Post by Guest on Apr 27, 2009 6:09:54 GMT
Sorry about the delay. Yeah, I'll give you the higher rank. 
Btw, you don't have to write speech in German just because you have a German character. You can write in English and just pretend your character is saying it in German. But, if you are writing speech in German, remember to put translations at the bottom of your post.
~Dan
Account E-Mail:
EvilPotato700@yahoo.com
Name:
Friedrich Christian Hautt
Nationality:
German
What Army will Your Character Serve Beneath?
Nazi/German
Character History:
Born May 15th, 1907, in Winningen, Germany, he led a fairly intellectual early life, desiring to become an architecht. His dream of doing so quickly
faded around him, rejected time after time. He became facinated with the Nationalsozialistische Deutsche Arbeiterpartei, and it's leader, a rather
ugly man named Hitler, who also had been rejected as an architecht. In early 1925, at the age of seventeen, he joined the party, welcomed and
congratulated by his friends and his father. His French mother did not approve, believing Hitler as a crude fanatic, but she wisely kept those
thoughts of the Nationalsozialisten to herself.
Not long after joining the party, he was given an offer to join the Sturmabteilung, or SA. He turned down the offer visciously, vehement at the
thought that he would ever join those rough, undisciplined clowns. Instead, he took the opportunity in 1933 to begin researching the benefits of
joining the Schutzstaffel, or SS. Unlike the SA, they appeared to be the genuine article, and in June, 1934, they proved that loyalty by disbanding
and removing the SA. The only loss to Friedrich was that he did not take part in it himself.
In 1939, he joined the SS, ready for a tough future career.
Military Rank:
SS - Unterscharfüher, or Scharführer, whichever is believed best for my abilities.
Writing Sample:
Friedrich crouched again, eyeballing his surroundings with distrust. The thick woods he walked in had plenty of places an enemy could hide, and he had the feeling that for some time, he was being followed. Standing up again, he started off at a brisk jog, the sound echoing behind him. One, two, three, four, five! steps, and he stopped suddenly. Behind him, he heard a sound, the sound of the person following him making an error. They had made six steps, not five as he had. Spinning around, he saw nothing, but he did not let that fool him. Crouching behind a large bush, he picked up a few stones and tossed them in quick succession. The sound made by the pebbles tossed one after the other immitated human footsteps, and two men stood up and began walking in the direction of the sounds, wearing American GI uniforms. 'Shit!' he thought, going prone as the GI's walked past, close enough to touch. A few moments later they were gone, though where to, Friedrich did not know.
Crawling on all fours, his chest raised above the ground, he made his way in the direction he thought his camp was, wincing every time he hand snapped a twig or touched a leaf, pausing each time, the sound louder to him than a bomber. 'No... more like a whole wing of bombers,' he thought, poking his head up after a half an hour of painful crawling, his uniform covered in mud from him slinking through a puddle. It had rained not too long ago, and there were still signs everywhere. One tree nearby had blown over from the stiff wind.
Seeing nothing, he stood cautiously, keeping his head down and sliding from bush to bush, every time afraid a bullet would be there to greet him. Feeling a tap on his head, he spun around, swinging his fists blindly, until he realized that it had begun to rain again. "Shit," was all he could say, grabbing his Oak-A zeltbahn and putting over him like a poncho. He began trudging again, pausing as he reached the edge of a steep creek, trying to figure out the best way to cross. The decision was made for him, and the rain-softened ground fell beneath his feet, taking him with it to the bottom of the steep creek, falling five feet or so, landing in a particularly wet spot, the mud green. Wiping it away from his eyes, he looked at himself, he was completely covered in mud, his boots were filled to the brim with water. His rifle... well lets just say that it would take a very... very long time to get it properly clean again, not to mention functioning. "Ugh," He said, his boots squelching through the thigh-high mud, before a call rang out in English. "Over here, Red, I think I saw something!" One look at his rifle said that he would be unable to defend himself, so he did all he could do. Hide.
Laying down as quickly as he could in the thick, grey-green mud, he slid as far down as he could, his torso and arms still showing. Leaning back, he scooped as much mud over him and onto him as he could, only his nose and eyes showing. His field cap had been lost when he first slid in. 'All the better... it didn't fit anyways...' he thought, closing his eyes so that his mud-covered lids would match the color of the mud around him. 'The human face is the most recognizable feature on the battlefield...' he mentally reminded himself. Opening one eye vey slowly, he could see two GI's standing at the rim to the creek, apparently the two who had been stalking him earlier. He could not understand what the were saying, but they were scanning the creek and investigating the creek rim.
