Post by Kyle Steinbeck on Oct 10, 2008 19:20:23 GMT
Accepted!
Although how you can be born in 1915 and be reaching your teenage years in the closing stages of the war is beyond me. Or is this not the 1st World War you are talking about?
~Dan
Oops!
Didn't mean that...
~Danny
Account E-Mail: (Matrix467@hotmail.com)
Name: Kyle Steinbeck
Nationality:
- Austrian
What Army will Your Character Serve Beneath?
- German Army (Soon to be SS)
Character History:
Born in Austria, nineteen-fifth teen, Kyle grew up amongst a pair of very political parents in the neighbouring city of Salzburg; Bordering onto Germany. The first world war had shaped eastern-Europe considerably over the time, Austria in particular, with many German Citizens moving back and forth from Austria like Trojan ants, trying to find depictive ground that wouldn’t have them drafted into the infamous German Army or dragged between a political dispute that’d unfolded all over Europe.
Thankfully, Kyle was nothing but a toddler and child around the time of the first world war, but watching his father and few uncles endure the growing ambition of peer pressure to join the super power of the German Army, was a little too much. Aristocrats, politicians and even the neighbours were barking on about the duty of which the men should be undertaking, but his father was branded for cowardice amongst many, deciding the blood-bath was not his war - the forthcoming years revealed the true massacre under-going on the “Western Front” and already, Kyle had lost two uncles within a matter of the first month.
The figures were astounding, casualties massing in the thousands daily, his mother was ashamed that his father even had the cheek to read such atrocious tabloid stories to young Kyle; But his father was a hypocrite, do as I say, not as I do. All he done was bawl on about the war, but it baffled everyone to why he’d been such a coward to not go face it - by the time young Kyle was reached the age of three, nearly four years old, the war was drawing to it’s closing stages and the bewildered soldiers returned home, beaten, bruised and ashamed they had been fighting a pointless war. A war over nothing.
Within these closing stages of the Great War, Kyle’s father received a white feather from his remaining uncle who survived the onslaught of the Trenches. Enveloped in a black cardboard case, tied neatly with a pink bow to show the feminine eloquent detail, insulting his father with such a womanly decorative design, harboured that of a long pure white swan’s feather; Symbolising his father’s cowardice. As small of a thing it was, it‘s symbolism was far stronger, it’d tarnished Kyle’s father’s name forever - the morning he opened the girly decorative box at the kitchen table, he immediately befell a death silence and left the room slowly. It was a matter of a week later, Kyle’s father committed suicide. Unable to behold the stain of being cowardice for any longer…
His father’s death had impacted young Kyle greatly and his mother soon had them moving house, in fear her husband’s death would bring even greater shame upon them. Ironically, of all the places, they moved into Germany and it was no more than a few years later, the infamous SA had propaganda flying the streets in the need of a better Germany, of a better leader; Hitler. Time flew by fast and Kyle developed a strong passion for Germany, a Nazi Germany, signing up for all the extra classes he could get, on becoming apart of this new world. Brain-washing was an understatement, as young Kyle attended many recruitment openings into the SA; Then, just overnight, the SA were powerless and the SS had become the new power. Signing up for a commission, Kyle used the heritage of his wealthy family to break a way into becoming a cadet within the SS, passing all the Aryan abundances quite easily. Money was no problem and before young Kyle knew it, he was training a week later for his commission, to become a Lieutenant.
Military Rank:
- (1st) Lieutenant
Writing Sample:
Obersturmführer Steinbeck mopped the sweat from off his forehead quickly, gathering together his tools with haste, tossing them into a shoulder bag he’d robbed from a nearby field hospital a few weeks back. He had no time to try and reframe from making little noise as possible, he’d only just attained word of the German’s retreating from the vicinity of the area he was in; In actual fact, they had retreated three hours ago, which now meant Obersturmführer Steinbeck was now well behind enemy lines. Switching off his small portable radio, that he’d attained the news from a brief moment ago, he slung that too into his bag, tightening up the straps real fast, before slinging it across his shoulder to hang at his hip.
Hurryingly, he moved from out of the dim lit tent he was staying in and blew out the gas-lamp hanging just outside; “I’m such a fool!” he thought to himself, completely forgetting the small gas lantern he had outside - it was pitch black, yet it was only late evening. Shuffling his bag up against his shoulder to get comfortable, he hesitantly paced back and forth in the same spot for a moment, forgetting to grab his rifle dug into the ground beside some archaeological artefacts - well, they wasn’t so much valuable, other than the charred remains of a few Slovakian bones, with etchings made throughout the skulls, recording the measurements of the skull mass, length and height. It was his duty to lead such research into the perfect Aryan race and the Slovakians were amongst many of their case folders undergoing a tough exam to dictate whether they were suitable enough to be Aryan; Heh! They were mongrels!
