
*Not a Warrior- as mentioned before, Hrothgar has trained in the arts of combat to a degree but they are not his area of expertise no matter how well his racial affinity compliments such a life. Chances are if you're going up against Hrothgar, you'll probably win.
Powers:
Physical Assets
*Child of Stone- Hrothgar's Earthen affinity has applied itself to a new level where his Dragon and Hybrid forms actually bear rocky growths on top of his scales. These growths not only provide camouflage in mountainous and desert terrain but also serve to add an extra layer of armored protection on top of his natural scales.
*Landwalker- Without the aid of wings Hrothgar's body has compensated by increasing his physical mobility over surface terrain. his legs are built for speed and endurance and his tail is weighted for extra balance when bounding and running.
Elemental Manipulation-
Biochemical Regeneration- Hrothgar's affinity towards the natural world allows him a limited ability to generate vital bio material to be used in first aid. Drawing from his own draconic powers he is able to mend wounds in a first aid capacity. The ability only extends to the treatment of physical wounds and stabilizing the injured. It is not a surrogate for surgery , medicine or any other extensive medical treatment, but instead acts as aid to provide a supernatural assist to his own medical skills. The power drains heavily on his energy however and even draws from his own body mass and he must often eat heavily after using this power in order to replenish the nutrients and calories his body has lost.
Dragon's Breath- The same attribute that allows him to generate biochemicals also allows him to produce a very simple acidic Compound in his throat. A mixture of Natural hydrochloric digestive acid and phosphoric acid provide a nice little chemical spittle that eats through rock, most transition metals and organic matter quite nicely.
Geological Manipulation- As an earth Dragon Hrothgar possesses a limited capability to shape and form stone and sediment around him. The ability does not extend a great deal from his person but it allows him to create tunnels , shelves or walls out of whatever earthen elements are within his immediate vicinity.
RP Sample:
When the guns stopped firing I thought it was over, the entire tragedy and ecstasy of life had found its final respite in the waiting arms of death. The last seventeen hours had been lived at a frantic pace, I had spent them in eternity as a voice of defiance drowned out in a sea of noise from the Artillery fire and Katyusha Rockets. I was an emissary of merciful insanity, standing up to fight off the inevitable time and time again with the same methods each time hoping to get a different result.
My hands were bloody and my ears rang from the cacophony of gunfire that had lit up the night on that field some 80 miles east of Berlin. I did not know where I was but I knew there were dying people here, the price of war, and I was there to bargain with death to spare a few more lives from the shrapnel and hellfire. Hours passed in relative quiet as the ringing in my ears drowned out the frightening sound of the barrage. I thought only of my work and of stopping the wounds of my comrades as they valiantly gave their lives for the Fuhrer and for Germany. I lived every moment in a nightmare of destruction.. and when the silence fell I knew that death had finally turned his attentions towards me.
He dropped to my knees, breathing hard, wondering when the final blow would come that would burst through me and show me the kiss of oblivion.
BUt it never came... almost an hour passed and still no sign of our inevitable end. My ears had stopped ringing and beyond the darkened horizon i could hear the sound of megaphones. I could hear music, that strange music the Soviets played that was at the same time somber and fiery. Over top they began their rercorded messages, the same ones they'd played over top of our radio signals for the last week.
"Soldiers of the Reich, you fight valiantly. Not one of you can say you did not do your best. But you have been misguided. The Fascists have taken everything from you and told you to go die! We do not wish to kill you, your fight is not with us, it should be with the War ministers who send you to die for their profits! Workers and Soldiers of the Reich you may still find glory, throw down your weapons and we will set you free from the Frascist Tyrany, lay down your arms and we will free you from the profiteers who benefit from your death!"
