Sunday, November 20, 2011

Hunter the Vigil

I'm not much of a writer when I'm not motivated (like most things in my life when I'm motivated I'm unstoppable, however when not ... ) to write.  How ever a few of my players have been.  Since I do want to blog a bit I thought I'd present you with the journal entries of my players for our Hunter game.  We've run three sessions in the Chronicle and we are still in the awakening phase of the chronicle, one think I asked them to do was build an heir in to their back story and journal so we could fast forward a generation after we sustained enough loses.  the chronicle is set in post WW2 Berlin (1956).  First up Character back stories.

Andrei Baev - Russia's Patriot

(This man stands at roughly 6'1". He's built sturdy, with enough muscle to give him strength without slowing down what appears to be a fair amount of physical dexterity. There's a hollowness in his Ice-blue eyes, and most people cannot stare into them too long. He's blonde, with his hair cut short in a typical military crew, and apparently he's growing the beginnings of a goatee. He wears what he likes to call 'american grease', a leather jacket over a white wifebeater. Jeans, and combat boots that seem to be old but still in rather fair condition cover him from the waist down. In a society that gives all it can to it's government, a society that for the most part lacks individuality, this man seems to hold on to whatever individuality he can. Although still in his youth, he shoes evidence of wrinkles and crows feet early on his face. A few silver strands also have sneaked their way into his hair. Obviously from stress.)

My father, Fyodr Baev, was a very large man. A very proud man. He viewed the previous regime of the Czar's to be a tyrranical one. One that cared only for the higher class, and catered to none other than them. So it was no surprise that Marx and his son's: Stalin and Lenin were icons to the soviet people. They preached an ideology that appealed to many, and my father fought proudly in the Revolution. So from the start, my family was baptized in Red. 

I was born shortly after the Motherland got her footing under the glorious hammer and sickle. The farmer's tools. March 13th, 1925 was my birthday. Friday. My parents said that I was unlucky, so they gave me my name: Andrei. It means warrior. My last name names story-teller. So I guess that means they wanted me to remember what happened during the second great war. My father, at the time, was a Starshina. A Junior Commander. I should state this now, but you should forgive me if I can't inform you about my mother. She left shortly after giving birth to me. All I know her as, is a whore. My father's words.

I grew up in Stalingrad, it was my home, my pride, and my heart. Despite the fact that my father had seen the outcome of this new regime would be no different than those of it's predecessors he still followed the communist party with his heart. As did I. When the treaty between the Fatherland and the Motherland was broken, and Leningrad was Seiged my father was called in to reinforce it and to evacuate any civilians left. I was 16 when my father was called into leningrad. He knew that the German Scum would push further in and in some twisted way, drafted me into the military. I loved the thought, I thought i'd be fighting for my country. To beat back those dogs back to the pound they came from only to slaughter them in their own houses. The filth needed to be put back into it's place.

I was put into accelerated training, which was fancy wording for: "We teach you how to shoot, live, and kill. Then throw you into company with more than four privets to one german soldier." I was given the PPD, F-1 Grenades, and designated as a Krasnoarmeyets. A red army man. I was put into the Bryansk Front which eventually changed to the 1st Ukranian Front as it penetrated into Berlin, and ignorant of the hell that I would witness. And eerily. The hell that I would grow accustomed too. After all, a Russian winter is cold. And there are two ways to stay warm: Vodka, and Hell.

The battles I participated in are many: Smolensk, El'nia, and Roslavl. The battles of Voronezh, the defensive operations on the approaches to Stalingrad, and in the December 1942 Operation Saturn, the follow-on to the encirclement of German 6th Army at Stalingrad where it destroyed Hungarian Second Army. During 1944, the front participated with other fronts in the battles of Korsun-Shevchenkivskyy, and the battle of Hube's Pocket in Ukraine. It conducted theLviv-Sandomierz Offensive, during which the Front was controlling the Soviet 1st Guards Tank Army, 3rd Guards Tank Army, 4th Tank Army, 3rd Guards, 5th Guards, 13th, 38th, and 60th Armies. It then took part in the battle for Ternopil'. In 1945 the front participated in the Vistula-Oder offensive, and conducted the Silesian and Prague Operations, and the siege of Breslau. It also participated in the Berlin operations in Germany and Poland. The front also conducted the major part of the Halbe Encirclement, in which most of the German 9th Army was destroyed south of Berlin. By this time the Polish Second Army was operating as part of the Front. Finally 1st Ukrainian Front provided the defence against the counter-attacks by Armee Wenck which aimed to relieve Berlin and the 9th Army. It refers to the fronts that I was stationed in. Transfered too. For some reason, I was an unlucky enough bastard to always be at the front line. 

I was not left without my fair share of scars, but my father raised me to be big, strong, and keep on moving. My ear drum on the left side is perforated, so my hearing is shit. Not only that, I'm not for the big crowds. They make me uneasy, and remind me of the many dead and dying on the battlefield. The pain was large, and what I did was monsterous. I killed many fathers, sons, cousins, and nephews. Many Men, and Many boys. I also saw something that disturbed me. It was during the war, when, for some reason, my superior officer had me perform a strike operation with a number of other men from all different companies. This idea was so that the operation, if found out, could not be pegged on any one company and could not be definitively traced back to any special forces. 

We were going into a warehouse, Warehouse 17 in the industry district of Berlin. What we saw there, not only stained my mind, but gives me nightmares. 'Herr Doktors' there had been performing some sort of sick genetic testing, perhaps for some biological weapon, perhaps to create the 'Super Soldiers' that the mad dog of a Furher wished to create for his failing army. Some had fur, and looked more like dogs than men. Others, looked more like men than dogs. Their muscles were bigger than my thigh, I swear! And those that did not make it had been sliced up and put into large vats of green viscous liquid. I never saw anything else besides that, but since then, I've been watching the shadows, never allowing them to leave my sight.

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