Griffith Weiss
◄ AGE: 26 ▎ MALE ▎ HEIGHT: 6'2 ►
P R E S E N C E
Griffith grew in unfortunate circumstances. Since the age of fourteen he was legally registered as an orphan due to his father’s passing in the collapse of mine #295 and his mother's mental illness. Taken to a foster home, he grew to become a soldier for hire, taking jobs mainly as a guard for miners. The work consisted of a lot of travel, although at times he was assigned to the ones near Oakridge if he was lucky enough.
He never takes his helmet off for particular circumstances he never talks about. For the most part this individual leans on the silent. Speaks only when spoken to. He lets his work do all the talking, actions speak louder than any words can. A soft soul, however, having a strong affinity for the preservation of life, be it human or animal. Ironically due to his position he has had to evaluate such, be it as he holds the gun that would evidently mean someone’s death.
It wasn’t until his later teen that he discovered his potential, after such his workload grew and his opportunities for more earnings as well. Most of his credits go towards his mother, who is undercare for her dementia. Other than that, he mostly works to train young soldiers back at headquarters if the need be. C H R O N I C L E
The battery is running out, my vision is getting blurry and my movements are hindered. For the moment, the pain isn't that terrible. But the rubble is heavy and I can feel all the pieces slowly excavate their way into the armor... I don't know how long this will last, or how far I can go. But please-- If anyone is out there-- Tell my wife, Aurora and my child Griffith... That I love them and care for them dearly. I'm sorry I couldn't be there for you, son. Please grow up to be something you're proud of. I lo--
The message cuts there, the sound of interference breaks the signal the moment another sound of shifted earth enters the seams. Sitting in darkness lit only by the soothing grace of a faint candle light, was a man dressed entirely in hydrophobic wear, plating of armor glistening to the subtle flame, helmet emanating its neon emerald hue, displaying to full effect the power of the battery surging through indicating cables across a line to the side of its surface, running down to his neck and on to his spine. Hand reached to his helmet, a button was pressed on its side, a screen appears asking to play the recording once more peered before the screen. How many times has he heard this recording? It doesn't feel like much but it was certain to be hundreds, probably thousands of times over. However it certainly feels fresh every moment he does. The sounds of his father's gasping voice attempting to seek out the strength to let out his final words. It's been years now, but the memory resides freshly on his mind like if it were only yesterday. How old was he? Early teens, for sure.
It wasn’t later of such an event that his mother started to show signs of mental instability. Perhaps it was due to the shock. Another missile attack was fired close to where his father was working. As a miner, you could understand that the caverns hold little to no support for a possibility of collapse, each year, each month, each hour and second of the day is a new worry when it comes to excavation on this line of work. Taking men across the unions to dislocated areas in hopes to find new resources for the advancement of society in general. A faint hope, exposing them to anomalies and attacks from both man and monsters alike. This was perhaps one of the most accessible jobs out there, anyone could join just by merely applying to it, but the risk were equally as accessible.
His hands hovered over the selection screen, patiently awaiting it’s command, Griffith swiped away the message, melancholy wasn’t something he needed at the moment. The radio chimed in, propaganda began to play out like it usually does, news about the recent attacks and the plan for colonizing the neutral zones on behalf of a better tomorrow. Politics at its best, promise of wealth and opportunity showered the sources of the net, before long you couldn’t help but think all of it was made up. Fiction to attract or perhaps maybe even, devoid the citizens of their common sense. Aesir worship has declined ever so greatly after the coming years, and their practice has been scarce or even non-existent. Being born and raised in Oakridge was a prevalent reason for this. All in all, everything was uncoordinated and messy.
A man entered the campsite, placing his rifle on the side walking towards a chair next to Griffith, he removed his helmet. A heavy sigh escaping him before he exasperated his announcement “Your shift is in about 30 minutes. Shouldn’t you be getting ready?”
Griffith turned off the channels “I already am.” The man looks at the clock, it would soon be sunrise, the sun would shower the landscapes and Griffith would be at its apex, a nod of affirmation. A sensitive in this line of work was reassuring, however it wouldn’t always be the case when it comes to guard duty in the mines. Griffith puts out good work, and has managed to keep steady on his responsibilities. However he never takes off his helmet, no matter the circumstances he keeps that thing on in all occasions. Luckily, his powers haven’t been needed in the year he has worked here, but his presence gives the people enough encouragement to feel protected.
“Word around the caves is that you’re returning back to Oakridge. Guess they need you back at your headquarters, huh?” Griffith didn’t respond at first, keeping busy loading his pistol and searching his pockets for the instruments needed for the job. Although he was in the early shifts in the morning, darkness wasn’t uncommon, he would sometimes need to delve into the caverns and his powers would subside substantially. “Griffith?” Impatiently, the man rose his voice once again.
“Training duty.”
The man's brow rose in confusion, perhaps he meant he was in charge of the kids this year. It was never easy for the Sensitive, as the practice of such was nonexistent unless they went to pilgrimage, they would recruit their available resources even if they were half-across the world. Guess this year was Griffith’s turn. “That’s unfortunate. The workers here just started to get used to you. After a year of course.”
“I wish I could stay too.” The man let out a strong laugh, almost as if what he was an absurd notion to think of. “You kiddin’me? I can’t wait to sit my ass home and see my wife and kid. Sure the pay is good, but there’s no way in hell I like working the third shift and putting my life in danger like that.”
Griffith stands off his chair and picks up his rifle. “I guess you’re right.” and proceeded to head out. The man follows him with his gaze, until he meets the end of his sight, spitting on the floor where Griffith stood. A grimace on his face.
“Good riddance, freak.”M E M O R I E S
Walter Weiss: His father. Died during a collapse of the mines roughly twelve years ago. Is Griffith's sense of direction in life and a massive inspiration. Without him, Griffith believe he wouldn't be as hardworking as he is today.
Aurora Weiss: Griffith's mother. She was lively and kind during her time when her husband was alive. Through perhaps mental trauma of the events that caused by her husband death, she began to show signs of severe dementia and was hospitalized. Griffith only has fond memories of her, and does everything and anything necessary to assist her care in the of the hospital she's in.
Priscilla Winters: Foster sister, a year younger than Griffith himself. They grew close during the time of his awakening. She became a beacon of support when things were grim with Griffith, she never forgets that one time when he learned a single song on her father's guitar to play for her because he couldn't get enough money to pay for a present.
Hugh Winters: Foster father. A kind man, ex-military who insisted upon Griffith to join the force. He is strong and disciplined, however with a heart of gold.
Vy Winters: Foster mother. She and Hugh met during their time in the force. She was a nurse and they evidently fell in love. She has been a great mother figure for Griffith during his stay, if anyone has won the title of second mother it was certainly Vy. 
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