'They must have seen me fall in...' he thought, his heart stopping when one of the two, both with with red hair, stared directly at him. No... he thought, waiting for the fatal words any second. They did not come. Instead, they both shook their heads and walked away, in the direction they had come. It took Friedrich Hautt more than a few minutes to talk himself into sitting up, but rising creekwater quickly convinced him that he would do well to get out of the creek before he drowned. Standing up quickly, he tried his best to lift his feet out of the mud, but it was clamped on his feet like a bavarian tick. Sighing, he reached through the mud, clawing at his feet before a he managed to free himself, falling over into the mud once more. Standing up, he thought he was due another mud-wrestling competitiong, but it did not come. He managed to wrangle his way out of the mud, and climb up the far side of the creek, wading happily through the not-so-clear water before leaving. He had just managed to climb the bank, when he noticed that his boots were not on his feet, as they should be.
Sighing, he calmly accepted the fact that his boots were gone, dead in the line of duty. He saluted and said a quick farewell to his amazing boots, somewhere in the mass of mud, before turning and continuing his trudge, bone-weary and soaked, looking more like a mud-demon than a man. A very long walk, (and many painful injuries to his feet) later, he walked into camp, greeting the customary "Halt!" angrily. "Hole die Hölle aus meinem Weg heraus. Ich habe einen schlechten Tag gehabt. Ich werde in genug Scheiße und Schlamm gedeckt, um die Hälfte von der Schweiz zu decken. Ich rieche wie Scheiße, ich bin ganz sicher, daß ich habe, schmeckte scheiße darin mein Mund für die vergangene Stunde und eine Hälfte. Ich habe keine Schuhe, keinen Hut. Mein Gewehr könnte nützlich sein, wenn ich mich bemühte, Schlamm-Bälle bei den Russen anzuzünden," He shouted, his nose about two inches from the guards', his face going red. "Ich bin in den Wäldern für die Hälfte des Tages verloren worden, behaltene Gesellschaft von einigen freundlichen Amerikanern mit Haarfragen und das Sich heranpirschen von Problemen, und ich will jetzt ungefähr eine Tasse wirkliches Kaffeerecht, die Milch nicht dieser Ziege, Rübenkaffeeschiff, das deine Mutter dir von ihrer Meise fütterte. Hole jetzt meinen Weg heraus, ich werde auf einer Toilette für den Rest vom Tag sitzen, vor dem Nehmen eines warmen Bades im Quartier des Offizieres und dem Schlafen in deinem warmen, bequemen Bett der du kein Zweifel stahl vom Quartier eines toten Offizieres. Ich verspreche dir, daß ich dich haben werde, Gericht-martialled innerhalb der Woche," He said, pushing past the guards and making his way into the camp, ready to fulfill his promise....
P.S. Please pardon the VERY poor German... I did my best...
Btw, you don't have to write speech in German just because you have a German character. You can write in English and just pretend your character is saying it in German. But, if you are writing speech in German, remember to put translations at the bottom of your post.
~Dan
Account E-Mail:
EvilPotato700@yahoo.com
Name:
Friedrich Christian Hautt
Nationality:
German
What Army will Your Character Serve Beneath?
Nazi/German
Character History:
Born May 15th, 1907, in Winningen, Germany, he led a fairly intellectual early life, desiring to become an architecht. His dream of doing so quickly
faded around him, rejected time after time. He became facinated with the Nationalsozialistische Deutsche Arbeiterpartei, and it's leader, a rather
ugly man named Hitler, who also had been rejected as an architecht. In early 1925, at the age of seventeen, he joined the party, welcomed and
congratulated by his friends and his father. His French mother did not approve, believing Hitler as a crude fanatic, but she wisely kept those
thoughts of the Nationalsozialisten to herself.
Not long after joining the party, he was given an offer to join the Sturmabteilung, or SA. He turned down the offer visciously, vehement at the
thought that he would ever join those rough, undisciplined clowns. Instead, he took the opportunity in 1933 to begin researching the benefits of
joining the Schutzstaffel, or SS. Unlike the SA, they appeared to be the genuine article, and in June, 1934, they proved that loyalty by disbanding
and removing the SA. The only loss to Friedrich was that he did not take part in it himself.
In 1939, he joined the SS, ready for a tough future career.
Military Rank:
SS - Unterscharfüher, or Scharführer, whichever is believed best for my abilities.
Writing Sample:
Friedrich crouched again, eyeballing his surroundings with distrust. The thick woods he walked in had plenty of places an enemy could hide, and he had the feeling that for some time, he was being followed. Standing up again, he started off at a brisk jog, the sound echoing behind him. One, two, three, four, five! steps, and he stopped suddenly. Behind him, he heard a sound, the sound of the person following him making an error. They had made six steps, not five as he had. Spinning around, he saw nothing, but he did not let that fool him. Crouching behind a large bush, he picked up a few stones and tossed them in quick succession. The sound made by the pebbles tossed one after the other immitated human footsteps, and two men stood up and began walking in the direction of the sounds, wearing American GI uniforms. 'Shit!' he thought, going prone as the GI's walked past, close enough to touch. A few moments later they were gone, though where to, Friedrich did not know.
