Post by Mike Lohmann on Sept 15, 2014 22:17:25 GMT -8
1916~
====================
Home.
The lands that he came from, was a shell of it's former self. His people.. a shade of the past. The trip, many years prior. He had spent time, trying to reconnect with his people and the history that has drifted past him, in his ancient slumbers. Nix was there, to try to ease the disappointment... the pain... but the truth was, all that he had worked for was for nothing, in the end.
The bloodshed. The time invested. The sacrifices of his men and himself... untold and forgotten dust in the wind. It had almost been enough to wish him to be back into slumber. But he knew he had to make something of himself. For himself. For his people.
He was Draugr. The doors of Valhalla were closed to him. He wasnt even if it was possible to earn his way back into the favor of the Gods... but he had to try.
So, he came back... just after Seattle burned. He established himself as a competent individual, with skills that were not easy to replicate, due to their old nature. He asserted himself fast, and the eyes of the court had fallen upon him and acknowledged abilities he possessed. The age of his blood. Maybe even the threat he could be. The Harpy taught him the language, with the help of Nix translating, the language of the Prince... and soon made Amgrim his personal attack dog.
He didnt mind, the title. You are what you are, and war was his skillset. But that was not all that Amgrim was.
---------------------------
He watched over from the darkness, as the men in uniform and the vast numbers of workers poured diligently over the tasks they partook upon. Amgrim recognized it immediately, for what it was. They were working to manipulate the flow of water, as well as bridge over it. This was something that he and his people had done, themselves, so many years ago. But the modern way, and sheer workforce involved was rather impressive. So he watched, night after night, as they progressed with the building of the locks and bridges.
But what he noticed most, was that the surrounding lands, held people from his own homelands. They were not as he... the time of Vikings was dead, but they were descended of his bloodline. Maybe more directly than he believed. Their numbers were great, and he immediately recognized where they were here. This was the land closest to their own home, but full of more opportunity. They were cultivating the lands, to create a new home. He respected that.... and over time, wished to mimic it.
Another creature caught his eye. A man. Not of his blood, but a confident and older individual. The man was just as attentive of activities of the construction, as Amgrim was curious. Amgrim would see him, late into the night, alone and standing over the construction... eyeing every detail. He was most assuredly, the leader of the construction.
The man seemed to be well respected, and held an intellect as well. There were numberous times when an issue would arrise, and he knew just how to fix it... and fix it fast. The ability of the man was... interesting.
Amgrim's people respected him, and he treated them equally with a measure of respect.
He wished to speak to him, but knew that he would likely not be able to. This would need someone that could translate the language... with a softer tongue, and more immediately respectable nature.
The Professor would do... so missive was sent out.. and silently, a small distance away... he waited.
The Prof arrives in a brand new motorcar. His chauffeur gets out and opens the door for the gentleman. With a cane and a custom tailored (but subtle) suit the gangrel gets out and heads to the Sheriff. (in Latin) "Greetings Sheriff Amgrim, how may I be of service"
Amgrim istands quietly and stoic, looking out over the current but currently stilled construction of the lock in question. His eyes are fixated on a shape, in the distance. As the Professor arrives and approaches, he sniffs once and his brilliant eyes shift over towards the approaching Gangrel. He isnt wearing his armor. this evening. He seems to be more dressed down, and casual looking for the region. Lower class looks. "(l) My thanks for your arrival." He then shifts his eyes back towards the figure in the distance "(l) I require you to translate for me, as I wish to speak to that man. He fascinates me, but I doubt he speaks any language that I do. I trust this task to you, and the overseeing that it goes smoothly." He slowly shifted his old eyes back towards the other Gangrel. A serious look, yet trusting."
Professor Argent removes his hat and pulls his long hair back before replacing it. (I) "We lets see what we can do" With his slow cane aided walk he heads over to man. When he gets closer he holds open his left hand in a wave of sorts and says in English "Hello, Sir, could I please have a moment of your time?"
The older gentlemen didn't actually seem that startled. He casually looked back, and came to turn fully around to face the man approaching him. "Good evening, sir. You startled me. Not expecting to see many others, this late in the eve. How might I be of assistance and whom do I have the pleasure of speaking to?" He smiled, well enough, eyeing the larger of the two, with a bit of a raised bro. His hands came to rest behind his back, after silencing a small cough.
The shorter gangrel smiles and presents his calling card "Please forgive my interruption, I am Professor Sylvester Argent and this gentleman is Mr. Amgrim." Argent motions to the larger Gangrel "He is an admirer of your work and would love to speak with you, however English isn't his native tongue and has asked for my services as a translator in case you did not share a common language."
The older man perked a brow, then smiled and chuckled. "Yes, of course. I do love a good conversation." He eyed the man thoughfully once again. His nose twitched. "This fellow must be a ditch digger, by the scent of him. I havent seen him on site for the project though..." He seemed to be lost in thought for a moment, then coughed again, and waved a dismissive hand at himself. "Apologies. So. What does he wish to know? I am guessing it is about the Lock."
