Post by Gero on Feb 23, 2008 15:40:15 GMT
Accepted! Welcome to the board! 
[/color]
Account E-Mail: --Edited Out!--
Name: Gero A Fritz
Nationality: German.
What Army will Your Character Serve Beneath? German Army (werchmart)
Character History:
Gero was a local boy to a nearby town, predominantly living there all his life, between the canvas walls of rural buildings and outskirts of fences keeping the farm-animals at bay - yeah, his local town wasn’t big at all. Although, learning many useful trades, Gero knew how to tame the wild animals to a local farm, in which he became a stable boy almost, before inevitably tending to other animals. Sheep, cows, goats; his life wasn’t fancy in the slightest and his young rearing through hardship in the field earned him a muscular tone and respect for the fat of the land.
Smelling of fowl odours every night, sweat and animal fesses, his parents and siblings soon enough battered him into another line of work. Soon enough, his teenage years earned him numerous jobs within the local town, half a mile down a muddy and musk road from his home. He’d labour the furnaces to a bakery one week and come the next he’d be poking his fingers into till-draws, serving customers at a local trades shop. Not typically your corner shop, but similar. None the less, he remained on the straight and earned his penny wage respectfully every week.
The years passed like cattle on a rainy field, until a wireless was snagged from a local neighbour by his father, who every night had the radio playing it’s numerous advertisements and story-telling out loud. The mechanical equipment fascinated Gero to begin with, but soon enough, loads of strange equipment began to flock into his local town - presumably a trading ship had docked at a local harbour, unknowingly (maybe no fuel? Technical issues?) but either way, the boats men, a crooked lot of seaman, sold the gear to the local town… Perhaps they reported they lost half their cargo in storm when they returned? Who knows, but all Gero did know, was that his eyes began to gleam to the new products within the village and prospering town.
Then; one lonely night, Hitler - a politician? No one really knew in his family, began to declare war. Soon enough, his fanatic speeches had his local town sweating, some agreed, but the majority of other’s didn’t. Men, fathers alike, began to flee with their families to local Austria and Russia, Gero now being old enough to make decisions of his own, decided they should move at once. His siblings agreed, yet his father held a firm hand in keeping them there, it was their home. The choice his father made would soon come to be a regretted one, as the enlisting began and his town was plundered by the SS - who rounded up all the males like a flock of sheep, lashing the fanatics into their SS divisions, whilst the rest were shoved into the werchmart, the German Army… But the rest is another story…
Military Rank: Corporal
Writing Sample:
The street was cold, quiet and mordantly grim. Gero’s fingers were becoming numb from the sheer chill factor of the breeze briskly kicking up down the narrow cobbled path alley in which he briskly walked. Patrol was never a fancy job, most men hated it, more so - when the patrols didn’t return every night, they were in enemy territory after all, foreign soil, France! If only Gero had his own way, he’d have everyone in their billets, drinking Schnapps and playing cards. At least once a week - a break.
Obviously, war wasn’t that simple, as someone had to keep their eyes open every night for the rest of the herd, the company. Tonight was his night and Gero’s body crimpled to the chill of a lousy night ahead. His polished boots clicked elegantly against the grain of the stone and pebbles beneath his feet, his legs striding outwards with long brisk strides, trying to cover his watch as quick as possible, but knew rightfully he shouldn’t move too fast… What was the point in covering your walk quickly? It was standard regulation to keep a steady pace, but the Corporal, Gero, honestly couldn’t be bothered. He wanted to get back to his initial post, a small hut of sorts, more of a garden shed, at least it was warmer!
Nestling his chin down against his great grey-coat, a noise caught his attention. The Corporal, not really paying attention to begin with, strutted sideways, his hands clasping the cold splintered wood of his rifle to lug up at arm’s length, swooning the barrel end off towards the general direction of a nearby road. A side turn. Squinting through the darkness, Gero’s lips firmed up, his throat grunting a little to hopefully gain any attention from nearby lurkers, before he opened his lips to swivel his tongue and speak “Zeigen Sie sich”, his eyes forever watching the general road of the noise, hoping to see someone slumber out.
Slowly, someone did appear. Gero Fritz’s hands grabbed tightly to his rifle, yanking it back against his shoulder to aim, his posture stern and strong, as he uttered out quickly “Was machen Sie hier!? Schleichen herum!”[/I], the strange looking male making stepping into the shimmering lamp light, his hand cuffing up against his cap to remove, holding it against his chest to utter out “Mich.. Französisch... Gehen Sie nach Hause” the man’s accent rugged and broken, trying to communicate in German with the soldier before him. Gero’s arms gently loosened and lowered the rifle, his hand pointing outwards towards the so-called French Male’s chest, lastly saying “Papiere, lässt mich Ihre Papiere sehen” the Corporal seeming more at ease, as he watched the Frenchmen fumble into his pocket for his identification, his patrol obviously succumbing to be boring…
Translations:[/b]
Zeigen Sie sich
- Show yourself
Was machen Sie hier!? Schleichen herum!
- What are you doing here!? Creeping around!
Mich.. Französisch... Gehen Sie nach Hause,.
- Me.. French... Go, home...
Papiere, lässt mich Ihre Papiere sehen.
