Post by germania on Oct 19, 2012 15:47:57 GMT -5
Willehelm
Name:[/font][/size][/b][/u] Willehelm[/font]
Nickname:[/font][/size][/b][/u] None that he's aware of.[/font]
Nationality:[/font][/size][/b][/u] Unallied to any kingdom; resides in Medius. [Germania][/font]
Gender:[/font][/size][/b][/u] Male[/font]
Age:[/font][/size][/b][/u] Unknown, even to Willehelm[/font]
Social Rank:[/font][/size][/b][/u] None.[/font]
Occupation:[/font][/size][/b][/u] None.[/font]
Hair Color:[/font][/size][/b][/u] Blond[/font]
Eye Color:[/font][/size][/b][/u] Blue[/font]
Weight:[/font][/size][/b][/u] 195 lbs.[/font]
Height:[/font][/size][/b][/u] 6'6".[/font]
Special Features:[/font][/size][/b][/u] Willehelm has a wild, primal look about him. He wears his hair long, kept very clean, with small braids throughout. Despite the length of his hair, there is nothing feminine about him.[/font]
Likes:[/font][/size][/b][/u]
Dislikes:[/font][/size][/b][/u]
Strengths:[/font][/size][/b][/u]
Weaknesses:[/font][/size][/b][/u]
Dreams:[/font][/size][/b][/u]
Fears:[/font][/size][/b][/u]
- Falling in love. The issue for Willehelm is the fact that he has not found a companion that is immortal. He dreads falling in love with someone that is destined to live only one lifetime. He'd tried that earlier on in his life, and that resulted in the Beilschmidt bloodline, but Willehelm knows that whatever woman he had created that family with must have perished. This makes him push away the chance for love with anyone; familial love, romantic love, bonds of friendship. His self-imposed isolation is Willehelm's only defense against suffering through endless loss.[/ul][/color][/font]
Personality:[/font][/size][/b][/u]
Willehelm is a quiet man. People could mistake this for shyness, yet nothing is further from the truth. His quiet is deliberate, part of his personal makeup. He operates on an internal level, thoughts and emotions tempered inward rather than in outward expression. While other people might wear their hearts on their sleeves, Willehelm's remains lodged firmly in the cage of his chest. Considering how unreliable his earliest memories are, he doesn't know if this is how he has always been but it feels natural.
While he is a formidable man in appearance, it is difficult to tell what he might be thinking behind his commonly stoic face. Willehelm exudes quiet strength instead -- not just his physical capability, either. The strength of his character, of his convictions, are obvious without anyone having to ask. There's a glinting determination in Willehelm's eyes that has not been ebbed by time; merely fortified to greater permanence. He is not a man that needs to shout to be heard. He does not need to speak at all, much of the time. Willehelm is the sort of man that is followed by others because they feel the impression that he is meant to lead.
The inability of others to read into this imposing man lends him a sense of mystery, along with an unpredictable nature. Those who whisper rumors about his apparent supernatural nature find that his enigmatic demeanor only offers fuel to the legends that have been built around Willehelm. Of course, he cares nothing for this fame, and gives nothing that could confirm nor deny these tales. He prefers to leave people wondering. It is more convenient to him just to let them speculate about him, so that he doesn't have to live up to any pre-conceived expectations. Willehelm's seeming total lack of caring when it comes to the opinions of others permits him a sense of liberation that is absent for those consumed by the perceptions of society.
When Willehelm's mask slips enough to reveal his emotional core, even that is underplayed. His anger is a subtle rage that explodes not in words but in violence. He has an iron grip upon his temper, thankfully, and it is difficult to get Willehelm angry. Only those who consistently seek to provoke his rage might succumb to it. Once he has expelled his anger through action, Willehelm does not hang on to that emotion. He doesn't hold grudges, or bitterness. Considering the fact that those who make him enraged rarely live through the experience he hasn't found much use for carrying around any lingering negative emotion.
Willehelm is a private person. He enjoys his space. This means that he cares little for affection from others. If he wants physical contact then he will seek a bedmate of his own accord to satisfy that need. Beyond that, the man is more content when people honor his personal space. Those who are too 'touchy-feely', or fail to back off when he requests it, are quickly dismissed from his interest along with his patience. Willehelm is too old to play the games of children in this manner; he'll just walk away or ignore you. Any further efforts to connect with him beyond this point are as wasted as shouting at a wall in the hopes that it might answer back. Considering the fact that Willehelm is a creature that does not ever die, it is easy for him to recognize the difference between people worth his interest and those who are doomed to insignificance. Insignificant people are a waste of his time.
He doesn't gloat over his immortality. It isn't something that he feels the need to hold above others as some sort of claimed prize. To Willehelm, it is merely a fact: He has outlived countless others, he will outlive countless more. No one presents to him anything that he hasn't seen before. There is nothing fresh, interesting, intriguing. The patterns of the world are set, as far as he is concerned, and no one has yet proven him wrong. This can come across as arrogance. Willehelm, however, doesn't mix those kinds of emotions into it. He finds these to be facts that time has proven true again and again. In fact, he'd be grateful for the opportunity for someone to demonstrate to him that the same old farce could become rewritten.