It was nothing we hadn't heard, I had no reason to trust the promises of the Red Army, They owed us no favors. We weren't the SS or the Wehrmacht, we had no delusions of a glorious last stand to save the Reich. In our hearts we knew that what we truly fought for was to keep the Red Army back just a few days more to give the English and Americans more time to reach Berlin before the Red Army had a chance to enact their hostile and merciless revenge on our people.
As my breath returned I stood up hands behind my head. "I'm going out to talk.." I announced to my comrades in the foxhole. They looked at me with faces too disillusioned to be terrified, but altogether unhappy with this idea.
"They'll kill you Luther." one of them said.
"I am willing to accept this consequence. I'm out of supplies anyways, I'm no more use to you here. When i stand up the rest of you need to retreat back behind the line. If they're watching me they wont notice the retreat. Fall back and you'll be able to regroup at the next line..." I told them. They offered no response to this only to gather their weapons as they watched me make my way out to the field, dropping my rifle and my field kit by the side and wrapping a bandage around my arm as a sign of surrender.
With eyes downcast I marched forward slowly, vaguely aware of the sound of feet rushing back towards our last defense point. I followed the sound of their speakers, descending towards the dirge like melodies to await what the fates had prepared for me.
PB Name: Heino Ferch.
Pictures:
The Doctor
Staving off the Inevitable
What the flesh hides from sight
The space between two forms.
Age: 1733
Gender: Male
Sexual Orientation: Straight.
Power Level: Elder
Kind: Earthen.
Description:
Humanoid:
Hrothgar's image has changed throughout the centuries often times to fit in with the surroundings he's found himself in. Try as he might however his image has never lost genetic trappings of his origins in Northern Europe. He has always been broad shouldered and tall with muscles packed like tight wires around his body. His form seems to have been built for endurance rather than pure strength although his draconic heritage has given him plenty of that. He has often been described as blond although his true hair color tends to shift from a dirty blond to a light brown given his circumstances. His body is bereft of Piercings or tattoos which is strange given his vast background in various cultures that would have easily given him justification for such trappings. He feels his human form is a celebration of the physical attributes he admires most in people and does not desire to add to something he already feels that the gods have made wonderful with complex imperfections and deviations. His human face carries a warmth to it as well, with rich dark brown eyes wrinkled slightly at the edges from years of service in the name of compassion and care and seem to be filled with an immense sympathy. Everything about him speaks to his nature as someone who has seen the world at its worst and works every day to see it at it's best.
Draconic: Hrotghar's draconic form reflects his affinity for the earth. His scales are dark in color, usually ranging in the earthen tones. For a majority of his body is not covered in scales however, at least not in the literal sense. The vast majority of his surface is covered in what appear to be natural rock formations that produce a gravel like texture on his outer body and in some places, especially around the shoulders haunches and down his spine the rocklike protrusions are more pronounced to the point where his body seems chiseled out of stone by the elements. As a dragon he bears no wings, this is compensated for by his legs which seem made for endurance and long treks. They bear a predatory resilience and strength which allows him swift travel over most terrain, although it pales in comparison to the speed that flight grants.
Hybrid/Avatar In his 'halfway' form Hrothgar seems to bear more resemblance to a shifter of Crocodile Stock as his scales change to a murky green color with horizontal stripes down his back. The rocky protrusions on his outer body are less pronounced although still present forming something of a natural armor around him. His tail remains elongated for balance and climbing while moving through any terrain he finds himself in. His body keeps that sleek mobile quality about him that his fully Draconic form possesses as something of a compensation for his lack of wings.
Personality: While ever the staunch realist about the world he exists in, Hrothgar has never given himself to a sense of fatalism. He believes that, while the world may be bleak and cruel, there is no excuse for simply letting it exist that way. His world experiences have taught him that all problems exist to be solved or remedied. He feels he works best on his own sometimes but knows how to value help when he receives it.
