Post by Nevsky on Feb 8, 2010 16:26:24 GMT
Accepted at the requested rank of Starshina for being an above average application. -Heiko
Account E-Mail:
Name: Aleksandr Nevsky [Actor: Jude Law]
Nationality: Russian
What Army will Your Character Serve Beneath? Red Army
Character History:
People had always said that little Aleksandr Nevsky would lead to great things. His name foretold it. The little child had the name of the most influential saint in Russian history, the one who did great things for the motherland, the one who led her out of the dark ages. But most of them were very wrong. The ones who said he would turn into a ruthless, cutthroat politician and soldier were the ones who accurately predicted his future, and those were few and far between. Aleksandr was born in the city of Novosibirsk, Russia, in the year of our lord 1915. Novosibirsk was one of the only large Siberian cities, founded when the Siberian railway was built during the late 1800s. Banks were building the city’s economy up immensely, making it one of the most prosperous regions under the great Czar’s rule. Aleksandr’s parents had moved to Novosibirsk from western Russia in 1910, hoping to find a better life in the new city. Dr. Nevsky was a physician who tended to wealthy clients in the upper social class. Mrs. Nevsky lived off of the money from her husband, sewing, cooking, and working around the house while he was at work.
When Aleksandr was born there was much celebration. The baby was healthy and the correct size, with a small fuzz of blonde hair on his head and a slight body. Dr. Nevsky dodged the draft by claiming that his code of medicinal ethics did not include killing, so the killing of Germans and Austro-Hungarians were left to the lower classes. Aleksandr was a good toddler, acting like so many other children his age. Dr. Nevsky was no soft parent though, and he would always carry around his rolled newspaper, which he read while idle and clubbed his child with when he misbehaved. Young Aleksandr was also no stranger to the sting of hand, for his father was not just limited to soft paper. Although he was beaten when caught, Aleksandr learned that he could do whatever he wanted if no one found out. He used this to his advantage by stealing candy when the cashier wasn’t looking, stealing a coin from the purse of lady while she was sitting, and committing other small crimes for his enjoyment. He enjoyed the rush he felt when stealing, and taking something always made it taste sweeter. Aleksandr’s golden eyes turned cruel and prominent, and he was able to make them intimidating or convincing when needed.
When Aleksandr was just a small boy Czar Nicholas II was not doing well. His nation, his army, and his people, including the Nevskys, no longer wanted the Czars in power. The Russian civil war crippled the Czar’s power, causing him to topple from his pillar of monarchy. Dr. Nevsky served as a medical consultant for the Bolsheviks, and Aleksandr was instilled with ideas of Communism and atheism. When the Communists won, it was a day of celebration. Even more prosperity came to Novosibirsk, and Aleksandr became more cunning. The young boy with the saint’s name found even more opportunities to work cruelty into his daily life. Aleksandr and his school friends often tormented the political prisoners placed in Siberia for confinement, throwing stones at gaunt bodies worn down by the cold. Dr. Nevsky made the child attend meetings of several Communist youth groups, and they all saw good opportunities for a cutthroat politician in the boy.
Aleksandr was devilish in his early teenage years, joining the debate club at his school and outwitting the small-minded adolescents at his school. He manipulated the strongest and dullest children in his grade, making them his own personal posse that he could order about as he wanted. All they needed was some sweets and copies of his uncle’s adult magazines to be willfully obedient to Aleksandr. His teachers began to worry about the boy, thinking that he deserved to be knocked down a few notches. They graded his papers harsher, and disciplined him worse than most. This just fueled the belief inside the boy that the world was against him, a fantasy that no one and nothing appreciated him, and that he would have to be infamous to be known. Although the girlfriends and friends he confessed his internal feelings to thought him a borderline psychotic, he believed that his only reason for being foul was a deep motive. And every motive could be justified, right?