His motivations seem simplistic, along with the subtleties of his demeanor. If Willehelm is hungry, he eats. If tired, he will sleep. If he desires wine, or sex, or entertainment, he'll just seek it out. For someone that has lived such a long time, Willehelm doesn't adhere himself to the chains of having longterm goals. There is no 'destination' that he is headed towards. He lives solely in the present, to handle things as they come to him, rather than looking to the future. This saves him from the complications that burden others of less permanence. Others seek to achieve before they die. Willehelm, having achieved and never died, seeks only to live.[/font]
History:[/font][/size][/b][/u]
When asked about his past, Willehelm has very little to share. He cannot impart nostalgic memories of his childhood, or speak of the parents that raised him. He wouldn't be able to tell you the first time that he made love, held a sword, killed another in battle. Willehelm lacks the luxury of remembering 'firsts'. The man cannot even pinpoint when he decided to create a lineage of his own -- and yet the Beilschmidts and their brethren are clearly tied to him through bloodlines that stretch back through time. Asking him what it was like to have family of his own would merely result in a blank stare and failure to comprehend the question. Because Willehelm does not remember.
There are times when memories sneak up on him. Fleeting images of things that happened; the feeling of reliving a past life -- stronger than a sense of deja vous. If asked to explain it, Willehelm would compare it to layering fabric, one thin sheet upon another. Occasionally a tear would allow for a glimpse through the overlay of chaotic patterns that resulted in just a sample of knowledge. A rational person might believe these to be a spiritual connection to past lives. Willehelm knows better. These are not past lives, but lifetimes lived; a long sequence carried out over a span of endless years, decades, centuries.
He finds it better to simply forget. Trying to put these into any sequential order, to fully face the true history that he has lived, results in nothing but his own confusion. It is enough for Willehelm to move through the world in the present. To recognize the same behaviors in those around him that have repeated for as long as his mind will allow the man to remember. He tries to live as man that has not seen the passage of a century. Three centuries. More. And because Willehelm knows only that he is a timeless creature in comparison to those who carry out one lifetime, he has made it a point to always keep his distance.
One of the few things that Willehelm has always embraced throughout his history is warfare. This feels natural to him. Holding steel in his hand, clashing against an opponent in glorious battle; only here does the man feel anchored to here and now. He has witnessed many skirmishes and participated in all of them that took his fancy. Willehelm never entered into any battle that earned him power, fame or glory. In all occasions that he has taken up a sword, it is in the general anonymity of a soldier. Many have offered him the opportunity to join the Royal courts upon recognizing his prowess. Willehelm has always avoided any allegience to a particular crown or color.
When it comes to the Beilschmidts and the rest of his kinsmen, Willehelm has not gone to any lengths to make himself known to them, except on rare occasions where he feels his interjection is neccessary. His last direct contact was made to Fredreich, uncle to Gilbert and Ludwig. He appealed to the man to overtake care for the boys that were otherwise facing some neglect from their father. Willehelm saw to it that Fredreich became a mentor for the boys, to help raise them while instilling the traditions that had been part of Willehelm's family line, including snippets of a language long dead.
Later, when the boys had become men and Fredreich was no more, it was Willehelm that used what influence he had garnered to secure them the guarantee of positions within the Royal Courts. Of course he said nothing of this to either Gilbert nor Ludwig, letting their efforts and hard work do the rest to seal up their rights to the noble ranks of Rooks. Willehelm, having served with Ludwig's predecessor in Medius, persuaded the man to name Ludwig as his successor. While he wanted to avoid forming any attachments to those in his family that would one day perish, Willehelm at least wanted to make certain that his legacy would be safe. And having the Beilschmidt bloodline solidified as nobility seemed the best course to take.
Willehelm has spent most of his time living on the fringes of Medius. The deep forests are his home; he feels more at home in the wilds than he does in the midst of any bustling city or quiet farming town. The hut that he has made his residence is remote enough that he rarely encounters anyone except an occasional lost wanderer, ambitious explorer, and sometimes people that seem familiar to him, displaced out of time just like he is, but faces that Willehelm cannot readily identify as friend or foe.[/font]
Additional Information:[/font][/size][/b][/u] Willehelm's hut was built by his own hands. It is located in the northern territory of Medius, just within the border to the smaller kingdoms scattered beyond. Being deep in the forested area, only those with a keen sense of direction and a determination to find his residence can locate it. The hut is an impressive piece of architecture, augmented throughout time to suit Willehelm's needs. For those that stumble across it, he will permit them into his home for a small time until they are able to continue on their way.[/font]
Roleplay Sample:[/font][/size][/b][/u] "How much longer do you intend for this to go on?"
