Creighton Drumheller

## Early Life

   Born during a rather prosperous year of the Verk Empire it was natural for the people to be Nationalistic and to be proud of their part in their empire, Creightons family was no different, His entire male line in the family served the Empire proudly and when he came of age he gleefully enlisted same as them.

## Physical Description

### Notable Features

Not Seen.

???

## After the fall of the capitol

After a major defeat at the hands of rebels, Creighton retreated from the battle line that was crumbling and tried to regroup with another division of soldiers, but it was quickly learned that the entire front had crumbled and that they were in a state of disarray. Forced to retreat the man walked onfoot along with fragments of his company to the capitol only to feel the effects of the purge he watched the 10 people who marched with him die, and felt his own chest pound as he suddenly weakened. Pushing himself forward he had to cross through a hamlet. What he found was only death, as he walked the now quiet village.

Refilling his supplies made him sick as every building he entered smelt of shit and death, If he had not been starved he would have skipped the town altogether. However taking what he needed, Hardtack, Jerky, and a few water skins. It took several days nonstop as he tried to quickly find out what happened to the capitol and to try and link up and try to find some form of chain of command. However when he did step upon the walls...the man's dread grew and it felt it ate everything inside him as he looked upon the bodies...Verk and rebel alike.. but it wasn't just soldiers, there were Corpses of citizens plotted along the road sharing the same death mask as those he had crossed in the village.

This psyche was rattled as he stood among the bodies of those he swore to protect, he walked along the dead road mostly picked clean of the survivors....though to many bodies of his people it seemed none had survived the shockwave. Rage, depression, and loathing felt like physical weights on the man until he came around the corner to look at a man looting the corpse of a kid. it took several seconds of staring at him hunched over the small child before it clicked, the man was working the small girl like it was meat, patting her pockets ripping trinkets and bracelets off her before he stood and went to the next corpse. Creighton picked up his rifle and in a vent of rage fixed his standard-issue bayonet and charged the looter. Catching him off guard their bodies collided as the 6-inch blade punched between his third and fourth rib. the looter gave a cry of pain before Creighton fired the musket while the blade was still in...drawing the blade out he reloaded letting the looter try to crawl away. But he felt no mercy as he slowly walked beside the man and fired another musket ball into his exposed back.

The looted did not die quickly and the crime of passion Creighton committed did not relieve his sorrow as he crumbled to his knees and wept, he was sure there were rebels still in the city but he did not care...there was no home, no one to protect, His duty ended. So there he remained for almost an hour weeping for those he had failed, before he finally had the energy to leave the forsaken city, stripping the armor of his fallen empire off and hid himself as a refugee amongst the hamlets that still had souls...although they usually found him out, one way or another.

## The Crusade

### The Tower Of Death: Part One

Creighton breath picked up as he did several reps of chin-ups on a suitable and sturdy branch, It had been months since his last mission, and with the recent call to action for the three-part plan, he was eager to get back into the fray. Finding this as a noble cause he finishes the work out a bit out of breath, His muscles protested but he knew that his day was not finished.

Once he had washed his face off in an isolated location and cleaned himself so that he was proper, Creighton hefted his musket by its strap and slung it over, feeling the butt of the rifle lightly tap his lower back as it fits snuggly. Stepping from the Port city he wandered along the main, his eyes peering through the tinted visor as he patrolled a stretch of road and would offer assistance to those fleeing from the border to escape the upcoming battle. Most did not take kindly to the man either finding his eagerness as suspicious or recognizing his rifle as that of a Verk soldier's and throwing a fit of insults.

Though eventually, some accepted his help as one instance he pushed a cart by hand to relieve an elderman as he guided it towards Meita. Payment would be offered but refused as he returned to the road...once dusk struck the Creighton would make it a purpose to camp out by the road near other campsites, starting an obvious campfire and making sure he was well visible.

Although this was done to protect against those who might prey on the road, he to kept cautious of those he protected as they might prey on him being a lone man. One instance he did watch someone try to go into his tent, luckily he was not asleep and was able to deter the would-be thief with a well placed shot near his head, the loud retort likely scaring him as the weapon was still a mystery to some as the thief high tailed it out into the forest...getting no pursuit as Creighton simply packed up and moved to a different spot.

after a few days of doing this, the man would feel he had escorted enough people and would follow the obvious adventurers who accepted the call of the crusade. His feet would hurt from the constant movement and marching but eventually, he would get to what he assumed was the Forward operating base and quickly pitch a tent and settle in.

One thing that made him worried however was that there were fresh faces...all young and inexperienced to the hell that is warfare, amongst those who seemed like veterans of the profession. Careful to keep his mask on around them he would often join small groups of those he assumed were inexperienced and share stories or try to lighten the mood. He was never a charismatic guy but with the dreary feeling in the air, even his soft-spoken voice and dull tone was a welcome sight for some as he spoke a few inspiring stories and raised their spirits on events to come.

Following the next morning, he would even drill them and buy them suitable weapons donating 200 gold amongst the 6 as he instructed them how to use the spear effectively through the use of his bayonet and firearm, sparring with them on occasion until he was satisfied they wouldn't die in the first wave due to sheer incompetence.