History:
The beginning of it all is always a hard subject for me to recall with any clarity. My ambitions have been small compared to those shared by my brethren, as such to this day I have made no real effort to detail the life I've lived or maintain any record by which I may validate my existence. I have held on only loosely to the memories of who I once was and what I had been in the past, so in fear of loosing them I now make some sort of attempt to reclaim the past and record it so that at a later date I might not loose a hold of what little sense of identity I still cling to.
I remember the earliest part must have happened in Jutland, I was a child there during what I have heard people call the dark ages. I remember cold snows, bitter frosts and the scent of pine trees. I am told the place goes by a different name but Jutland shall forever be the name I call the place where I was born. From there I can remember getting on boats, longships I think, and leaving on a long journey through the Northern Sea where there was promise of food and shelter and a better life. I was one of many people who would come to arrive on the green island of Britain in those days. It was a different place then as I can recall, it had been abandoned by the Romans and we, like insects on a carcass, made our place in the lowlands of the island and attempted to thrive where the greatest empire in the world had failed. If memory serves me correctly it was a happy time, there were tensions yes, but at least we were safe from so many things that the world had deemed fit to curse us with. Later I would learn it was because of invaders that we had been forced to leave Jutland... displaced by the fearsome southern tribes known as Goths, who had been driven from their own land by even more Fearsome people known as Huns. The world I was born into was volatile, but sanctuary on the green island was a blessing I suppose I can be thankful for to this day. Yet even in the sanctuary we found here I was treated as an outcast within my own home.
I was told in those days that my lineage was mixed, one half of my family belonging to the Angles the other Half Belonging to the sea raiders that had been called Norsemen. By all common opinions I was my mother's son, she bore me out of her womb, never discussing with me who my father was, only that the man whom she married was not the man who sired me. The man who's home I shared held a cool distaste for me, I was the result of Viking Seed and as such deserved no more hospitality than was required of him. He kept me at arms length and did not bother teaching me his trade the same way he would come to teach the children he had with my mother. And yet I discovered rather quickly that the information regarding my lineage was more than skewed. By my fourteenth summer I had begun a change unlike anything I had been prepared for. Like any other adolescent my age I was expecting the transformation from Boy to man, but the transformation that overtook me was one of Boy to Beast. I can say that at first the change was a jarring shock to my senses. My immediate response was to mistake my changes as a waking dream of some sort, a hallucination or witchcraft or both. But it was hard to ignore after weeks of soreness in my limbs, of changes in my body that would not allow me to forget them. It was the skin I think which stood out most when the changes began to arrive in full force. My flesh grew a pebbly texture as bumps and ridges on my shoulders and elbows began to jut out like craggy rocks from a hillside. For this I was cast out of my father's house under suspicion that I had brought some sort of strange leprosy with me from Jutland. It would be revealed to me later (much later) that my mother had known of my heritage since my conception. She herself was of draconic stock, hiding (for fear of what I do not know) amongst the people of the Anglo Saxon tribes and dared not reveal her secret even when it meant I would have to leave the safety of their villages.
I cannot say that I felt any desire to return to that house, albeit it was the last of my family I would ever see. I had dealt enough with my stepfather's lack of compassion to understand a few cruel realities of the world. It was in solitude in the wilderness that I underwent my metamorphosis. I have fond memories of this time in the wilderness. I honed my newfound draconic strength, I embraced full force the stony complexion of my race which grew like armor on my body, perfectly fitted to allow a range of motion for me. I found myself at home away from the humanity that had cast me out, I hunted and I grew into my new forms. I became a dragon in every real sense of the idea, shifting through forms as they suited me and caring little for the wings that the gods had seen fit not to bless me with. I had no desire for the sky when the earth held enough bounty on its own. I was at home in caves and in the forest. Wherever I could feel solid ground beneath my feet, that’s what I called home.
