[hider=Karl 'Jäger' Kötes] 
[b]Name:Karl 'Jäger' Kötes[/b]
[b]Age:[/b]
25
[b]Physical Appearance:[/b]
Tall and blonde, Karl is, whilst not quite the spitting image of the German soldiers wanted in a mere ninteen years, damned close. He stands at a respectable 5'11" and is stocky, but not overly muscular or fat, with the kind of build that feels solid- as he was a wall made of brick, an asset useful in both intimidation and reassurance when he happens to need to do either.

He keeps his silvery-blonde cropped short in a practical military cut and his eyes are a steel-grey, with a slight twinkle in them even after the Great War. His war wounds, thankfully for him, are few, the stand-out exceptions being a shrapnel scar on the back of his left hand, a thick silvery line that stands out even with his fair skin, and the fact that a shell once went off around the bend of a trench that he was running from, partially deafaning him.

[b]Unit Profession:[/b]
Rifleman

[b]Personality:[/b]
War can do funny things to a man, the Great War even more so. Whilst men around him died and were injured, Karl somehow manages to stop himself becoming totally ruined, instead reserving his amassing fury for first the Belgian and French soldiers he fought against, ans subsequently his own government for their betrayal of his comrades.

Nowadays, despite his still not-insignificant rage for the nascent Weimar Republic and the Versailles Treaty, he always manages to have a few jokes tucked away in his pocket, right next to a spare stripper clip of ammunition and a no-nonsense attitude for anyone that is unfortunate enough to get in his way.

[b]History:[/b]

Like most of the boys who ended up fighting and dying in the trenches, Karl was born to an 'average' family. His father was a butcher, his mother a strong believer in the so-called '4K's, those being Kinder, Kircher, Küche and Kleider, or children, church, clothes and the kitchen, singifying the jobs that women were supposed to do. Eventually, his father managed to earn enough money to buy another bitchers shop, and made a decent living, until the call of war shouted for his son.

Karl took to the military well; being around butchered animals had accustomed him to blood and viscera, and although he never excelled within the trenches, a knack for keeping his head down and when to open fire lead to a steadily rising body count, numbering close to 50 by the end of the war. He was no sniper either, but he had been noted by his peers as a rather excellent shot, leading to his nickname of 'Jäger'.

After the war, furious at his government, he left, selling his services as a Freikorpsman for whoever would buy him. Two years on, he ended up with the Baron, gun in hand and ready to earn his keep once more on blood-stained ground.

[b]Equipment:[/b]
Mauser Gewehr 98: A steady rifle and one that has stayed by the German's side. Excellent even at long range, and whilst no bolt action is particularly reliable, it can certainly take a beating.
Luger P08
Bayonet
Hand-to-hand weapon- barbed wire wrapped around a carved wooden club
(Rumoured) Looted Ruby Pistolette

[b]Prominent Skills:[/b]
Rifling, languages (he speaks three fluently, those being German, Hungarian and French, as well as smatterings of Croatian and Slovak, leadership.

[b]Other:[/b](Anything you think needs to be added, but doesn't have a slot)
Karl has kept his [i]Stahlhelm[/i] with him, and eschews all other headgear for it. In his words 'head, neck, and makes a good pot for boiling soup. What more could you want?'
[/hider]

Just to show you I'm working on it!