As Aleksandr grew he developed a lean and tall body, in which he had a habit of looming above the person he was speaking to. His head held a crumpled portion of blond hair, which he routinely shaped into a crisp part. His school uniform was always perfectly cared for, the cleanliness almost frightening. When backed by immense, overweight bullies Aleksandr became one of the most feared figures in the school, and no boy or girl dared cross his path. But on the down side he had almost no companions, only dimwitted, hormone-charged fat boys who squabbled for fish sandwiches at the lunch period. His mind was clouded with hate and depression, but he funneled it into fuel for his later life. He knew he would do something worthwhile when he grew up. He knew it. He would volunteer for the Red Army, he decided. He would be an officer. A major, perhaps. Or maybe even a General. Yes. That sounded utterly delicious.
When he graduated from high school he was somewhat at a loss. His school room power had been abolished, and he was now nothing but an awkward young man. For two years he held a job as a lumberjack in the dense Siberian tundra, but his bosses decided that he was defiantly not cut out for hard labor. Plus, he kept negotiating pay raises and three of the gruff country boys that had offended him now had now fingers as a result of loose axe heads. The man with the saint’s name then fulfilled his high school dreams of joining the Red Army by enlisting at its small outpost in his home city. He was sent to a training camp out in the wilderness, and graduated with the rank of Ryadovi, or private. But that was not enough for Aleksandr, but his prayers were about to be answered.
In 1939 the Soviet Union launched a joint attack with Germany against Poland. Although Aleksandr did not actually participate in the fighting, he was shipped by railway west and stationed along the Soviet Union’s northern border. His chance to see action was given when the Winter War against Finland broke out. Nevsky fought bravely against the powerful Finns, doomed against the huge might of the Russians but determined to take as many as they could down with them. When his Lieutenant was killed by a grenade Nevsky was promoted to Mladshii Leitenant.
Military Rank: Aiming high…Mladshii Leitenant. This is Makoto by the way.
Writing Sample:
The steady moan of the T-26’s engine vibrated every bone in Aleksandr’s body, warming him slightly against the whipping arctic winds. Aleksandr was perched on one side of the light tank, a piece of metal awkwardly jabbing his back, but it was better than running on the ground with the rest of the riflemen. About a hundred Soviet troops and twenty light tanks advanced across the snowy Finnish woods, all of them eagerly awaiting the fight ahead. It was a welcome activity compared to waiting out in the freezing cold for hours. Aleksandr twisted around and tapped Serzhant Cringu, who responded with a gruff grunt. Cringu was a hulk of a man, of Asian stock from the farthest east of Russia’s provinces, and quick to both anger and drinking. He sat on the other side of the tank, holding his Mosin-Nagant’s barrel upwards as he watched the running infantrymen. Aleksandr had befriended the Easterner from the first day he knew him, and they had both become deadly brothers-in-arms from that day forward. Gesturing with his PPsh-41, he pointed out a large crest in the terrain about a half a mile ahead. “The Finns are right behind that rise. When we get to the base, jump off and we’ll run the rest of the way. Be ready for machinegun and sniper fire as soon as we crest it. Tell your men the same.”
Cringu’s thin lips curled up in a cruel smile as he nodded and leaned down from the tank to order around his soldiers. The Junior Lieutenant flexed his fingers and toes, hoping that they did not get frostbite of trenchfoot, the ailments that plagued the other men. Finland’s cold was one of the Soviet’s worst enemies in the campaign, and along with the stubborn Finns the whole ordeal was becoming much more costly than it should be. They were nearing the ridge, so Aleksandr pulled back the bolt on his PPSh and made sure the drum magazine was firmly in place. “Ready, Cringu?” Aleksandr asked, and the Serzhant replied “Yes, my comrade, I want to get some Finn blood on my hands!” The officer smiled and muttered “Good man.”
Nevsky jumped off the light tank and landed in the shin-deep virgin snow, soon to be tainted with the boots of soldiers. The officer ran aside Cringu and the other infantrymen, watching as the tanks crested the hill before them. Immediately the tank Nevsky had been sitting on a minute ago burst into flames, its turret flying high in the air before tumbling down the slope, crushing several men under its burning steel. “Shit!” The officer yelled as it tumbled by him, and he knew that already the attack would be futile. As the surviving tanks bellowed down the hill, the infantrymen crested it. Immediately a hale of gunfire rushed at the Soviets, mowing down at least a quarter of them in the first five feet. The infantryman yelled in unison, barreling down upon the Finns below them.
