Post by Sanson on Dec 19, 2010 16:33:05 GMT
Account E-Mail: EDITED
Name: Sanson Cleto
Alignments:
- Italian Royal Air Force
Character History:
Sanson Cleto was born on a small vineyard just north of Roma in 1909. His father had inherited the vineyard from his father and was hoping to pass it onto Sanson when he passed. Growing up in a vineyard Sanson’s life was filled with early morning starts, collecting grapes and cleaning bottles for his father. It was only when his mother was crushed hideously after the supports of a fermentation keg gave way that he started thinking about a life outside the vineyard.
Due to his grief his father could no longer continue making wine and sold the vineyard outside of the family. Sanson and his father moved to Roma in search for a distraction, although Sanson was too young to fully remember the accident, he has been plagued by nightmares of giant barrels slowly crushing him from his subconscious memories ever since and has been unable to drink wine. His alcoholic father never told him the truth about his mother, and instead lied by saying she had run off with some pilot from the army.
Disconnected from his father but still seeking his attention Sanson took to committing petty crimes and formed a small gang of street thugs. They stole from small venders pulling carts of their goods and vandalised public property but they never got into anything big, until one of his friends suggested they sneak into the military airport and steal a gun. Sanson didn’t want anything to do with the robbery, but he didn’t want to let his friends think he was a wimp. He lead the way into the airport and snuck into a warehouse full of crates. After trying unsuccessfully to open one they started searching around for something else to steal, but Sanson wanted out and kept trying to leave. Every time he tried his friends called him back, they started to get angry with him because they couldn’t get into the guns, blaming him for their failed theft.
Sanson fought back, saying it wasn’t his idea to sneak into a military airport without a plan. Their raised voices where heard by a passing patrol and when the door swung open the boys scattered, pushing Sanson down and leaving him to the guards. He was lucky to escape from the grips of the soldiers and took off back into the streets. News of the failed robbery spread quickly though the city and Sanson had heard rumours that his old gang of friends where going to turn him over. Deciding to beat them to the traitorous punch Sanson went forth to the military, saying he would give them the names of all the boys involved as long as they indicted him into the air force.
They agreed and he was signed on, the next day he had to identify his old gang that the Military police had rounded up. He smiled broadly as he pointed to each of them and stated their names as they looked at him with shock. There was their old leader and friend, pointing them out while standing proudly in a brand new flight uniform. That night he returned home for the last time in an attempt to get his fathers attention, saying loudly that he had captured a group of street thugs who had broken into a military base and that the army was going to award him. But as predicted his father was too drunk to acknowledge him and simply stared off into space. Just before Sanson left he told his father that he had joined the air force, and was to become a pilot. Hoping against hope that his father would react to the news that his son was going to become the man that his wife had run away with. When no response came he slammed the door and stormed off in a rage, reporting to the base and swearing himself into the Royal Italian Air Force.
Military Rank:
- Whatever is needed to get me flying.
Writing Sample:
The voice still echoed though Sanson Cleto’s mind as he gripped the control stick of his C.202 Falgore. The words that had been emitted from his radio had been heavy with pain and sorrow, and they had not failed to press their weight down on his chest. As they had been spoken Sanson had believed he could actually feel his heart ripping in half, shredding itself further with new word as it was transmitted to him from a man who knew he was doomed and that the words he was speaking now would be his last.
“Sanson. So che non ci siamo mai andati d'accordo. Ma all'improvviso tutto ciò che non ha più importanza, per favore, dire ai miei figli non sono morto di dolore. Dite loro il mio ultimo pensiero è stato di loro.” Sanson had wanted to say something encouraging, something comforting. But the words would not come, and instead he watched from the cockpit of his C.202 Falgore as his wingman decended from the heavens on wings of fire before smashing into the hard embrace of the earth below. Leaving Sanson alone with nothing in his mind but his last words of love for his children, and forgivness for him. The world seemed to go by so slowly, as if nothing mattered anymore. The tilt of the wings that brought him in a tight circle above the burning ruin was made without thought, almost as if his fighter knew that its pilot wanted one last look at the final resting place of his friend.
Sansons mind was blank, his vision was unfocused and his limbs where moving as if controled by something other then himself. The fighter had taken control of him, he could see the wires from the control pannel reaching out and gripping his arm, he could feel them moving him, making the fighter turn once again over the crash of his nameless friend. The instruments seemed to look back at him, they where unmoving as they stared into his soul, paralising him against the seat. His harness seemed to be getting tighter, slowly crushing his chest along with the echo of sorrow filled words.