Gaul's voice again, spoken from across the dying embers of the fire they had built. Germania had been thankful for the brief reprieve its heat had given when the night proved far colder than either of them had anticipated. He had misjudged the cruelty of the frosts that swept upon their territory from Aestii's frigid lands. Now, in the fading light of that fire and with Gaul's bedroll too far to share warmth with (Though Gaul had been keen to offer him the warmth of his body, make no mistake. And Germania, for the sake of peace and prediction of Gaul's hands wandering in the night, had refused.), the blond barbarian shifted slightly due to a stone that was prodding at his back while trying to forget about the chill. "What do you mean?"
Germania's head turned just enough to see Gaul's figure press up, too dark to make out aside from a blackened outline. There was no moon tonight to see by. He could only catch an occasional glint of the other man's eyes in the dying light. "Once again we retreat here from the Roman when we should be marching against him. You know that the pair of us are capable enough to crush him without opposition. So why are we up here lounging in the bitter cold? At least let us go seek out Aestii's home for lodging."
"You are welcomed to travel on," Germania pointed out to his current traveling companion, "and I am sure that Aestii will be pleased with the company. You cannot fathom how often he complains to me that no one makes the trip to visit him in the time of winter. Having Gaul there to warm his bed might spare me another season of misery." He turned over, broad shoulders bent as the barbarian curved onto his side. Out in the open like this, Germania was always careful about how he chose to sleep. It was important for him to keep his weapon exposed and a hand free to reach for it at a moment's notice. Especially when Roman troops were camped so near.
Gaul mused over the idea. The man was never one that refused partners to sate his sexual appetites with. Germania feared that whatever descendant Gaul passed his lineage to would inherit that capacity for lust. "I just don't think that you can allow things to continue this way. If anyone can put a stop to his ambitions, Germania, it will be you. How long will it be, and how much more will he be permitted to do before you take action? The burden of his actions will be yours just as his." Gaul said to him, the final stretch of his words distorted by a yawn as the other man curled further into the comfort of his bedroll to sleep.
It did not take long for Gaul to find enough peace to rest. Germania continued to lie there in silence, wide awake as he listened until the steady strains of Gaul's snoring indicated that his companion was sound asleep. The barbarian pushed back his bedroll and rose out of its warm embrace. He silently crept from their camp to seek out the Roman one that was stationed a mere mile away. With no apparent threat, the soldiers that were present had lapsed into complacency, and even the posted guards were too occupied with playing a betting game between them to catch a glimpse of the blond that slipped silently into the rear of their leader's tent.
Inside, he found Rome. And Rome's female bed partner. And his male bed partner. Even camping out in the wilderness, the Roman Empire still found opportunity to find time to entertain company. Germania shook his head along with shaking off the unfortunate twist in his chest that happened whenever he came upon Rome like this; wrapped in an embrace of steadily rotating faces. He brought a chair over near the head of the Roman's cot -- a luxury that men like Germania would never think to indulge bringing into a battle, but Rome seemed incapable of being without.
The blond sat down in that chair, hearing it creak softly under his bulk. He sat with thighs parted and elbows braced, hands clasped loosely together in front of him as he studied Rome's sleeping face from his vantage point. Gaul's words were still fresh in his mind. Who else was capable of putting an end to the Roman's ambitions? This empire that had built itself through warfare and slaughter, expanding ever onward to consume those incapable of preventing all eradication of a different identity? Germania had heard the tales from Greece, of Romans laying waste to temples of worshipped gods that did not suit Roman beliefs.
And Germania, with his wild tribes and wilder lands, how much had he sacrificed to this empire? Why had he allowed it to go this far? His pale blue eyes searched Rome's face thoroughly. This face that had once been his friend and constant -- if sometimes unwanted -- companion. A creature like himself that used to be content with simplicity; good wine, a willing woman, perhaps an occasional battle to brag about. A man that Germania had admired. That he had loved. Who was this unrecognized stranger that wore the face of his beloved?
He sighed faintly. Dropping his elbows from his knees, Germania bent forward over the Roman's head. With the sated exhaustion on the other man's slumbering face, he trusted that he'd be able to whisper to the man without waking Rome up. Germania touched his lips to the other man's forehead, speaking those whispers against the skin. "You are reaching too far. When you stretch for the stars too perilously, there can be nothing except a fall. I will not end you this night, my friend, though bringing your death here in this bed would be all too easy. I'll be there, though, when your straining grip is short of its destination, and I will be there to make certain that you fall."
With that promise spoken, Germania pushed up out of his chair. He slipped back out of the tent to prowl back through the frigid night to where he had left Gaul and his bedroll. Germania lowered back into that space to pull the weight of blankets back over his body. But even when dawn was breaking over the horizon, he was still unable to sleep, and merely stared up at the silent sky.[/font]
Alias:[/font][/size][/b][/u] Hat[/font]
Age:[/font][/size][/b][/u] 31[/font]
Experience:[/font][/size][/b][/u] 17+ years[/font]
Additional Information:[/font][/size][/b][/u] BI[/font]
Credits:
[/font]Application Code made by B and C. Lyrics by Temposhark, song “Don’t Mess With Me”[/font][/center]