Yet time changes people and places, a century amongst the wilds had given me a chance to understand myself but had provided me with no companions. I sometimes wonder if it as loneliness or just plain curiosity that drove me back to the world of men but by that time I was ready to take human form and explore the world. I was a strong built lad and in those days I would come to find out that a good pair of legs and a good set of shoulders was all I needed to make my way in the world. In this respect I became a sell-sword, finding myself in a place called Dublin. I became fast friends with mercenary work and learned through trial and error how to swing a sword, heft an axe, hold a spear and row a Longship. Numerous and countless are the adventures I had in those days aboard Viking Galleys. We thought ourselves to be invincible then, the Franks of the Continent trembled before us and appeased us with land tributes in the North, the Saxons called us enemies and brothers all at the same time, the Celts gave us good sport and even the far East seemed within our Grasp. These were happy times as I can recall as well, with a blade in my hand and a sea to my back I waded through rivers of blood and claimed all manner of prizes as reward for battles well fought. We were gods then with whom all begged for mercy, their Christ seemed powerless to stop us .. And yet even amidst such rampant success we were soon to learn that we were last bloody roar of a bygone time.
Even gods may bleed and if they bleed then one day they must fall. I will not forget this now or ever. Our time came to an end, it was not a sudden thing. We had success and when an army is successful they begin to run out of reasons to fight. Every horde must disband, and I am sad to say I was there when it happened. We had seen our sunset drawing near, and in our last glorious ways we made an attempt at retaking what we thought was ours. But we were stopped in the year 1066, defeated for the last time at the Bridge in Stamford, not far from where I grew up as a child some 600 years prior. We swore an oath to a man who would die that year, King Harold the Usurper, that we would never again step foot on British soil. With this promise I said goodbye to what was once my home and it is an oath I have never broken. With defeat to our keel we turned our ships to the east, sailing as far as the sea would let us to the realm of our cousins in Kiev. Many of our lot stayed there as Kievan Rus but young and brash as i was I refused to settle down in this place and pushed on with the others towards the promise of prosperity in the last bastion of Rome, those strange people who had abandoned my homeland so many centuries ago.
The place was called Miklagard by the Norsemen (the name Meant Big City a testimony to how creative we were in those days), but to the people living there it was called Constantinople, and to them we were known as Varangians. We came at first seeking fortune in this mysterious city with wealth far greater than any warrior king of the west. We made for ourselves a home in this city, joining up as soldiers and guards and making a name for ourselves. In time we earned the trust of the City's nobility, and in this trust I found a new transformation. It was easy enough to kill, as elite soldiers of these people who called themselves Byzantines we wanted for lack of throats to cut or blood to spill. Although our titles and trappings changed there was not much about us that was different from the sea raiders of old As the years passed though I found myself for the first time questioning my place in this world as a killer. It was good sport to be sure, and it had won me acceptance within the walls of Miklagard. Clothair they called me now, Clothair the Varangian, as close a name as they could muster to the one my mother had given me half a century ago in Jutland. Battles won and triumphant returns had seen them fit to title me as a noble in their courts and for the first time I knew pleasures outside the clash of blades or the spurt of blood. I learned to read, I studied the culture and wisdom they set before me. I learned of Heracles and Jupiter, of Apollo and Theseus, I learned of their God of the Tetragrammaton and his Avatar and Son who they called Christ. The Poetry of Virgil and Ovid, the philosophy of Socrates , Plato, St.Augustine, were all made available and in time I saw less and less of the life of combat that I had known so closely before. Knowledge became my pastime and my passion, I tried to learn a little of every vocation that I could lay my hands to, woodcraft, Rhetoric, Blacksmithing, Alchemy, Poetry, Gardening. I became lost in a world of minds that had eluded me for the first part of my life. But questions began to arise, as they tend to do... for by this time the people of the city had noticed my oddities, why It had been 30 years since I arrived and I still appeared to be 35 when logic dictated I should have aged to 60 by now. Suspicions arose and accusations some wild, some not, flew regarding just what had given me my unusual longevity. I could answer none of these without endangering my well being and the decorum of the city so I did what I had to, with all my earthly possessions I went into hermitage in the deserts to the west, traveling to Palestine and Egypt settling eventually into a comfortable land stead within the vicinity of Jerusalem. I spent my time here continuing my pursuit of knowledge but my safety came to a swift end within a single decade.
