Post by Christopher J. D'Dario on Jan 18, 2012 14:26:36 GMT
Character Name: Salvatore Collardo
Rank: Corporal
Nationality: Italian
History: Collardo was born February 14th 1908 into a fiercely religious family. His father was a priest at a small church and his mother stayed at home to look after both him and his little sister. He grew up with many friends who were children of other highly religious families and they spent most of their time helping each other’s parents with household chores or helping out around the church. Most of the children were content with living their simple lives and helping around their small community, Salvatore however was not. He went along with the others and helped clean up parks or pick up littler in the streets but in the back of his mind he wanted to do something more, something that actually made a difference.
Even with his whole family trying to push him into the religious life and follow his fathers footsteps in the church Salvatore never really showed any interest in pursuing the religious life. When his father spoke about love and peace he tuned out, thinking that those qualities were more fitting for woman like his mother who was always the one caring for the children or cooking or cleaning and always seemed happy doing it. But when Gods wrath was spoken of he paid close attention and could easily associate that power with men. He could see the strength and anger of men as the wrath of God and believed that the more violence and strength a man possessed the closer to god he would be. So when a drunken man stumbled into the church and tried to steal the donations box, Salvatore stopped him by beating him almost to death with one of the candleholders he had been cleaning.
He was surprised when his father punished him for the beating and went to help the doctors to heal the wounded man by using the money from the donation box to buy medical supplies. Enraged by his father’s choice Salvatore spent the next few weeks contemplating his choices. He could either stay in the town and be forever pushed into a life that he didn’t want or understand, or he could leave and make his own way in the world. Deciding that he would be more accepted elsewhere he packs his clothes and as much money as he could find and tells his parents that he’s leaving.
He travelled around to the towns close to his hometown but was never able to find a place that felt like he belonged. His belief that violence and strength brought him closer to god forced everyone he met to keep their distance, with few adult friends he found that he was never really grounded in one area and used that freedom to try and spread his ideals about getting close to god through blood. When the War broke out he joined up as soon as he could, finally believing that he had found a group of people who would not only understand his views but also share them. The army became his home due to the simple fact that his violent beliefs were nurtured and encouraged rather then suppressed.
Writing Sample: The scream of shells falling through the sky could even be heard over the machineguns firing all around him, tracer rounds roared through the air threatening to bury themselves into any exposed flesh while explosions rocked the ground and shook dirt and dust from the walls. Bodies lay strewn through the streets riddled with bullet wounds or blown apart limbs while their comrades hid behind walls and cars and anything else that would provide cover. The screams for medics were drowned out along with shouted orders to advance and regroup. Overall moral was broken and chaos and panic consumed the survivors. Salvatore Collardo was one of them.
He was trying his hardest not to scream out in fear as bullets strafed across the wall that was keeping him out of the iron sights of his enemies but he could feel each round impact with the brick. Images flashed through his mind of what those bullets would do to his body, what it would feel like, would it hurt? Did any of the men laying dead in the street feel pain before dying or did the bullets just steal away their life?
Breathing deeply to try and calm himself he looked around at the other men cowering behind whatever cover they could find and felt his stomach drop with shame. They weren’t cowering; they weren’t hiding with their heads down. They were returning fire. His shame only grew as his commander ran between the squads passing out ammo and shouting words of encouragement to those fighting while letting off shots of his own whenever he could. Swallowing, he closed his eyes and started muttering a prayer to give him strength and courage. He opened his eyes and tried to move forward enough to fire his M91 but each centimetre felt like a meter and just when he reached the corner a shower of bullets punched chunks out of the brick and he retreated back behind the wall.
The commander had seen him cringe back and began making his way over but got pinned down by a hail of machinegun fire. He waited till the fire changed direction and darted forward and dived behind the wall next to Salvatore. Salvatore expected his commander to start yelling at him for his lack of courage and push him out into the line of fire. But he didn’t move. He just lay there, slumped against the wall looking up at nothing with a growing pool of blood forming underneath him from a hole in his chest. Salvatore blinked in shock at the dead man beside him, he had watched his commander run across to him and he didn’t even see the bullet hit. There was no blood spurt from him or any flinch in his movements and yet he was dead.
Salvatore couldn’t take his eyes off his commander but as more blood flowed from his body so the fear seemed to flow out of Salvatore. His commander had been a violent man; he had trained them hard and had died a violent death. He was strong enough to face his fear and force others to face theirs. Blinking away the tears that had started to form Salvatore gripped his M91 tighter and took a step forward. He would use his Commanders strength, the strength that had fled his own body when the bullets had started flying. He took a quick breath and jumped around the corner, sprinting forward to a doorway and taking cover before firing his weapon for the first time with the intent to kill another human. When he ducked back to reload he shouted for the men to advance and leant out to fire his weapon again.