Pacing across the dry dirt, Kyle heard a few voices in the distance and quickly knelt down behind a shrubbery. He’d barely moved fifty yards from his tent and already he was paranoid! Clutching at his rifle, he fingered at the bayonet silently, making sure it was still firmly latched onto the barrel. He’d been using his rifle like a spade, digging into the hardened dirt - that reminded him of the barrel being stuffed with a wine bottle cork to stop any dirt clogging it up. Grumbling beneath his breath, he turned the rifle around and tried to pull out the cork, that was by now, fully wedged into the barrel end.
Licking his finger, he tried to pride it free, completely distracted by trying to get his barrel free from the cork, when he suddenly heard a noise behind him. Without a second to spare, he barely grabbed at the barrel he had turned towards him and swung upon his heels to throw out the wooden shoulder-butt to clump against a figure behind him. Panting for a breath, he fought to see who he’d hit through the darkness, but didn’t need to find out much with his sight, as he heard the grunting moan of a Russian tongue slur out mildly through the darkness.
Grabbing at the barrel end of his rifle tighter, he jumped up and swung at the stumbling soldier again; The man must have been on a patrol, he obviously didn’t see the knelt Austrian fumbling with his rifle. Again, the wooden stock hit the soldier, but this time, the man went down with a heavy thump. Without a moment to spare, he twisted his hands around to hold at the barrel with the bayonet now pointing downwards from off the end, the butt of the rifle draped over his shoulder - lunging it down like a spear, hunting for a tuna in shallow waters, he felt the blade sink into the mushy fat of the victim’s stomach, causing the man to cry out. Knowing he most likely had companions nearby, he yanked the bayonet out and strode over the body to begin running - he had no time to finish him, the patrols were most likely scattered ones, but still in wealthy numbers…
So running through the dark, Kyle’s breath panted quickly, the cluttering noise of his bag thumping against his side, carrying all the equipment for his research, whilst his hands continued to fumble against the rifle, trying to turn it around whilst he sped away through the fog of darkness, making sure the bayonet was far from pointing at himself.
Although how you can be born in 1915 and be reaching your teenage years in the closing stages of the war is beyond me. Or is this not the 1st World War you are talking about?
~Dan
Oops!
Didn't mean that...
~Danny
Account E-Mail: (Matrix467@hotmail.com)
Name: Kyle Steinbeck
Nationality:
- Austrian
What Army will Your Character Serve Beneath?
- German Army (Soon to be SS)
Character History:
Born in Austria, nineteen-fifth teen, Kyle grew up amongst a pair of very political parents in the neighbouring city of Salzburg; Bordering onto Germany. The first world war had shaped eastern-Europe considerably over the time, Austria in particular, with many German Citizens moving back and forth from Austria like Trojan ants, trying to find depictive ground that wouldn’t have them drafted into the infamous German Army or dragged between a political dispute that’d unfolded all over Europe.
Thankfully, Kyle was nothing but a toddler and child around the time of the first world war, but watching his father and few uncles endure the growing ambition of peer pressure to join the super power of the German Army, was a little too much. Aristocrats, politicians and even the neighbours were barking on about the duty of which the men should be undertaking, but his father was branded for cowardice amongst many, deciding the blood-bath was not his war - the forthcoming years revealed the true massacre under-going on the “Western Front” and already, Kyle had lost two uncles within a matter of the first month.
The figures were astounding, casualties massing in the thousands daily, his mother was ashamed that his father even had the cheek to read such atrocious tabloid stories to young Kyle; But his father was a hypocrite, do as I say, not as I do. All he done was bawl on about the war, but it baffled everyone to why he’d been such a coward to not go face it - by the time young Kyle was reached the age of three, nearly four years old, the war was drawing to it’s closing stages and the bewildered soldiers returned home, beaten, bruised and ashamed they had been fighting a pointless war. A war over nothing.