The fighter suddenly pulled up, rocketing upwards towards a distant object in the sky. As it sped on images flashed past like lightning, images of open fields and rows of vines. Suddenly he was flying between the rows of grapes, the small round fruits flowing past like snakes, and at the end of the row was the same, dark object, comeing ever closer yet still seeming to be so far away. The rows of grapes gave way and Sanson found himself above a violent sea of wine that reached out to him with hand like waves, as if inviting him into the depths. On the horrison the dark object came into view, a winged barrel flew towards him at an impossable speed. He tried to raise his hands to shield himself but couldnt move, he tried to alter the course of his fighter but it continued speeding towards the barrel, or was the barrel speeding towards him? He could no longer tell if he was moving. He tried to move his finger to the trigger on the joystick, he had to distroy it, he had to shoot it down before it collieded with him. But the wires that had gripped his hands where now twising their way into his skin and wrapping themselves around his bones. He could feel them moving under his flesh as they held his finger above the trigger, not letting it drepress it, not letting him distroy the horrific barrel that flew at him from a black and forbiding sky.
He could see every detail of the barrel, every grain of wood was in sharp contrast and he could smell its musty, old oder. The kind smell that use to fill the basement of his fathers vineyard house, old wine fermenting in older wooden barrels. Suddenly the wings on the barrel broke off and it began tumbling towards him, growing in size and twisting in shape into that of a great winged demon. It flaired it liquid wings and spat wine at his figher, the Falgore shook from the attack and the cockpit started to slowly fill with the sloshing, sticky, stinking liquid. It enveloped his legs and seat, fluid arms reached out of the wine, pulling him down into it, wrapping themselves around his neck and head and bringing his face into the wet, crushing death that awaited him in their embrace.
He felt himself die before he woke up screaming.
Translation:
So che non ci siamo mai andati d'accordo. Ma all'improvviso tutto ciò che non ha più importanza, per favore, dire ai miei figli non sono morto di dolore. Dite loro il mio ultimo pensiero è stato di loro.
-
I know we've never gotten along. But suddenly all that does not matter anymore, please, tell my children I didn't die in pain. Tell them my last thought, was of them.
Name: Sanson Cleto
Alignments:
- Italian Royal Air Force
Character History:
Sanson Cleto was born on a small vineyard just north of Roma in 1909. His father had inherited the vineyard from his father and was hoping to pass it onto Sanson when he passed. Growing up in a vineyard Sanson’s life was filled with early morning starts, collecting grapes and cleaning bottles for his father. It was only when his mother was crushed hideously after the supports of a fermentation keg gave way that he started thinking about a life outside the vineyard.
Due to his grief his father could no longer continue making wine and sold the vineyard outside of the family. Sanson and his father moved to Roma in search for a distraction, although Sanson was too young to fully remember the accident, he has been plagued by nightmares of giant barrels slowly crushing him from his subconscious memories ever since and has been unable to drink wine. His alcoholic father never told him the truth about his mother, and instead lied by saying she had run off with some pilot from the army.
Disconnected from his father but still seeking his attention Sanson took to committing petty crimes and formed a small gang of street thugs. They stole from small venders pulling carts of their goods and vandalised public property but they never got into anything big, until one of his friends suggested they sneak into the military airport and steal a gun. Sanson didn’t want anything to do with the robbery, but he didn’t want to let his friends think he was a wimp. He lead the way into the airport and snuck into a warehouse full of crates. After trying unsuccessfully to open one they started searching around for something else to steal, but Sanson wanted out and kept trying to leave. Every time he tried his friends called him back, they started to get angry with him because they couldn’t get into the guns, blaming him for their failed theft.
Sanson fought back, saying it wasn’t his idea to sneak into a military airport without a plan. Their raised voices where heard by a passing patrol and when the door swung open the boys scattered, pushing Sanson down and leaving him to the guards. He was lucky to escape from the grips of the soldiers and took off back into the streets. News of the failed robbery spread quickly though the city and Sanson had heard rumours that his old gang of friends where going to turn him over. Deciding to beat them to the traitorous punch Sanson went forth to the military, saying he would give them the names of all the boys involved as long as they indicted him into the air force.