Amgrim listened to the translation and explained that he wished to know the mans name, and his interest or place in the building of the Lock. The older gentlemen listened to his words, a look of intrigue slipped across his face. "I say... is that and older dialect of Latin?" He seemed... almost excited, though he obviously didnt understand.
Argent nodded and spoke. "Why yes it is, you have a very good ear to spot the difference. I'm sorry where are my manners, I forgot to ask your name. He is very interested in this Lock project and would like to know more about your direct role in it. Oh please do not let the casual clothes fool you, Mr. Amgrim is the Sion of wealthy Scandinavian family and while skilled with his hands no mere ditch digger" The Professor says with a disarming laugh.
The man blinked once, "Good word. I have forgotten my own manners. Yes, of course." He held out a hand to shake for both men. "I am Brigadier General Martin Chittenden. A pleasure to meet you both." He looked to Amgrim again, and gave an approving nod at the explanation of his heritage. " Excellent lineage, the Scandinavians. I hold alot of respect for the divine mission of the Anglo-Saxons." He smiled back to the Professor. "I do not hold any real part, in the construction of the lock. I am simply watching of it's progress. I feel it is my duty as such, since it is being named after me." Amgrim blinked, and tilted his head at the translation as it came through. He smiled brightly, and spoke to the other Gangrel of high praise of it's construction. He also spoke of how he couldn't help but notice the older mans sickened condition.
"Mr. Angrim is very impressed by all of this construction. It is a great honor to have such a large undertaking named after you. Congratulations. Now, this might be a little breach of protocol and I hope you don't take offense but Mr. Amgrim wonders if something is ailing you?"
The man blinked and was quiet for a moment. He didn't seem pleased that his condition was noticed. He was a strong man. A proud man. A graduate of West Point. A Brigadier General in the Army. Weakness was not an option. He waved a hand dismissively. "It is just a cough. Call it old age." He said with a slight cough chuckle. Amgrim went silent for a moment, then whispered into his the ear of the Professor.
The professor nods slowly, eyes settling on the General with some seriousness to them, and says to the man, "Sir, I have some good news Mr. Amgrim wishes to share. Where he is from, that cough is known, which is why he noticed that you had it. He has told me that his family has a cure for it. He wants to share it with you for free because of all you have done for his people and your respect for them. I assure you Sir this is quite on the level."
The General lofted a brow, looking to the large man with scepticism. "While I am most humbled by such and offer, such seems rather unlikely. And pray tell, just how does he propose to fix such a thing, though?"
Amgrim, upon hearing the translation... slowly smiled...
==========================================================
Brigadier General Martin Chittenden "died" in Seattle, Washington in October of the year 1917.
(Thank you to Cory for helping me to complete this chapter. )
====================
Home.
The lands that he came from, was a shell of it's former self. His people.. a shade of the past. The trip, many years prior. He had spent time, trying to reconnect with his people and the history that has drifted past him, in his ancient slumbers. Nix was there, to try to ease the disappointment... the pain... but the truth was, all that he had worked for was for nothing, in the end.
The bloodshed. The time invested. The sacrifices of his men and himself... untold and forgotten dust in the wind. It had almost been enough to wish him to be back into slumber. But he knew he had to make something of himself. For himself. For his people.
He was Draugr. The doors of Valhalla were closed to him. He wasnt even if it was possible to earn his way back into the favor of the Gods... but he had to try.
So, he came back... just after Seattle burned. He established himself as a competent individual, with skills that were not easy to replicate, due to their old nature. He asserted himself fast, and the eyes of the court had fallen upon him and acknowledged abilities he possessed. The age of his blood. Maybe even the threat he could be. The Harpy taught him the language, with the help of Nix translating, the language of the Prince... and soon made Amgrim his personal attack dog.
He didnt mind, the title. You are what you are, and war was his skillset. But that was not all that Amgrim was.
---------------------------
He watched over from the darkness, as the men in uniform and the vast numbers of workers poured diligently over the tasks they partook upon. Amgrim recognized it immediately, for what it was. They were working to manipulate the flow of water, as well as bridge over it. This was something that he and his people had done, themselves, so many years ago. But the modern way, and sheer workforce involved was rather impressive. So he watched, night after night, as they progressed with the building of the locks and bridges.
But what he noticed most, was that the surrounding lands, held people from his own homelands. They were not as he... the time of Vikings was dead, but they were descended of his bloodline. Maybe more directly than he believed. Their numbers were great, and he immediately recognized where they were here. This was the land closest to their own home, but full of more opportunity. They were cultivating the lands, to create a new home. He respected that.... and over time, wished to mimic it.
Another creature caught his eye. A man. Not of his blood, but a confident and older individual. The man was just as attentive of activities of the construction, as Amgrim was curious. Amgrim would see him, late into the night, alone and standing over the construction... eyeing every detail. He was most assuredly, the leader of the construction.
The man seemed to be well respected, and held an intellect as well. There were numberous times when an issue would arrise, and he knew just how to fix it... and fix it fast. The ability of the man was... interesting.
Amgrim's people respected him, and he treated them equally with a measure of respect.
He wished to speak to him, but knew that he would likely not be able to. This would need someone that could translate the language... with a softer tongue, and more immediately respectable nature.