Crawling on all fours, his chest raised above the ground, he made his way in the direction he thought his camp was, wincing every time he hand snapped a twig or touched a leaf, pausing each time, the sound louder to him than a bomber. 'No... more like a whole wing of bombers,' he thought, poking his head up after a half an hour of painful crawling, his uniform covered in mud from him slinking through a puddle. It had rained not too long ago, and there were still signs everywhere. One tree nearby had blown over from the stiff wind.
Seeing nothing, he stood cautiously, keeping his head down and sliding from bush to bush, every time afraid a bullet would be there to greet him. Feeling a tap on his head, he spun around, swinging his fists blindly, until he realized that it had begun to rain again. "Shit," was all he could say, grabbing his Oak-A zeltbahn and putting over him like a poncho. He began trudging again, pausing as he reached the edge of a steep creek, trying to figure out the best way to cross. The decision was made for him, and the rain-softened ground fell beneath his feet, taking him with it to the bottom of the steep creek, falling five feet or so, landing in a particularly wet spot, the mud green. Wiping it away from his eyes, he looked at himself, he was completely covered in mud, his boots were filled to the brim with water. His rifle... well lets just say that it would take a very... very long time to get it properly clean again, not to mention functioning. "Ugh," He said, his boots squelching through the thigh-high mud, before a call rang out in English. "Over here, Red, I think I saw something!" One look at his rifle said that he would be unable to defend himself, so he did all he could do. Hide.
Laying down as quickly as he could in the thick, grey-green mud, he slid as far down as he could, his torso and arms still showing. Leaning back, he scooped as much mud over him and onto him as he could, only his nose and eyes showing. His field cap had been lost when he first slid in. 'All the better... it didn't fit anyways...' he thought, closing his eyes so that his mud-covered lids would match the color of the mud around him. 'The human face is the most recognizable feature on the battlefield...' he mentally reminded himself. Opening one eye vey slowly, he could see two GI's standing at the rim to the creek, apparently the two who had been stalking him earlier. He could not understand what the were saying, but they were scanning the creek and investigating the creek rim.
'They must have seen me fall in...' he thought, his heart stopping when one of the two, both with with red hair, stared directly at him. No... he thought, waiting for the fatal words any second. They did not come. Instead, they both shook their heads and walked away, in the direction they had come. It took Friedrich Hautt more than a few minutes to talk himself into sitting up, but rising creekwater quickly convinced him that he would do well to get out of the creek before he drowned. Standing up quickly, he tried his best to lift his feet out of the mud, but it was clamped on his feet like a bavarian tick. Sighing, he reached through the mud, clawing at his feet before a he managed to free himself, falling over into the mud once more. Standing up, he thought he was due another mud-wrestling competitiong, but it did not come. He managed to wrangle his way out of the mud, and climb up the far side of the creek, wading happily through the not-so-clear water before leaving. He had just managed to climb the bank, when he noticed that his boots were not on his feet, as they should be.
Sighing, he calmly accepted the fact that his boots were gone, dead in the line of duty. He saluted and said a quick farewell to his amazing boots, somewhere in the mass of mud, before turning and continuing his trudge, bone-weary and soaked, looking more like a mud-demon than a man. A very long walk, (and many painful injuries to his feet) later, he walked into camp, greeting the customary "Halt!" angrily. "Hole die Hölle aus meinem Weg heraus. Ich habe einen schlechten Tag gehabt. Ich werde in genug Scheiße und Schlamm gedeckt, um die Hälfte von der Schweiz zu decken. Ich rieche wie Scheiße, ich bin ganz sicher, daß ich habe, schmeckte scheiße darin mein Mund für die vergangene Stunde und eine Hälfte. Ich habe keine Schuhe, keinen Hut. Mein Gewehr könnte nützlich sein, wenn ich mich bemühte, Schlamm-Bälle bei den Russen anzuzünden," He shouted, his nose about two inches from the guards', his face going red. "Ich bin in den Wäldern für die Hälfte des Tages verloren worden, behaltene Gesellschaft von einigen freundlichen Amerikanern mit Haarfragen und das Sich heranpirschen von Problemen, und ich will jetzt ungefähr eine Tasse wirkliches Kaffeerecht, die Milch nicht dieser Ziege, Rübenkaffeeschiff, das deine Mutter dir von ihrer Meise fütterte. Hole jetzt meinen Weg heraus, ich werde auf einer Toilette für den Rest vom Tag sitzen, vor dem Nehmen eines warmen Bades im Quartier des Offizieres und dem Schlafen in deinem warmen, bequemen Bett der du kein Zweifel stahl vom Quartier eines toten Offizieres. Ich verspreche dir, daß ich dich haben werde, Gericht-martialled innerhalb der Woche," He said, pushing past the guards and making his way into the camp, ready to fulfill his promise....
P.S. Please pardon the VERY poor German... I did my best...
