- Aug 30, 2004
- 24,179
- 494
- 35
- Faith
- Christian
- Marital Status
- Married
- Politics
- US-Others
Male Human
Age: 34
Height: 5'8''
Weight: 167 lbs
Frame: average, unimposing.
Hair: Long, brown, reaches below the base of his neck; usually pulled back into a pony tail. Clean-shaven.
Eyes: Hazel
Misc: Gilead's got a slightly pointed nose, the bridge somewhat twisted from having been broken in the past. He's missing a couple of teeth, but it's nothing unsightly. His chin is angular, some might say pointy, and his eyebrows are a tad thick. He's not what one would call a paragon of handsomeness.
Background: Having spent 8 years growing up in the care (term being used generously) of a pig farmer, Gilead ran away to serve in the army as but a child. However, since 9 years old (it took him a while to find the main body and enlist, you see) is hardly a proper age for bearing arms, Gilead was made to do menial tasks about camp whenever they stopped. Wrangling chickens, cleaning pots, digging and burying the latrine, shining the armor and boots of lesser officers, and keeping the dogs warm at night with his bodyheat were among the tasks with which he was entrusted.
Gilead was promoted to the rank of messenger at the age of 15, and got to see the countryside from the back of a pony as he relayed messages between commanders and armies. After suffering a tragic accident that left him absolutely terrified of horses (and with a broken arm, which made a smashing recovery in only a month or two), he settled down to be an apprentice for an army cook at the age of 21. Having learned all of the secret arts of cooking for his nation's fighting men, and mastering the science of preparing field rations and mass-producing simple meals for disgruntled campaigners, he succeeded his master 6 years later, and became presiding cook for his company.
His prestigious career came to a crashing halt when the army he served in was decimated and sent scattering into the hills. Cut off from all but a few of his comrades, and armed only with a pot, wooden spoon, filet knife, and wooden stool, Gilead survived for a year in the wilderness before being captured and taken to Bethany, where he was brought under the powerful, oppressive control of the city and relegated to cooking for the guard force.
Personality: Gilead has never had a problem with taking no for an answer, settling for less than the best, or keeping his standards low. He works dutifully, doesn't take offense from many things, and knows when to be discreet. He does not, however, remember much of his history before coming to Bethany.
All that he remembers of his old life is massive pigs, endless marches across the countryside of his homeland, and the dying words of the general they had served under. "Bring me-- Bring me one of their swords! Give me their general's sword, and drive it into my grave! Let it rust and wither in the rain, as their kingdom shall!" These words were spoken to Captain Leonid Tyrannislav, who went on to fight in three glorious campaigns and become a colonel, as well as fulfill his promise to the dying general.
...But Gilead didn't know that! As far as he knows, he is a soldier, lowered to the lowliest of low jobs. Cooking for Bethany's guards, who wouldn't know good food from the slop he was programmed to listlessly serve them. And now that he is free, he can finally take up his old mission and fulfill his promise to that poor dying general he can't quite remember the name of. Finding the right grave will simply have to be a bridge he'd jump off of when he got to it.
Skills:
Gilead is a good cook for one who learned out on the march, but is not a very proficient fighter. He thinks himself to be at the moment, but how long that lasts is uncertain. Cooking and soldiering aside, he can work well enough with his hands. He cannot read.
Fears: Horses (though he can't recall why), snakes, and grease fires.
Desires: Fulfilling "his" mission, doing whatever it takes to make sure he doesn't go back to Bethany.
Demeanor: Easy-going, but with the added ambition to finish his task. He's got a spark of initiative that he did not have before Bethany. He's an optimist, and enthusiastic now.
Age: 34
Height: 5'8''
Weight: 167 lbs
Frame: average, unimposing.
Hair: Long, brown, reaches below the base of his neck; usually pulled back into a pony tail. Clean-shaven.
Eyes: Hazel
Misc: Gilead's got a slightly pointed nose, the bridge somewhat twisted from having been broken in the past. He's missing a couple of teeth, but it's nothing unsightly. His chin is angular, some might say pointy, and his eyebrows are a tad thick. He's not what one would call a paragon of handsomeness.
Background: Having spent 8 years growing up in the care (term being used generously) of a pig farmer, Gilead ran away to serve in the army as but a child. However, since 9 years old (it took him a while to find the main body and enlist, you see) is hardly a proper age for bearing arms, Gilead was made to do menial tasks about camp whenever they stopped. Wrangling chickens, cleaning pots, digging and burying the latrine, shining the armor and boots of lesser officers, and keeping the dogs warm at night with his bodyheat were among the tasks with which he was entrusted.
Gilead was promoted to the rank of messenger at the age of 15, and got to see the countryside from the back of a pony as he relayed messages between commanders and armies. After suffering a tragic accident that left him absolutely terrified of horses (and with a broken arm, which made a smashing recovery in only a month or two), he settled down to be an apprentice for an army cook at the age of 21. Having learned all of the secret arts of cooking for his nation's fighting men, and mastering the science of preparing field rations and mass-producing simple meals for disgruntled campaigners, he succeeded his master 6 years later, and became presiding cook for his company.
His prestigious career came to a crashing halt when the army he served in was decimated and sent scattering into the hills. Cut off from all but a few of his comrades, and armed only with a pot, wooden spoon, filet knife, and wooden stool, Gilead survived for a year in the wilderness before being captured and taken to Bethany, where he was brought under the powerful, oppressive control of the city and relegated to cooking for the guard force.
Personality: Gilead has never had a problem with taking no for an answer, settling for less than the best, or keeping his standards low. He works dutifully, doesn't take offense from many things, and knows when to be discreet. He does not, however, remember much of his history before coming to Bethany.
All that he remembers of his old life is massive pigs, endless marches across the countryside of his homeland, and the dying words of the general they had served under. "Bring me-- Bring me one of their swords! Give me their general's sword, and drive it into my grave! Let it rust and wither in the rain, as their kingdom shall!" These words were spoken to Captain Leonid Tyrannislav, who went on to fight in three glorious campaigns and become a colonel, as well as fulfill his promise to the dying general.
...But Gilead didn't know that! As far as he knows, he is a soldier, lowered to the lowliest of low jobs. Cooking for Bethany's guards, who wouldn't know good food from the slop he was programmed to listlessly serve them. And now that he is free, he can finally take up his old mission and fulfill his promise to that poor dying general he can't quite remember the name of. Finding the right grave will simply have to be a bridge he'd jump off of when he got to it.
Skills:
Gilead is a good cook for one who learned out on the march, but is not a very proficient fighter. He thinks himself to be at the moment, but how long that lasts is uncertain. Cooking and soldiering aside, he can work well enough with his hands. He cannot read.
Fears: Horses (though he can't recall why), snakes, and grease fires.
Desires: Fulfilling "his" mission, doing whatever it takes to make sure he doesn't go back to Bethany.
Demeanor: Easy-going, but with the added ambition to finish his task. He's got a spark of initiative that he did not have before Bethany. He's an optimist, and enthusiastic now.