Aleksandr pulled down on the trigger of his submachine gun, spraying inaccurate fire down on the Finnish trenches. The tanks were firing wildly at their enemy, spraying around huge gusts of snow as each round hit. Three chemical tanks spat burning fire at the trenches, but became the prime target of Finnish anti-tank guns. One exploded to Nevsky’s right, blowing flames across the valley. Aleksandr was thrown to one side by the force of an exploding grenade, landing in some soft snow. Miraculously, no shrapnel had been embedded in his body, so he hopped back up and continued the charge. Although the Finns were mowing down obscene amounts of Soviet soldiers, the sheer amount of Russians was crushing their smaller aggressors. The tanks were already beginning to roll over the first line of Finnish trenches, only occupied by a few surviving defenders. A few weak attempts to put sticky bombs on the tanks were made, but most of them were gunned down before they could succeed.
Nevsky found Cringu among the destruction and followed him as he attempted to clear a trench. The serzhant picked up a Finnish submachine gun and fired at a few survivors, as did Nevsky. A massive Finnish soldier surrendered, putting his hands up in a tell-tale sign of defeat. Aleksandr smiled as he and Cringu sized up their new captive, who was obviously quite frightened despite his enormous stature. The Junior Lieutenant shoved the Finn down and loomed over him. “I kill things three times your size back in Russia, comrade Finn. You do not scare me.” Nevsky said with a slightly demonic chuckle, removing a pack of cigarettes from his greatcoat pocked. He tossed one to the prisoner, who produced his own lighter and began to smoke. But Aleksandr had other things in mind for him. The officer nodded his head at Cringu, who stepped up and fired one shot into the Finn’s skull. His head snapped back, an expression of pure fear etched in his features. Cringu knelt down and removed the still light cigarette from the corpse’s mouth. “Still good.” The serzhant said, sticking it in his mouth. The officer stepped over the Finn and said slowly, as if spitting out something disgusting, “F*** you, comrade”.
Account E-Mail:
Name: Aleksandr Nevsky [Actor: Jude Law]
Nationality: Russian
What Army will Your Character Serve Beneath? Red Army
Character History:
People had always said that little Aleksandr Nevsky would lead to great things. His name foretold it. The little child had the name of the most influential saint in Russian history, the one who did great things for the motherland, the one who led her out of the dark ages. But most of them were very wrong. The ones who said he would turn into a ruthless, cutthroat politician and soldier were the ones who accurately predicted his future, and those were few and far between. Aleksandr was born in the city of Novosibirsk, Russia, in the year of our lord 1915. Novosibirsk was one of the only large Siberian cities, founded when the Siberian railway was built during the late 1800s. Banks were building the city’s economy up immensely, making it one of the most prosperous regions under the great Czar’s rule. Aleksandr’s parents had moved to Novosibirsk from western Russia in 1910, hoping to find a better life in the new city. Dr. Nevsky was a physician who tended to wealthy clients in the upper social class. Mrs. Nevsky lived off of the money from her husband, sewing, cooking, and working around the house while he was at work.
When Aleksandr was born there was much celebration. The baby was healthy and the correct size, with a small fuzz of blonde hair on his head and a slight body. Dr. Nevsky dodged the draft by claiming that his code of medicinal ethics did not include killing, so the killing of Germans and Austro-Hungarians were left to the lower classes. Aleksandr was a good toddler, acting like so many other children his age. Dr. Nevsky was no soft parent though, and he would always carry around his rolled newspaper, which he read while idle and clubbed his child with when he misbehaved. Young Aleksandr was also no stranger to the sting of hand, for his father was not just limited to soft paper. Although he was beaten when caught, Aleksandr learned that he could do whatever he wanted if no one found out. He used this to his advantage by stealing candy when the cashier wasn’t looking, stealing a coin from the purse of lady while she was sitting, and committing other small crimes for his enjoyment. He enjoyed the rush he felt when stealing, and taking something always made it taste sweeter. Aleksandr’s golden eyes turned cruel and prominent, and he was able to make them intimidating or convincing when needed.