The Professor would do... so missive was sent out.. and silently, a small distance away... he waited.
The Prof arrives in a brand new motorcar. His chauffeur gets out and opens the door for the gentleman. With a cane and a custom tailored (but subtle) suit the gangrel gets out and heads to the Sheriff. (in Latin) "Greetings Sheriff Amgrim, how may I be of service"
Amgrim istands quietly and stoic, looking out over the current but currently stilled construction of the lock in question. His eyes are fixated on a shape, in the distance. As the Professor arrives and approaches, he sniffs once and his brilliant eyes shift over towards the approaching Gangrel. He isnt wearing his armor. this evening. He seems to be more dressed down, and casual looking for the region. Lower class looks. "(l) My thanks for your arrival." He then shifts his eyes back towards the figure in the distance "(l) I require you to translate for me, as I wish to speak to that man. He fascinates me, but I doubt he speaks any language that I do. I trust this task to you, and the overseeing that it goes smoothly." He slowly shifted his old eyes back towards the other Gangrel. A serious look, yet trusting."
Professor Argent removes his hat and pulls his long hair back before replacing it. (I) "We lets see what we can do" With his slow cane aided walk he heads over to man. When he gets closer he holds open his left hand in a wave of sorts and says in English "Hello, Sir, could I please have a moment of your time?"
The older gentlemen didn't actually seem that startled. He casually looked back, and came to turn fully around to face the man approaching him. "Good evening, sir. You startled me. Not expecting to see many others, this late in the eve. How might I be of assistance and whom do I have the pleasure of speaking to?" He smiled, well enough, eyeing the larger of the two, with a bit of a raised bro. His hands came to rest behind his back, after silencing a small cough.
The shorter gangrel smiles and presents his calling card "Please forgive my interruption, I am Professor Sylvester Argent and this gentleman is Mr. Amgrim." Argent motions to the larger Gangrel "He is an admirer of your work and would love to speak with you, however English isn't his native tongue and has asked for my services as a translator in case you did not share a common language."
The older man perked a brow, then smiled and chuckled. "Yes, of course. I do love a good conversation." He eyed the man thoughfully once again. His nose twitched. "This fellow must be a ditch digger, by the scent of him. I havent seen him on site for the project though..." He seemed to be lost in thought for a moment, then coughed again, and waved a dismissive hand at himself. "Apologies. So. What does he wish to know? I am guessing it is about the Lock."
Amgrim listened to the translation and explained that he wished to know the mans name, and his interest or place in the building of the Lock. The older gentlemen listened to his words, a look of intrigue slipped across his face. "I say... is that and older dialect of Latin?" He seemed... almost excited, though he obviously didnt understand.
Argent nodded and spoke. "Why yes it is, you have a very good ear to spot the difference. I'm sorry where are my manners, I forgot to ask your name. He is very interested in this Lock project and would like to know more about your direct role in it. Oh please do not let the casual clothes fool you, Mr. Amgrim is the Sion of wealthy Scandinavian family and while skilled with his hands no mere ditch digger" The Professor says with a disarming laugh.
The man blinked once, "Good word. I have forgotten my own manners. Yes, of course." He held out a hand to shake for both men. "I am Brigadier General Martin Chittenden. A pleasure to meet you both." He looked to Amgrim again, and gave an approving nod at the explanation of his heritage. " Excellent lineage, the Scandinavians. I hold alot of respect for the divine mission of the Anglo-Saxons." He smiled back to the Professor. "I do not hold any real part, in the construction of the lock. I am simply watching of it's progress. I feel it is my duty as such, since it is being named after me." Amgrim blinked, and tilted his head at the translation as it came through. He smiled brightly, and spoke to the other Gangrel of high praise of it's construction. He also spoke of how he couldn't help but notice the older mans sickened condition.
"Mr. Angrim is very impressed by all of this construction. It is a great honor to have such a large undertaking named after you. Congratulations. Now, this might be a little breach of protocol and I hope you don't take offense but Mr. Amgrim wonders if something is ailing you?"
The man blinked and was quiet for a moment. He didn't seem pleased that his condition was noticed. He was a strong man. A proud man. A graduate of West Point. A Brigadier General in the Army. Weakness was not an option. He waved a hand dismissively. "It is just a cough. Call it old age." He said with a slight cough chuckle. Amgrim went silent for a moment, then whispered into his the ear of the Professor.
The professor nods slowly, eyes settling on the General with some seriousness to them, and says to the man, "Sir, I have some good news Mr. Amgrim wishes to share. Where he is from, that cough is known, which is why he noticed that you had it. He has told me that his family has a cure for it. He wants to share it with you for free because of all you have done for his people and your respect for them. I assure you Sir this is quite on the level."
The General lofted a brow, looking to the large man with scepticism. "While I am most humbled by such and offer, such seems rather unlikely. And pray tell, just how does he propose to fix such a thing, though?"
Amgrim, upon hearing the translation... slowly smiled...
==========================================================
Brigadier General Martin Chittenden "died" in Seattle, Washington in October of the year 1917.
(Thank you to Cory for helping me to complete this chapter. )
