mitruhmsterben-blog

[mitruhmsterben-blog]

Quick Ref Sheet || Mun and Muse Edition!

Tagged by: @funkenspringer

Muse:

Name: Balderich von Adler. Nickname: The Eagle, along with many, many other bird jokes. His surname and familial aesthetic are entirely to blame for this. Zodiac Sign: Cancer. Gender: Male. Favourite Color: Gold, blue, and warm earth tones. (He’s very particular about what shade of blue, though.) Average Hours of Sleep: The widely-advised 8 hours, although he’s been known to wake up long before he actually hits the proper number. He doesn’t need much sleep, or at least that’s what he’s convinced himself; he’s always up early, though, whether he likes it or not. Last Thing You Googled: // Height: 6′8″ / 203.2cm

Mun:

Name: Kaiser. Nickname: there’s a lot of these so honestly jusssst. pick something Zodiac Sign: Aries. Gender: Male. Favourite Color: Teal! Average Hours of Sleep: like 5-8 hfhsdjh. sometimes less, sometimes more b/c what the hell’s a sleep schedule Last Thing You Googled: ....i had a lot of questions about waffle house okay Height: 5′2″ / 157.4cm and ready to fight about it

Tagging: SHRUGS. if you wanna do it go on ahead ˙◁˙

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,

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It hits him all at once, like a sucker punch to the gut–he wakes up with a jolt, coughing and gasping for air as though he’d spent the last thirty years underwater. The Crusader claws at his helmet, cringing at the scrape of metal on metal as he jerks it off of his head. It slips from his hands as his armor seizes, clattering to the floor and rolling away across the dust-covered stone at his feet. His movements send a much smaller object scattering–there’s a metallic ping as it too hits the ground and bounces away into the wreckage that surrounds him, but he barely notices it over the sound of his heartbeat roaring in his ears. 

Everything is stiff, unyielding; it doesn’t feel right, and he knows it shouldn’t be this way. There’s a sharp pain in his side when he sits up, and he lets out a stifled hiss, fighting the joints of his armor to press a his palm to the source. The side of his hand catches on an unexpected edge before he quite makes it there, and the Crusader’s brow furrows as he carefully probes the area with his fingertips. He can’t exactly feel it through the layers upon layers of plating, but he can tell there’s something there that shouldn’t be, or rather a lack thereof–a rift, a gap in his suit that puzzles him for a few moments before his mind starts filling in the rest.

That’s a wound, as his brain readily recognizes. He died here.

Here was–home. That comes easy, familiarity bringing memories back quicker than he’d expected. This is where he was from, he remembers, and he finds a certain sort of unpleasant humor in the fact that it had been where he’d met his end. The name dances out of reach, and he curses quietly under his breath; he’s got time, he assumes, to figure that one out later. The name of where he was wasn’t quite as important as–who he was, really. Priorities, Crusader. Go down the list, check off what you can, and come back to the vague points later. Who– The thought of asking himself who he was is ridiculous, and a grimace finds its way to his face, followed shortly after by a growl of irritation. But the answer too isn’t far behind, either; von Adler. Balderich. That was his name.

What had happened was…somewhat less clear. He remembers gunfire and explosions, the jarring thud of his hammer strikes resounding through his armor and his bones; those are indelible memories, etched into his mind time and time again. He knows he’s fought before, and muscle memory kicks in as he reaches for the hammer at his side. There’s no enemy to fight anymore, but it’s comforting, in a way–it’s something stable and secure, and his hands find easy purchase even after all these years. Balderich takes a deep breath, tightening his grasp on the handle as he pulls himself up out of the throne he’d collapsed in. The wood groans as his weight is lifted, and he briefly uses its arms to steady himself as he regains his balance.

These halls are just as familiar, although…different. The castle lies in disrepair, and his every move stirs clouds of dust long since settled–he scans the ruins, looking over the decay that’s taken hold of his home with equal parts detachment and discomfort. None of this feels real; the only things that do are his armor and his hammer, and he shifts in place to better adjust their weight. His first step forward is slow, measured; he treads far more lightly than is necessary, walking on eggshells despite the fact that he’s completely alone. It’s so much quieter than his mind says it should be, and the silence rings in his ears louder than any battle could. It’s almost overwhelming, and Balderich grits his teeth, pressing a hand to his face as he does what he can to steel his nerves. This isn’t right. None of this is right, and he can’t place why. It’s not the state of his home–that’s obvious, and although his breath catches in his throat the more he looks over it all, it’s known. It’s something that can be addressed, observed directly; the state of his armor isn’t it, either, for much the same reason. What is it, then? Is it the stillness closing in, the shadows breathing down the back of his neck--? No. Not here, whatever it was. The hall feels painfully empty all the same, and Balderich shudders, needing no further incentive to leave.

Moving is more difficult than he expects at first--his armor seems almost locked into place, although it begins to give the longer he strains against it. Another step, then another; his hammer finds itself repurposed as a cane every once in a while, and he can’t explain the feeling of déjà vu that creeps up on him. It’s as though he’s walking through water, and he pauses once he’s reached the middle of the hall--his view of the outside world is framed by the crumbling entryway, but what he sees is overgrown and wild with life. It doesn’t match what he knows this place should be--the memory of combat is still fresh, and no amount of plants can cover all the battle scars carved into both the land and the Crusader observing it. They���re echoes of the scenes replaying in his head, and Balderich forces himself to keep moving, ignoring the way his breath catches in his throat. He retains his composure as best he can, although he’s not sure who he’s trying to hide from. There’s an aching loss that begins to set in, digging itself deeper into him the as he wanders through the deserted streets. The town outside--and that, too, is home--is in an even worse state, with the battered and broken bodies of omnics scattered in craters and piles of debris. He remembers downing a few of these, although the recall feels more like watching someone else’s memories than his own. No matter where he goes, it’s all the same--between the bullet holes and collapsing walls, everything left is a hollow shell of what it once was. The signs of life left behind are faded and tarnished, clearly abandoned in a hurry; whether or not anyone survived to even think of collecting them is anyone’s guess, and he regrets the thought as soon as it arises.