They agreed and he was signed on, the next day he had to identify his old gang that the Military police had rounded up. He smiled broadly as he pointed to each of them and stated their names as they looked at him with shock. There was their old leader and friend, pointing them out while standing proudly in a brand new flight uniform. That night he returned home for the last time in an attempt to get his fathers attention, saying loudly that he had captured a group of street thugs who had broken into a military base and that the army was going to award him. But as predicted his father was too drunk to acknowledge him and simply stared off into space. Just before Sanson left he told his father that he had joined the air force, and was to become a pilot. Hoping against hope that his father would react to the news that his son was going to become the man that his wife had run away with. When no response came he slammed the door and stormed off in a rage, reporting to the base and swearing himself into the Royal Italian Air Force.
Military Rank:
- Whatever is needed to get me flying.
Writing Sample:
The voice still echoed though Sanson Cleto’s mind as he gripped the control stick of his C.202 Falgore. The words that had been emitted from his radio had been heavy with pain and sorrow, and they had not failed to press their weight down on his chest. As they had been spoken Sanson had believed he could actually feel his heart ripping in half, shredding itself further with new word as it was transmitted to him from a man who knew he was doomed and that the words he was speaking now would be his last.
“Sanson. So che non ci siamo mai andati d'accordo. Ma all'improvviso tutto ciò che non ha più importanza, per favore, dire ai miei figli non sono morto di dolore. Dite loro il mio ultimo pensiero è stato di loro.” Sanson had wanted to say something encouraging, something comforting. But the words would not come, and instead he watched from the cockpit of his C.202 Falgore as his wingman decended from the heavens on wings of fire before smashing into the hard embrace of the earth below. Leaving Sanson alone with nothing in his mind but his last words of love for his children, and forgivness for him. The world seemed to go by so slowly, as if nothing mattered anymore. The tilt of the wings that brought him in a tight circle above the burning ruin was made without thought, almost as if his fighter knew that its pilot wanted one last look at the final resting place of his friend.
Sansons mind was blank, his vision was unfocused and his limbs where moving as if controled by something other then himself. The fighter had taken control of him, he could see the wires from the control pannel reaching out and gripping his arm, he could feel them moving him, making the fighter turn once again over the crash of his nameless friend. The instruments seemed to look back at him, they where unmoving as they stared into his soul, paralising him against the seat. His harness seemed to be getting tighter, slowly crushing his chest along with the echo of sorrow filled words.
The fighter suddenly pulled up, rocketing upwards towards a distant object in the sky. As it sped on images flashed past like lightning, images of open fields and rows of vines. Suddenly he was flying between the rows of grapes, the small round fruits flowing past like snakes, and at the end of the row was the same, dark object, comeing ever closer yet still seeming to be so far away. The rows of grapes gave way and Sanson found himself above a violent sea of wine that reached out to him with hand like waves, as if inviting him into the depths. On the horrison the dark object came into view, a winged barrel flew towards him at an impossable speed. He tried to raise his hands to shield himself but couldnt move, he tried to alter the course of his fighter but it continued speeding towards the barrel, or was the barrel speeding towards him? He could no longer tell if he was moving. He tried to move his finger to the trigger on the joystick, he had to distroy it, he had to shoot it down before it collieded with him. But the wires that had gripped his hands where now twising their way into his skin and wrapping themselves around his bones. He could feel them moving under his flesh as they held his finger above the trigger, not letting it drepress it, not letting him distroy the horrific barrel that flew at him from a black and forbiding sky.
He could see every detail of the barrel, every grain of wood was in sharp contrast and he could smell its musty, old oder. The kind smell that use to fill the basement of his fathers vineyard house, old wine fermenting in older wooden barrels. Suddenly the wings on the barrel broke off and it began tumbling towards him, growing in size and twisting in shape into that of a great winged demon. It flaired it liquid wings and spat wine at his figher, the Falgore shook from the attack and the cockpit started to slowly fill with the sloshing, sticky, stinking liquid. It enveloped his legs and seat, fluid arms reached out of the wine, pulling him down into it, wrapping themselves around his neck and head and bringing his face into the wet, crushing death that awaited him in their embrace.
He felt himself die before he woke up screaming.
Translation:
So che non ci siamo mai andati d'accordo. Ma all'improvviso tutto ciò che non ha più importanza, per favore, dire ai miei figli non sono morto di dolore. Dite loro il mio ultimo pensiero è stato di loro.
-
I know we've never gotten along. But suddenly all that does not matter anymore, please, tell my children I didn't die in pain. Tell them my last thought, was of them.