When Aleksandr was just a small boy Czar Nicholas II was not doing well. His nation, his army, and his people, including the Nevskys, no longer wanted the Czars in power. The Russian civil war crippled the Czar’s power, causing him to topple from his pillar of monarchy. Dr. Nevsky served as a medical consultant for the Bolsheviks, and Aleksandr was instilled with ideas of Communism and atheism. When the Communists won, it was a day of celebration. Even more prosperity came to Novosibirsk, and Aleksandr became more cunning. The young boy with the saint’s name found even more opportunities to work cruelty into his daily life. Aleksandr and his school friends often tormented the political prisoners placed in Siberia for confinement, throwing stones at gaunt bodies worn down by the cold. Dr. Nevsky made the child attend meetings of several Communist youth groups, and they all saw good opportunities for a cutthroat politician in the boy.
Aleksandr was devilish in his early teenage years, joining the debate club at his school and outwitting the small-minded adolescents at his school. He manipulated the strongest and dullest children in his grade, making them his own personal posse that he could order about as he wanted. All they needed was some sweets and copies of his uncle’s adult magazines to be willfully obedient to Aleksandr. His teachers began to worry about the boy, thinking that he deserved to be knocked down a few notches. They graded his papers harsher, and disciplined him worse than most. This just fueled the belief inside the boy that the world was against him, a fantasy that no one and nothing appreciated him, and that he would have to be infamous to be known. Although the girlfriends and friends he confessed his internal feelings to thought him a borderline psychotic, he believed that his only reason for being foul was a deep motive. And every motive could be justified, right?
As Aleksandr grew he developed a lean and tall body, in which he had a habit of looming above the person he was speaking to. His head held a crumpled portion of blond hair, which he routinely shaped into a crisp part. His school uniform was always perfectly cared for, the cleanliness almost frightening. When backed by immense, overweight bullies Aleksandr became one of the most feared figures in the school, and no boy or girl dared cross his path. But on the down side he had almost no companions, only dimwitted, hormone-charged fat boys who squabbled for fish sandwiches at the lunch period. His mind was clouded with hate and depression, but he funneled it into fuel for his later life. He knew he would do something worthwhile when he grew up. He knew it. He would volunteer for the Red Army, he decided. He would be an officer. A major, perhaps. Or maybe even a General. Yes. That sounded utterly delicious.
When he graduated from high school he was somewhat at a loss. His school room power had been abolished, and he was now nothing but an awkward young man. For two years he held a job as a lumberjack in the dense Siberian tundra, but his bosses decided that he was defiantly not cut out for hard labor. Plus, he kept negotiating pay raises and three of the gruff country boys that had offended him now had now fingers as a result of loose axe heads. The man with the saint’s name then fulfilled his high school dreams of joining the Red Army by enlisting at its small outpost in his home city. He was sent to a training camp out in the wilderness, and graduated with the rank of Ryadovi, or private. But that was not enough for Aleksandr, but his prayers were about to be answered.
In 1939 the Soviet Union launched a joint attack with Germany against Poland. Although Aleksandr did not actually participate in the fighting, he was shipped by railway west and stationed along the Soviet Union’s northern border. His chance to see action was given when the Winter War against Finland broke out. Nevsky fought bravely against the powerful Finns, doomed against the huge might of the Russians but determined to take as many as they could down with them. When his Lieutenant was killed by a grenade Nevsky was promoted to Mladshii Leitenant.
Military Rank: Aiming high…Mladshii Leitenant. This is Makoto by the way.