The west I had almost forgotten had caught up with me, and I found myself at the center of a war of Righteous afflictions. The year was 1097 and my little manor had become a stopping point and a safe haven for Crusader Knights from all over western Europe... I met warriors from France, England, Italy, Spain, Germany and Poland. To each I spoke, I learned what had happened in Europe during my absence. Things had changed. My home of Britain had unified under a single banner, the man to whom i made my oath never to return had died in battle with Norman Invaders from France who now ruled the island. Germany had fallen under the protectorate of The holy Roman Empire and the alliances of the princes incorporated therein was slowly becoming shakier and shakier... I realized I was far detached from my old life yet I still held a conviction and investment in their struggles. At least this is what I told myself when I agreed to ally myself with them during their Crusade to take back Jerusalem from the Saracen Turks.
I became a knight, a Crusader Knight no less. I was dubbed Lothar of Caesarea. I felt the role was somewhat Ironic given my identity as a dragon. I had read the stories of St.George and the Dragon, of Belerophon and the Chimera. of Sigfried and Fafnir... I was greatly amused by the thought of living such a Dichotomy of Champion of man and Embodiment of Primeval monstrosity. I like to think though that i fit the role well. I was not warrior during the crusades, I had arms and armor yes, I had soldiers at my command and training to defend my lands, but I always considered my role to be one of the protector. I did not partake of the all out bloodshed that erupted between the Christians and Muslims, instead i turned my Manor into a Hospice and set my soldiers to protecting pilgrims and refugees.
The wars lasted, on and off, for 200 years. I grew into the role of Protector and followed that path until we were forced out of Palestine by the Ottoman Turks. I returned to Constantinople once more in 1299 and continued to study Medicine and physiology. In what I had deemed another Ironic turn, I had found a new joy in saving lives, rather than ending them. The methods were primitive then, but I learned everything I could, even practicing my art to save lives when the Black Plague reached the Crimean. My natural resistance to disease had allowed me to work closely with those afflicted and study the symptoms, the causes and the physiology of the outbreak. Science had only come so far at that time but my attempts at least saved enough lives to make my efforts worthwhile.
It is this time that I remember with the least clarity. I did a great deal of things regarding my new found craft in the arts of Medicine. I felt perhaps I was fulfilling some strange path that the gods had set out for me when i was born. I understood I was in my element with the earth and the more I studied the natural world and the physiology of plants and animals in pursuit of my art, the more I felt at home with the natural world. Time passed in great quantities and I cannot say with any certainty that I called one single place my home in these times. I remember learning that I could not return to Constantinople, which had been renamed Istanbul. I remember wandering central Europe from1500 to the 1800s. I learned a great deal in that time, I witnessed the rise and fall of both nations and the end of the era of Christendom. It was in these later years that I changed my name once more, abandoning the ways of old to embrace the oncoming storm of enlightenment. I do not remember how or why I took the name Luther Christophsen. It seemed only to fit with the one I had before. So different i was now from Hrotghar the Sell-sword. I did not mourn the loss of my old ways though, I had found myself swept up in a torrent of new knowledge. It seemed every year the leaps and bounds made in medicine and science progressed exponentially. I studied music as well as the world caught fire with enlightenment, in those days I worshipped the arias of Puccini and the Symphonies of Mozart. They filled my life with glorious inspiration even after their bodies were laid to rest. Perhaps it was for them that I decided to become a Doctor. I studied wherever I could, Berlin, Madrid, Venice, Alexandria... the world was open to me and my hunger for knowledge was Insatiable.
