"Anything worth having, is worth fighting for."
Name:
Michael Reinhardt
Alias:
None
Age:
36
Height:
6'4
Weight:
225 lbs
Eyes:
Hazel
Hair Color:
Dirty blond
Build:
Heavily muscled but noticeably endomorphic, that is to say he has a healthy layer of fat around it.
Marks:
Ancestral runes from the Old Country that are important to the Reinhardt family, many have accused him of Pagan hearsay much to his chagrin.
Faction:
Teutonic Knights
Bio:
In truth, besides his history with the Society for Creative Anachronism and participation in the Armored Combat League, Michael hasn't lived a very interesting life. He has spent most of it working jobs of labor, building houses and such. However he was always fond of knights, of tales of battle and glory as men fought against men in the heat of war. This coupled with his distaste of modern firearms lead him to the SCA at an early age. It was here that he really felt alive, people just talking, feasting, and fighting all in one place. From here, he just flourished into his own. But fast forward about two decades and we end up here.
At those first moments when all Hell broke loose, Micheal knew nothing but fear and panic. He just didn't
know what to do. Everything he once doubted had come to confront him in his own home and it all boiled down to...
"Well...Shit." Like many he found a rough solace in the local church, the "Demons" generally leaving the place alone with only the most stubborn getting anywhere near the door. However whatever little peace was shattered with the screams of a woman. She was being torn apart, everyone could see it, but what drew Michael's eye was the child that tried to run away, falling over himself in fear and grief. The only thing going through Micheal's mind was "By God, it's going to kill him," and somehow
that was the final straw. In a fit of rage he grabbed a heavy golden cross and charged out of the church, in the moment his life didn't matter as long as he could save the kid. Just before the beast could pounce onto the boy, Micheal struck. The heavy cross felt good to swing, it was satisfying to hear the head crunch under the blow, and it never stopped feeling as good as he stuck it again and again until there was nothing left of the head but paste.
The kid didn't leave Micheal's side at all while they stayed there, always looking at him with awe when he wasn't in the throes of mourning. Soon after the event, the Preacher came to Micheal with an offer.
Personality:
A generally grim and stoic man in the face of extinction, Micheal is nonetheless a careing man deep down. There is nothing more he wants to do than go back in time where he could laugh with friends and maybe ask out that girl who tended the bar he frequented. However now is not the time for regrets and he soldiers on. Micheal's moral compass is a strong grey tinged white, for doing the right thing isn't always the lawful thing and he is always willing to turn a blind eye to a man stealing food to feed family. In addition he completely detests the idea of doing horrible actions "For the Great Good", believing that should we start sacrificing people left and right that we might as well just roll over and die. Winning this war shouldn't come at the cost of our Humanity.
Weapons:
A 51 inch bastard sword made from S7 Shock Resistant Tool Steel, blessed by the Vatican.
An iron shield emblazoned with a black cross
Not a weapon per say, but Micheal has kept that gold cross strapped to his hip.
Armor:
Blessed plate mail on top of a suit of chain mail, heavy but very effective protection.
Horse name and appearance: A large black Clydesdale simply known as "Horse". This beast is mostly for burden as Micheal doesn't actually know how to ride a horse all the well, let alone ride one into battle. It is notable that Horse is solid black with only a single white patch of fur in between its eyes shaped vaguely like a diamond.