Within these closing stages of the Great War, Kyle’s father received a white feather from his remaining uncle who survived the onslaught of the Trenches. Enveloped in a black cardboard case, tied neatly with a pink bow to show the feminine eloquent detail, insulting his father with such a womanly decorative design, harboured that of a long pure white swan’s feather; Symbolising his father’s cowardice. As small of a thing it was, it‘s symbolism was far stronger, it’d tarnished Kyle’s father’s name forever - the morning he opened the girly decorative box at the kitchen table, he immediately befell a death silence and left the room slowly. It was a matter of a week later, Kyle’s father committed suicide. Unable to behold the stain of being cowardice for any longer…
His father’s death had impacted young Kyle greatly and his mother soon had them moving house, in fear her husband’s death would bring even greater shame upon them. Ironically, of all the places, they moved into Germany and it was no more than a few years later, the infamous SA had propaganda flying the streets in the need of a better Germany, of a better leader; Hitler. Time flew by fast and Kyle developed a strong passion for Germany, a Nazi Germany, signing up for all the extra classes he could get, on becoming apart of this new world. Brain-washing was an understatement, as young Kyle attended many recruitment openings into the SA; Then, just overnight, the SA were powerless and the SS had become the new power. Signing up for a commission, Kyle used the heritage of his wealthy family to break a way into becoming a cadet within the SS, passing all the Aryan abundances quite easily. Money was no problem and before young Kyle knew it, he was training a week later for his commission, to become a Lieutenant.
Military Rank:
- (1st) Lieutenant
Writing Sample:
Obersturmführer Steinbeck mopped the sweat from off his forehead quickly, gathering together his tools with haste, tossing them into a shoulder bag he’d robbed from a nearby field hospital a few weeks back. He had no time to try and reframe from making little noise as possible, he’d only just attained word of the German’s retreating from the vicinity of the area he was in; In actual fact, they had retreated three hours ago, which now meant Obersturmführer Steinbeck was now well behind enemy lines. Switching off his small portable radio, that he’d attained the news from a brief moment ago, he slung that too into his bag, tightening up the straps real fast, before slinging it across his shoulder to hang at his hip.
Hurryingly, he moved from out of the dim lit tent he was staying in and blew out the gas-lamp hanging just outside; “I’m such a fool!” he thought to himself, completely forgetting the small gas lantern he had outside - it was pitch black, yet it was only late evening. Shuffling his bag up against his shoulder to get comfortable, he hesitantly paced back and forth in the same spot for a moment, forgetting to grab his rifle dug into the ground beside some archaeological artefacts - well, they wasn’t so much valuable, other than the charred remains of a few Slovakian bones, with etchings made throughout the skulls, recording the measurements of the skull mass, length and height. It was his duty to lead such research into the perfect Aryan race and the Slovakians were amongst many of their case folders undergoing a tough exam to dictate whether they were suitable enough to be Aryan; Heh! They were mongrels!
Pacing across the dry dirt, Kyle heard a few voices in the distance and quickly knelt down behind a shrubbery. He’d barely moved fifty yards from his tent and already he was paranoid! Clutching at his rifle, he fingered at the bayonet silently, making sure it was still firmly latched onto the barrel. He’d been using his rifle like a spade, digging into the hardened dirt - that reminded him of the barrel being stuffed with a wine bottle cork to stop any dirt clogging it up. Grumbling beneath his breath, he turned the rifle around and tried to pull out the cork, that was by now, fully wedged into the barrel end.
Licking his finger, he tried to pride it free, completely distracted by trying to get his barrel free from the cork, when he suddenly heard a noise behind him. Without a second to spare, he barely grabbed at the barrel he had turned towards him and swung upon his heels to throw out the wooden shoulder-butt to clump against a figure behind him. Panting for a breath, he fought to see who he’d hit through the darkness, but didn’t need to find out much with his sight, as he heard the grunting moan of a Russian tongue slur out mildly through the darkness.
Grabbing at the barrel end of his rifle tighter, he jumped up and swung at the stumbling soldier again; The man must have been on a patrol, he obviously didn’t see the knelt Austrian fumbling with his rifle. Again, the wooden stock hit the soldier, but this time, the man went down with a heavy thump. Without a moment to spare, he twisted his hands around to hold at the barrel with the bayonet now pointing downwards from off the end, the butt of the rifle draped over his shoulder - lunging it down like a spear, hunting for a tuna in shallow waters, he felt the blade sink into the mushy fat of the victim’s stomach, causing the man to cry out. Knowing he most likely had companions nearby, he yanked the bayonet out and strode over the body to begin running - he had no time to finish him, the patrols were most likely scattered ones, but still in wealthy numbers…
So running through the dark, Kyle’s breath panted quickly, the cluttering noise of his bag thumping against his side, carrying all the equipment for his research, whilst his hands continued to fumble against the rifle, trying to turn it around whilst he sped away through the fog of darkness, making sure the bayonet was far from pointing at himself.