- Papers, let me see your papers.
[/color]Account E-Mail: --Edited Out!--
Name: Gero A Fritz
Nationality: German.
What Army will Your Character Serve Beneath? German Army (werchmart)
Character History:
Gero was a local boy to a nearby town, predominantly living there all his life, between the canvas walls of rural buildings and outskirts of fences keeping the farm-animals at bay - yeah, his local town wasn’t big at all. Although, learning many useful trades, Gero knew how to tame the wild animals to a local farm, in which he became a stable boy almost, before inevitably tending to other animals. Sheep, cows, goats; his life wasn’t fancy in the slightest and his young rearing through hardship in the field earned him a muscular tone and respect for the fat of the land.
Smelling of fowl odours every night, sweat and animal fesses, his parents and siblings soon enough battered him into another line of work. Soon enough, his teenage years earned him numerous jobs within the local town, half a mile down a muddy and musk road from his home. He’d labour the furnaces to a bakery one week and come the next he’d be poking his fingers into till-draws, serving customers at a local trades shop. Not typically your corner shop, but similar. None the less, he remained on the straight and earned his penny wage respectfully every week.
The years passed like cattle on a rainy field, until a wireless was snagged from a local neighbour by his father, who every night had the radio playing it’s numerous advertisements and story-telling out loud. The mechanical equipment fascinated Gero to begin with, but soon enough, loads of strange equipment began to flock into his local town - presumably a trading ship had docked at a local harbour, unknowingly (maybe no fuel? Technical issues?) but either way, the boats men, a crooked lot of seaman, sold the gear to the local town… Perhaps they reported they lost half their cargo in storm when they returned? Who knows, but all Gero did know, was that his eyes began to gleam to the new products within the village and prospering town.
Then; one lonely night, Hitler - a politician? No one really knew in his family, began to declare war. Soon enough, his fanatic speeches had his local town sweating, some agreed, but the majority of other’s didn’t. Men, fathers alike, began to flee with their families to local Austria and Russia, Gero now being old enough to make decisions of his own, decided they should move at once. His siblings agreed, yet his father held a firm hand in keeping them there, it was their home. The choice his father made would soon come to be a regretted one, as the enlisting began and his town was plundered by the SS - who rounded up all the males like a flock of sheep, lashing the fanatics into their SS divisions, whilst the rest were shoved into the werchmart, the German Army… But the rest is another story…
Military Rank: Corporal
Writing Sample:
The street was cold, quiet and mordantly grim. Gero’s fingers were becoming numb from the sheer chill factor of the breeze briskly kicking up down the narrow cobbled path alley in which he briskly walked. Patrol was never a fancy job, most men hated it, more so - when the patrols didn’t return every night, they were in enemy territory after all, foreign soil, France! If only Gero had his own way, he’d have everyone in their billets, drinking Schnapps and playing cards. At least once a week - a break.
Obviously, war wasn’t that simple, as someone had to keep their eyes open every night for the rest of the herd, the company. Tonight was his night and Gero’s body crimpled to the chill of a lousy night ahead. His polished boots clicked elegantly against the grain of the stone and pebbles beneath his feet, his legs striding outwards with long brisk strides, trying to cover his watch as quick as possible, but knew rightfully he shouldn’t move too fast… What was the point in covering your walk quickly? It was standard regulation to keep a steady pace, but the Corporal, Gero, honestly couldn’t be bothered. He wanted to get back to his initial post, a small hut of sorts, more of a garden shed, at least it was warmer!
Nestling his chin down against his great grey-coat, a noise caught his attention. The Corporal, not really paying attention to begin with, strutted sideways, his hands clasping the cold splintered wood of his rifle to lug up at arm’s length, swooning the barrel end off towards the general direction of a nearby road. A side turn. Squinting through the darkness, Gero’s lips firmed up, his throat grunting a little to hopefully gain any attention from nearby lurkers, before he opened his lips to swivel his tongue and speak “Zeigen Sie sich”, his eyes forever watching the general road of the noise, hoping to see someone slumber out.
Slowly, someone did appear. Gero Fritz’s hands grabbed tightly to his rifle, yanking it back against his shoulder to aim, his posture stern and strong, as he uttered out quickly “Was machen Sie hier!? Schleichen herum!”[/I], the strange looking male making stepping into the shimmering lamp light, his hand cuffing up against his cap to remove, holding it against his chest to utter out “Mich.. Französisch... Gehen Sie nach Hause” the man’s accent rugged and broken, trying to communicate in German with the soldier before him. Gero’s arms gently loosened and lowered the rifle, his hand pointing outwards towards the so-called French Male’s chest, lastly saying “Papiere, lässt mich Ihre Papiere sehen” the Corporal seeming more at ease, as he watched the Frenchmen fumble into his pocket for his identification, his patrol obviously succumbing to be boring…
Translations:[/b]
Zeigen Sie sich
- Show yourself
Was machen Sie hier!? Schleichen herum!
- What are you doing here!? Creeping around!
Mich.. Französisch... Gehen Sie nach Hause,.
- Me.. French... Go, home...
Papiere, lässt mich Ihre Papiere sehen.
- Papers, let me see your papers.