I remember More wars following the age of Enlightenment, apparently People had become enlightened to how much their neighbors despised them as part of their discovery. I was in Germany for most of these conflicts and saw a great deal of fighting between France and Germany, First under Napoleon, then under Kaiser Bismarck. I had participated in every conflict fought on German soil from 1805 to 1945. I knew my place in the world by this time... I was a Surgeon and a Doctor, a man of medicine and science who had devoted his life to easing the pain of the wounded and mending the bodies of the sick and dying. Things happened quickly in these days and most of it has become a blur of muddy trenches, of artillery fire and pitiful cries for a swift death. I remember blood and dirt and field hospitals, often times overcrowded with the wounded or dead. I recall sweltering summers and bitter winters and with each one I can recall faces, some begging for help, some whimpering for death, and some blessing me for ensuring that they would live another day.
Most starkly I can remember my time during the last war fought on German Soil. The face of combat had changed so much in such a short time as did the rules. When I had accepted my tour of duty with the Bundeswehr to fight on the Eastern front I had done so thinking we were to go as knights of the new Empire and put down only the opposition which stood in the way, but returning back from our failed campaign had revealed the underlying nature of our cause. In Poland we had stopped in the town of Chelmno. Before I had discarded the sentiments of my government as so much rehtoric, but what waited for us there was a glimpse into hell.
I cannot recall how many faces I saw there, downcast, malnourished, some frightened and others resigned to their fate. Escape from here seemed an inevitability for the captives at Chelmno, as they all knew that they would someday be set free from their torment and escape through the smokestacks of the crematorium which loomed over them. I was naiive to their plight... my instincts cried out inside my mind telling me that they needed me here, and I'm certain that I must have listened. We had no recollection of this being the plan for the new Reich, and I was laughed off when I offered to lend my help to the Wehrmacht in order to provide medical treatment to those in the camp. We stayed only for a few days, and it was their silence that haunted me, they did not protest, they were beyond fighting back, they were beyond salvation... and there is even so much a dragon can do. I did not forget their faces for the rest of my term. After that I knew my fight was no longer to save Germany from the Allies, but to save Germany from itself. Every ounce of my strength went to keeping my brothers alive after that, not so that they could fight back the Russians, but so that when the end of the war came, they could tell the rest of the world what they saw in Chelmno.
I came to learn later that of all the camps liberated, Chelmno was not among them. For all I had tried to do I was powerless to help them. I know I was not to blame myself, there was only so much my station allowed me to do. But when the war ended, I knew there was no returning to Germany. The Germany I had fought for had died as the deranged nightmares of a mad old man, crying blood and revenge for injuries that had never been. When our unit was disbanded I left Germany as quickly as I could. I was never tried the way my superiors were. They had erased any evidence of my unit's presence at Chelmno... but I saw to it that my comrades spoke up and gave their accounts at Nuremberg. For what my efforts were worth they had survived to point out the people who had been responsible and who had aided the destruction of innocent people.
War and death were behind me, or so I thought. Ill memories were all I could find in central Europe and England remained forbidden ground for me. So I sought refuge in America after the war. For nearly a century I was happy in America, living in Pennsylvania where my Germanic descent would be relatively justified. But fate had other plans in store for me...
I cannot say I didnt try when humanity began to falter... I tried to save as many as I could. I found shelter, I studied the illnesses, I treated the victims of war. But even as a dragon there was only so much I could do. I will not blame myself for not having saved more lives... the gods had given me more than my share of lifetimes to learn the art of protection from so many things, they would not have done so if they hadnt meant for me to put this to good use.