Writing Sample:
The steady moan of the T-26’s engine vibrated every bone in Aleksandr’s body, warming him slightly against the whipping arctic winds. Aleksandr was perched on one side of the light tank, a piece of metal awkwardly jabbing his back, but it was better than running on the ground with the rest of the riflemen. About a hundred Soviet troops and twenty light tanks advanced across the snowy Finnish woods, all of them eagerly awaiting the fight ahead. It was a welcome activity compared to waiting out in the freezing cold for hours. Aleksandr twisted around and tapped Serzhant Cringu, who responded with a gruff grunt. Cringu was a hulk of a man, of Asian stock from the farthest east of Russia’s provinces, and quick to both anger and drinking. He sat on the other side of the tank, holding his Mosin-Nagant’s barrel upwards as he watched the running infantrymen. Aleksandr had befriended the Easterner from the first day he knew him, and they had both become deadly brothers-in-arms from that day forward. Gesturing with his PPsh-41, he pointed out a large crest in the terrain about a half a mile ahead. “The Finns are right behind that rise. When we get to the base, jump off and we’ll run the rest of the way. Be ready for machinegun and sniper fire as soon as we crest it. Tell your men the same.”
Cringu’s thin lips curled up in a cruel smile as he nodded and leaned down from the tank to order around his soldiers. The Junior Lieutenant flexed his fingers and toes, hoping that they did not get frostbite of trenchfoot, the ailments that plagued the other men. Finland’s cold was one of the Soviet’s worst enemies in the campaign, and along with the stubborn Finns the whole ordeal was becoming much more costly than it should be. They were nearing the ridge, so Aleksandr pulled back the bolt on his PPSh and made sure the drum magazine was firmly in place. “Ready, Cringu?” Aleksandr asked, and the Serzhant replied “Yes, my comrade, I want to get some Finn blood on my hands!” The officer smiled and muttered “Good man.”
Nevsky jumped off the light tank and landed in the shin-deep virgin snow, soon to be tainted with the boots of soldiers. The officer ran aside Cringu and the other infantrymen, watching as the tanks crested the hill before them. Immediately the tank Nevsky had been sitting on a minute ago burst into flames, its turret flying high in the air before tumbling down the slope, crushing several men under its burning steel. “Shit!” The officer yelled as it tumbled by him, and he knew that already the attack would be futile. As the surviving tanks bellowed down the hill, the infantrymen crested it. Immediately a hale of gunfire rushed at the Soviets, mowing down at least a quarter of them in the first five feet. The infantryman yelled in unison, barreling down upon the Finns below them.
Aleksandr pulled down on the trigger of his submachine gun, spraying inaccurate fire down on the Finnish trenches. The tanks were firing wildly at their enemy, spraying around huge gusts of snow as each round hit. Three chemical tanks spat burning fire at the trenches, but became the prime target of Finnish anti-tank guns. One exploded to Nevsky’s right, blowing flames across the valley. Aleksandr was thrown to one side by the force of an exploding grenade, landing in some soft snow. Miraculously, no shrapnel had been embedded in his body, so he hopped back up and continued the charge. Although the Finns were mowing down obscene amounts of Soviet soldiers, the sheer amount of Russians was crushing their smaller aggressors. The tanks were already beginning to roll over the first line of Finnish trenches, only occupied by a few surviving defenders. A few weak attempts to put sticky bombs on the tanks were made, but most of them were gunned down before they could succeed.
Nevsky found Cringu among the destruction and followed him as he attempted to clear a trench. The serzhant picked up a Finnish submachine gun and fired at a few survivors, as did Nevsky. A massive Finnish soldier surrendered, putting his hands up in a tell-tale sign of defeat. Aleksandr smiled as he and Cringu sized up their new captive, who was obviously quite frightened despite his enormous stature. The Junior Lieutenant shoved the Finn down and loomed over him. “I kill things three times your size back in Russia, comrade Finn. You do not scare me.” Nevsky said with a slightly demonic chuckle, removing a pack of cigarettes from his greatcoat pocked. He tossed one to the prisoner, who produced his own lighter and began to smoke. But Aleksandr had other things in mind for him. The officer nodded his head at Cringu, who stepped up and fired one shot into the Finn’s skull. His head snapped back, an expression of pure fear etched in his features. Cringu knelt down and removed the still light cigarette from the corpse’s mouth. “Still good.” The serzhant said, sticking it in his mouth. The officer stepped over the Finn and said slowly, as if spitting out something disgusting, “F*** you, comrade”.