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Adalard Engel: (Done and dusted)

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Adalard Engel: (Done and dusted) Empty Adalard Engel: (Done and dusted)

Post by Adalard Engel on 11/4/2018, 17:32

Name: Adalard Engel

Age: 18

Group: Garrison

Rank: Spec. Ops Division, units who are sent into a group of breaching Titans that vastly outnumber them, and are expected to come out alive. Along with Mia Sauer, Adalard is a vital member of this squad.

Appearance: Adalard has an overall average build, slightly more muscular than the average 18-year-old but not muscular enough to make for a particularly broad frame. Standing at 5’9”/1.8m and weighing in at ~57kg/~130lb, he’s a healthy height and weight for his age, if a little taller than average. His face is pleasantly rounded, with a soft jawline and pert nose. His mouth is usually pressed into a thin, analytical line, and his eyes are striking in their sharp alertness. He wears glasses sometimes, particularly when performing tasks that require great concentration and accuracy. A messy mop of black hair tops his figure off; it’s not hard to tell that he cuts his own hair, or at least tries to.

Identity: Adalard isn’t a very talkative person, and that is what most people notice first about him. He’s not very humorous either, or overly enthusiastic towards anything in particular. In fact, his every interaction with the world is utterly efficient, no wasted energy, words or actions involved, as if his entire life revolves around the tenet of ‘take the path of least resistance’.

He makes choices and formulates solutions in the blink of an eye, turning over thoughts in his head in a utilitarian manner before deciding on the best course of action situationally, with only the benefit of himself and sometimes a select few allies at its core. Most people recognise this cold, unfeeling brand of intelligence very quickly and react accordingly, usually with disbelief and barely veiled disgust.

An accurate description of his mental processes would be that of an insect’s; unfeeling, blunt and brutally efficient, with no regards to moral boundaries. He doesn’t give two coppers about what anyone thinks of him or says to him, so long as no lasting damage to whatever objective to he is pursuing is done. Case in point, he can watch a man die in front of his eyes without batting an eyelid if it didn’t affect him, yet will strike back with no hesitation if he perceives a threat to his own personage.

Actually, the aforementioned lack of interest in the world around him has two exceptions. Exception one, his insatiable urge to study the inner workings of living organisms, and exception two...his childhood friend and current not-quite-lover, Mia Sauer. In fact, the first exception is what led to the second, interestingly. These irregularities in his mental framework are aberrations not even Adalard himself understands.



Mia Sauer: Though he is only just beginning to understand why he feels so attached to her in recent years, Adalard had long ago accepted that this wildly unhinged girl has been, is, and always will be an inseparably close presence in his life. And why not? She’s always been useful to him, bailing him out of trouble, bringing him ‘gifts’ of all kinds...hell, they’d even ventured a little into childish romance for a few years. But the attachment he feels growing now is somehow...different. And what scares him the most, though he is loathe to admit it, is that he doesn’t have the faintest idea why.

Dissection: Since as far back as he can remember, Adalard had always been fascinated with the internal workings of...well, everything living and breathing. He wanted to know how birds flew, how fish swam, how hares leapt and how squirrels climbed...he wanted to know everything about the living world. His voracious appetite for this knowledge and his cold, emotionless intelligence merged into something more terrible than the sum of their parts; an insatiable, morally-deficit bloodlust, a need to carefully disassemble everything with a working set of organs, so that he could study it all in detail, at that bloodlust lives on to this day.

Efficiency: As if it wasn’t already clear enough, Adalard has an extreme penchant for maximising the efficiency of every interaction in his life, be it combat, socialising or even just daily chores. Everything he does is with preamble and preparation, and if not, at least with premeditation. Planning ahead of time for everything, one could say.


Harm to Mia: This is a dislike of Adalard’s that puzzles him to no end; why does he care if Mia, and only Mia, is hurt? If he can disregard the death and suffering of everyone else, even himself if the situation demands it, why does he react so instinctively and so strongly when Mia, of all people, is hurt? This is just as frustratingly puzzling to him as his steadily strengthening attachment to her.

Obstructions: Adalard’s love for complete and utter efficiency compels him to strongly dislike anything that stands in his way of achieving his goals in the most direct way possible. Be it a person, object, circumstance or concept, he’ll do everything in his power to bypass them, resolve them, or destroy them if necessary. Anything good for anyone else that comes out of his resolutions are simply considered side effects to Adalard.

Dependency: Freeloaders and incompetent workers have a special place in Adalard’s heart, and not a good place either. If Adalard were to become Satan for a day, there would most certainly be a special level in hell dedicated just to make these unforgivable wastes of space suffer forever for their heedless expenditure of precious time and opportunities. Everyone in this world must hold their own, and those who cannot are therefore not worthy of life.


Losing Mia: At some point in the many years past, Adalard stopped considering Mia a useful associate, and began to call her a friend. And more recently, he’s become aware that the word ‘friend’ is no longer sufficient either...what does one call someone who forms the very core of their life, and without them, their whole existence would be unfathomably and painfully dull?

Sensory Deprivation: Blindness, deafness and even loss of taste and smell all seem like the worst possible fates one could meet in their life to Adalard, because to him, the world is like a huge and complex artwork...every part of it must be analysed and seen correctly from all angles for one to be able to come to a conclusion about it and enjoy it, else it would just be disjointed splashes of paint on a blank canvas. If he were to lose even one his senses...what the hell would be left worth experiencing in this world?