Strengths and Weaknesses:
*Dark Age Man-at-arms
-Anglo Saxon Fyrdman (Dirk, Spear)
-Viking Huscarl (Long-bearded Axe, Longsword and Round Shield)
-Varangian Guard (Foot-soldier Training, Formation and Phalanx combat)
-Crusader Knight (Mounted Combat, Lance and Mace, Chivalric Code, Heavy Armor training)
*Worldly Skills
-Carpentry
-Blacksmithing
-Hunting (rifle, Bow, Spear)
-Music (Viola, Cello, Upright Bass, Guitar, Mandolin, Piano)
-Polyglot (English, Gaelic, Norweigan, German, French, Latin, Italian, Romanian, Greek, Arabic, Russian, Turkish)
-Gardening
*Medieval Scholar
- Medieval Literature
- Medieval and Islamic Medicine.
-Classical Rhetoric Study (Homer, Virgil, Ovid)
-Classical Philosophy (Plato, Socrates, Aristotle)
-Classical History (Pliny the Elder, Herodotus,Thucydides)
-Classical Theology (St.Augustine, Thomas Aquinas, Muhammad, Zoroaster)
*Modern Physician (Hrothgar has kept his Medical Liscenses current since 1920)
- Surgery (self explainatory)
- Internal Medicine. (Long term treatment, operation of most modern medical machinery and technology)
- General Practice (Checkups, diagnosis of most medical ailments)
- EMT (First Aid, CPR, Resucitation.)
*Sanitätssoldat (German Army Medical Corps 1914-1945)
- Basic Training (Basic understanding of Rifles, Handguns, and Submachine guns)
- Survival Training (Self sufficiency in most wilderness settings)
- Field Surgeon (Like being a regular surgeon only you do it while people are shooting at you and you mostly deal with gunshot wounds and shrapnel)
Weaknesses:
*Earthbound: Hrothgar was born without wings and cannot fly. He has largely accepted this though and has no desire to acquire flight of his own.
*Humanitarian: To say that he is a bleeding heart is something of an understatement. He has an all out love for humanity, as humans have been the only companions he has ever found. It is not so much a love for any one group of people or individuals as it is a full fledged compassion for every human being. For many dragons it may be considered a liability as it seems Hrothgar would be willing to save a human life even if it meant loosing a draconic one.
*Hippocratic Oath: Hrothgar made a promise back when swearing an Oath meant something. A mixture of his own personal believes and his sense of chivalry bar him from causing pain or suffering beyond what may be deemed necessary and justified. He abhors torture and suffering to a degree where he will often disregard it an option even at the risk of loosing more lives.
*Protector: Hrothgar, while versed in combat arts to a degree, does not consider fighting a favorable course of action if it can be avoided. He is not a pacifist however, he understands there are situations that must invariably result in a test of arms, but he only considers this a viable alternative if he knows it must be done to protect lives. He is hesitant to kill if the situation does not require it, and will often avoid front line combat if there are other places where he can help.
*Blood Oath- Hrothgar has sworn on his own blood never again to step foot on English soil. See Battle of Stamford Bridge, 1066.
*Not a Warrior- as mentioned before, Hrothgar has trained in the arts of combat to a degree but they are not his area of expertise no matter how well his racial affinity compliments such a life. Chances are if you're going up against Hrothgar, you'll probably win.
Powers:
Physical Assets
*Child of Stone- Hrothgar's Earthen affinity has applied itself to a new level where his Dragon and Hybrid forms actually bear rocky growths on top of his scales. These growths not only provide camouflage in mountainous and desert terrain but also serve to add an extra layer of armored protection on top of his natural scales.
*Landwalker- Without the aid of wings Hrothgar's body has compensated by increasing his physical mobility over surface terrain. his legs are built for speed and endurance and his tail is weighted for extra balance when bounding and running.
Elemental Manipulation-
Biochemical Regeneration- Hrothgar's affinity towards the natural world allows him a limited ability to generate vital bio material to be used in first aid. Drawing from his own draconic powers he is able to mend wounds in a first aid capacity. The ability only extends to the treatment of physical wounds and stabilizing the injured. It is not a surrogate for surgery , medicine or any other extensive medical treatment, but instead acts as aid to provide a supernatural assist to his own medical skills. The power drains heavily on his energy however and even draws from his own body mass and he must often eat heavily after using this power in order to replenish the nutrients and calories his body has lost.