Rank: Corporal
Nationality: Italian
History: Collardo was born February 14th 1908 into a fiercely religious family. His father was a priest at a small church and his mother stayed at home to look after both him and his little sister. He grew up with many friends who were children of other highly religious families and they spent most of their time helping each other’s parents with household chores or helping out around the church. Most of the children were content with living their simple lives and helping around their small community, Salvatore however was not. He went along with the others and helped clean up parks or pick up littler in the streets but in the back of his mind he wanted to do something more, something that actually made a difference.
Even with his whole family trying to push him into the religious life and follow his fathers footsteps in the church Salvatore never really showed any interest in pursuing the religious life. When his father spoke about love and peace he tuned out, thinking that those qualities were more fitting for woman like his mother who was always the one caring for the children or cooking or cleaning and always seemed happy doing it. But when Gods wrath was spoken of he paid close attention and could easily associate that power with men. He could see the strength and anger of men as the wrath of God and believed that the more violence and strength a man possessed the closer to god he would be. So when a drunken man stumbled into the church and tried to steal the donations box, Salvatore stopped him by beating him almost to death with one of the candleholders he had been cleaning.
He was surprised when his father punished him for the beating and went to help the doctors to heal the wounded man by using the money from the donation box to buy medical supplies. Enraged by his father’s choice Salvatore spent the next few weeks contemplating his choices. He could either stay in the town and be forever pushed into a life that he didn’t want or understand, or he could leave and make his own way in the world. Deciding that he would be more accepted elsewhere he packs his clothes and as much money as he could find and tells his parents that he’s leaving.
He travelled around to the towns close to his hometown but was never able to find a place that felt like he belonged. His belief that violence and strength brought him closer to god forced everyone he met to keep their distance, with few adult friends he found that he was never really grounded in one area and used that freedom to try and spread his ideals about getting close to god through blood. When the War broke out he joined up as soon as he could, finally believing that he had found a group of people who would not only understand his views but also share them. The army became his home due to the simple fact that his violent beliefs were nurtured and encouraged rather then suppressed.
Writing Sample: The scream of shells falling through the sky could even be heard over the machineguns firing all around him, tracer rounds roared through the air threatening to bury themselves into any exposed flesh while explosions rocked the ground and shook dirt and dust from the walls. Bodies lay strewn through the streets riddled with bullet wounds or blown apart limbs while their comrades hid behind walls and cars and anything else that would provide cover. The screams for medics were drowned out along with shouted orders to advance and regroup. Overall moral was broken and chaos and panic consumed the survivors. Salvatore Collardo was one of them.
He was trying his hardest not to scream out in fear as bullets strafed across the wall that was keeping him out of the iron sights of his enemies but he could feel each round impact with the brick. Images flashed through his mind of what those bullets would do to his body, what it would feel like, would it hurt? Did any of the men laying dead in the street feel pain before dying or did the bullets just steal away their life?
Breathing deeply to try and calm himself he looked around at the other men cowering behind whatever cover they could find and felt his stomach drop with shame. They weren’t cowering; they weren’t hiding with their heads down. They were returning fire. His shame only grew as his commander ran between the squads passing out ammo and shouting words of encouragement to those fighting while letting off shots of his own whenever he could. Swallowing, he closed his eyes and started muttering a prayer to give him strength and courage. He opened his eyes and tried to move forward enough to fire his M91 but each centimetre felt like a meter and just when he reached the corner a shower of bullets punched chunks out of the brick and he retreated back behind the wall.
The commander had seen him cringe back and began making his way over but got pinned down by a hail of machinegun fire. He waited till the fire changed direction and darted forward and dived behind the wall next to Salvatore. Salvatore expected his commander to start yelling at him for his lack of courage and push him out into the line of fire. But he didn’t move. He just lay there, slumped against the wall looking up at nothing with a growing pool of blood forming underneath him from a hole in his chest. Salvatore blinked in shock at the dead man beside him, he had watched his commander run across to him and he didn’t even see the bullet hit. There was no blood spurt from him or any flinch in his movements and yet he was dead.
Salvatore couldn’t take his eyes off his commander but as more blood flowed from his body so the fear seemed to flow out of Salvatore. His commander had been a violent man; he had trained them hard and had died a violent death. He was strong enough to face his fear and force others to face theirs. Blinking away the tears that had started to form Salvatore gripped his M91 tighter and took a step forward. He would use his Commanders strength, the strength that had fled his own body when the bullets had started flying. He took a quick breath and jumped around the corner, sprinting forward to a doorway and taking cover before firing his weapon for the first time with the intent to kill another human. When he ducked back to reload he shouted for the men to advance and leant out to fire his weapon again.