-Goal(s): Most of Adalard’s goals in life are forever changing, adapting as he does to each situation he is thrust into as part of the Garrison Spec Ops, though he does have two constants in his mind.

His first constant is, of course, the neverending need to dissect and study anything with a functioning set of organs, be it alive or dead. Blood, bones, flesh and tendons are the greatest works of art to Adalard; his burning desire to take apart every expendable living thing he can isn’t just some sort of messed-up hobby, it’s an obsession, an undying fascination that transcends all else...almost all else.

His second goal is more long-winded and philosophical; he needs to find out why he’s growing so irreversibly attached to Mia in these last few years. When they were but children, it had always been Mia tagging along with him wherever he wanted to go, but at some point he had begun to start reciprocating...and now, they’re practically inseparable. Everything about this is puzzling to Adalard; what makes Mia so special to him? What kind of supernatural red-string-of-fate is drawing them ever closer together? Why…?

Backstory: Adalard’s childhood could be considered a somewhat uninteresting one, overall. Raised by a coroner and a baker in a nondescript district somewhere within the Wall Rose, he lived a mostly average life, with the exception being that he was an exceedingly intelligent child, and garnered a small amount of renown in the district for being quite the prodigy, if a little socially impaired. Adalard had always favoured the companionship of creatures and inanimate objects rather than humans, for some strange reason, but nobody cared so long as they could bring their sums to him for him to solve.

But under all this hid something that none of the townspeople, his own parents included, knew. The truth was, being such a smart youngster, something in his psyche was bound to have paid the price for such intelligence. And that something just happened to be that small part of the human mind that told it what was right and what was wrong.

Watching his father work at his grim job didn’t upset young Adalard in the slightest. While other children his age would cover their eyes and run away crying even if they glanced the flash of a scalpel, Adalard watched his father go about his cutting, organ removal and examination of horrific wounds unblinkingly, watching and learning. This was the heart, that was a kidney, these were lungs, and those were intestines...a veritable dictionary about anatomical terms, organ functions and visceral knowledge had been planted in young Adalard’s head, and soon, when he grew bored of his father’s work with simple unmoving hunks of meat, he was eager to define these terms for himself...with livelier flesh.

He wanted to kill something, and not just for the sake of killing it. He wanted to kill something for the express purpose of disassembling it into its basest organs before rigor mortis set in. He wanted to feel the ebb and flow of something’s pulse slowly die down in his own two hands and see what caused it, why, and how. To bathe in blood not for its sharp iron smell, but for the wealth of knowledge within, the treasure trove of discoveries he could make.

Perhaps his parents would be put to blame later for their negligence and allowing their child to wander into the town’s southern forest alone with nothing more than a sharp knife, a coil of rope, a coil of wire and the clothes on his back with him, but what would happen in that forest was none of their doing, and only fate would be blame for it.

Setting a snare for the first time, Adalard had somehow gotten himself up a tree, awkwardly hanging backwards by his legs as he tried to tie a very specific knot from a specific angle. Then he’d spied a squirrel, drowsing within hand’s reach, seemingly not having noticed him. Long story short, in his mad scramble to grab it, he fell out of said tree and ended up in a wild pursuit that concluded in a fateful collision with a certain nutcase of a girl.

Mia. Mia Sauer. She’d been chasing squirrels as well, though for what reason he couldn’t fathom, not at the time anyway. They’d squatted down together, in a sunlit forest clearing, and cut apart an unconscious squirrel she just so happened to have on hand, unconsciously weaving their lives together as they unweaved the innards of the woodland creature in equal parts ecstacy and curiosity.

Soon, the two became as entangled as only two children in ‘love’ can be in each other’s lives. Everywhere one went, the other eventually found a way to pop up at. Whatever one did, the other always emerged from the shadows to help out. Eventually, at an age when morality was finally brought into the question, the two agreed on becoming soldiers; they could finally be killers for a cause other than their own, and do it together, as a team. And zip around the skies with a snappy-looking set of ODM gear, of course...

Joining the Garrison corps specifically was his idea, however. Over the years, his mind had silently blossomed into a thing of terror; the hole that was his lack of a conscience had widened, and unfettered new ways of thinking that would be taboo and immoral for the average layman, yet did not require even a second thought on Adalard’s part.

In the Garrison corps, they would be able to see even more action than some Survey corps units, Adalard reasoned. Titans always found some breach to worm into, and as Garrisons corps, they were required to take them down, no? Fighting on home-ground, Wall Rose, was infinitely safer than navigating the wilds like the Survey corps, and more likely than not would give them both more opportunities to kill...for a cause.

Thus, the two happily hopped into the Garrison corps at the end of their trainee graduation. Happy for all the wrong reasons, that is.

Strength: 5
Agility: 5
Intellect: 15

Extra: The three extra points in intellect that Adalard has can be rationalised with his backstory; having spent many years studying anatomy with his coroner of a father, he already has an advanced understanding of how living beings work. Now compound that with seven or so years of taking apart woodland animals, analysing and studying that as well, and a year or two in the Garrison corps, learning military structures and tactical maneuvers, and we have ourselves a certified genius.
Adalard Engel
Adalard Engel

Posts : 5
Join date : 2018-04-10
Location : Wall Rose (Mostly)

Character sheet
Strength: 5
Agility: 5
Intellect: 15

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Adalard Engel: (Done and dusted) Empty Re: Adalard Engel: (Done and dusted)

Post by Herdir on 11/4/2018, 19:17


Posts : 199
Join date : 2017-04-02

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Strength: 17
Agility: 3
Intellect: 2

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