Dragon's Breath- The same attribute that allows him to generate biochemicals also allows him to produce a very simple acidic Compound in his throat. A mixture of Natural hydrochloric digestive acid and phosphoric acid provide a nice little chemical spittle that eats through rock, most transition metals and organic matter quite nicely.
Geological Manipulation- As an earth Dragon Hrothgar possesses a limited capability to shape and form stone and sediment around him. The ability does not extend a great deal from his person but it allows him to create tunnels , shelves or walls out of whatever earthen elements are within his immediate vicinity.
RP Sample:
When the guns stopped firing I thought it was over, the entire tragedy and ecstasy of life had found its final respite in the waiting arms of death. The last seventeen hours had been lived at a frantic pace, I had spent them in eternity as a voice of defiance drowned out in a sea of noise from the Artillery fire and Katyusha Rockets. I was an emissary of merciful insanity, standing up to fight off the inevitable time and time again with the same methods each time hoping to get a different result.
My hands were bloody and my ears rang from the cacophony of gunfire that had lit up the night on that field some 80 miles east of Berlin. I did not know where I was but I knew there were dying people here, the price of war, and I was there to bargain with death to spare a few more lives from the shrapnel and hellfire. Hours passed in relative quiet as the ringing in my ears drowned out the frightening sound of the barrage. I thought only of my work and of stopping the wounds of my comrades as they valiantly gave their lives for the Fuhrer and for Germany. I lived every moment in a nightmare of destruction.. and when the silence fell I knew that death had finally turned his attentions towards me.
He dropped to my knees, breathing hard, wondering when the final blow would come that would burst through me and show me the kiss of oblivion.
BUt it never came... almost an hour passed and still no sign of our inevitable end. My ears had stopped ringing and beyond the darkened horizon i could hear the sound of megaphones. I could hear music, that strange music the Soviets played that was at the same time somber and fiery. Over top they began their rercorded messages, the same ones they'd played over top of our radio signals for the last week.
"Soldiers of the Reich, you fight valiantly. Not one of you can say you did not do your best. But you have been misguided. The Fascists have taken everything from you and told you to go die! We do not wish to kill you, your fight is not with us, it should be with the War ministers who send you to die for their profits! Workers and Soldiers of the Reich you may still find glory, throw down your weapons and we will set you free from the Frascist Tyrany, lay down your arms and we will free you from the profiteers who benefit from your death!"
It was nothing we hadn't heard, I had no reason to trust the promises of the Red Army, They owed us no favors. We weren't the SS or the Wehrmacht, we had no delusions of a glorious last stand to save the Reich. In our hearts we knew that what we truly fought for was to keep the Red Army back just a few days more to give the English and Americans more time to reach Berlin before the Red Army had a chance to enact their hostile and merciless revenge on our people.
As my breath returned I stood up hands behind my head. "I'm going out to talk.." I announced to my comrades in the foxhole. They looked at me with faces too disillusioned to be terrified, but altogether unhappy with this idea.
"They'll kill you Luther." one of them said.
"I am willing to accept this consequence. I'm out of supplies anyways, I'm no more use to you here. When i stand up the rest of you need to retreat back behind the line. If they're watching me they wont notice the retreat. Fall back and you'll be able to regroup at the next line..." I told them. They offered no response to this only to gather their weapons as they watched me make my way out to the field, dropping my rifle and my field kit by the side and wrapping a bandage around my arm as a sign of surrender.
With eyes downcast I marched forward slowly, vaguely aware of the sound of feet rushing back towards our last defense point. I followed the sound of their speakers, descending towards the dirge like melodies to await what the fates had prepared for me.
PB Name: Heino Ferch.
Pictures:
The Doctor
Staving off the Inevitable
What the flesh hides from sight
The space between two forms.
we can go from there