It’s not much longer before he has to turn back, retreating to the cold stone halls rather than face what’s become of everything around him. The sunlight filtering in through the gaps in the roof lays golden mosaics on the floor, catching on the occasional bullet shell or twisted scrap of metal--one beam catches on the silvered edge of something far brighter than the slivers it lies against, drawing his eye with its gleam. When he fishes it out of the pile, he recognizes it immediately, tracing the emblazoned symbol slowly with his thumb; it’s his Overwatch--was that right?--medallion, although he’s not sure how it got here. He left it with--with Reinhardt, shortly before...ah. That had been it, then. Or at least--until now, for some reason that feels more like a joke at his expense. He closes his fingers around the disc, breathing a sigh as he takes stock of his situation. As it was, he could hardly stand to look outside, and there was little here but the ghosts of war--he himself was one, as he notes with a mirthless laugh. The sound echoes in the hall, fading out into the open air and leaving nothing but the crushing quiet in its wake.

The lord of the castle is awake, and his domain lies in ruins around him.

[mitruhmsterben-blog]

You don’t always win your battles, but it’s good to know you fought.

Lauren Bacall (via wordsnquotes)

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He’s tired beyond belief, all too mindful of the exhaustion that’s set into his bones. It’s been a long day, to say the least--fortunately enough, it had been a victory, albeit hard-fought. While it hadn’t been bloodless, most of the damage his unit had sustained had been purely mechanical; the hardest part now was taking care of all of the repairs, and there was only one place to go for that.

Balderich has done his rounds, checking on the rest of his Crusaders after they’ve been cleared and patched up enough to return to the barracks. There’s a certain stiffness to his movements that betrays his own injuries in spite of his best efforts, although he’s doing an admirable job of keeping his momentum. He’s been on his feet for hours, and he gets the feeling that if he actually stops for once, he likely wouldn’t get back up again until the morning--there’s still things left to do, however, and resting is out of the question. First and foremost, Balderich is here to see how the repairs are going, both out of genuine curiosity and a need to fill some more time. Debriefing wasn’t for a bit, and he needed to keep going for just a little while longer.

It doesn’t take much to find his own armor, rigged up as it was--there’s only so many places it could be, anyway, and the engineer standing by it made it all the more obvious. He gives Torbjorn a cursory nod as he approaches, moving somewhat slower than usual; he’s being careful not to jostle any of his wounds, and he’s far from at his best, either. What he overhears catches his attention, and Balderich glances over at him, brow quirked.

“Do you have everything you need here...? If there’s something you’re lacking, I’m sure I can request the proper supplies.” Was the engineering department running low on anything...? Admittedly, he’d been too busy to personally check. Best to rectify that sooner rather than later, just in case. “My apologies for adding to your workload, besides. Normally, I’m a little better about keeping my armor intact.”

((closed starter with @mitruhmsterben ))

If there was one thing that the German military was known for, it was the organisational capabilities that provided its bases and installations with a high level of efficiency that allowed them to function even while in the middle of an intense combat situation. 

Much like the one the Bundeswehr found themselves in now. One that could mean the end of all Europe if the German lead UN forces failed in upholding the front line against their foes, the Omnic menace.

Stuttgart HQ, the current main base of operations for the war effort and main staging area for all forces before any assaults for defensive operations. It is where experts and soldiers would converge to share information and created battle strategies to be applied in the field.

However currently the chief expert on all things Omnic, was busy in the engineering bay set aside for him and his work, a major assault had just wrapped up and Torbjorn Lindholm had just finished repairing the various war machines used in the operation. This included the pride of Germany, the mighty armour and weapons wielded by The Crusaders, which had sustained some of the heaviest damage. 

It was a large and cavernous space that echoed with the sound of other teams repairing and providing maintenance to various vehicles of all kinds. Powerful Florescent lights illuminated a now empty armour rig which had previously held the suit of armour worn by some Lieutenant who was far to over confident for his own good, good practise for the Swede but ultimately rather time consuming. 

“Right,” he said with a satisfied exhalation “just one last suit and i can get to work on the MBT’s,” As he spoke the Engineer flicked through a Data pad until he found the read out of the last Crusader Armour he’d be working on for the day, the one belonging to their Colonel it seemed; odd for a commanding Officer to wait until last for repairs but commendable.

“Multiple armour Ruptures, servo damage, and a host of other things… gonna need to check the parts i’ve got…” He ran his fingers through his well managed beard as he mused, his head turning to the bay doors as they opened; it seems the good Colonel had arrived.

[mitruhmsterben-blog]

[ some balderich expression tests real quick– ]

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[ today’s agenda: finish this giant fuckin drabble, draw my balderich, and work out his tattoos b/c My City Now he’s gonna have cool ones. ]

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robotfamiliar:

Ganymede’s here for a few reasons.

He’s here for lunch. Bastion forgot the picnic basket at home… not that it really matters at the moment. he’s off paying his respects to the fallen comrades in the field a little ways away. Ganymede never wants to bother him during those times. There was an undeniable sadness that would come over the omnic at times like that. 

The bird was aware of the human watching. But if he’d wanted to harm him, he’d have done so already. So Gany left him to his own devices. At least until the strange man whistled him over.

Gany wasn’t TRAINED per say. But he usually associated whistling with ‘come here’ so instinctively, he flutters over. It’s now that one would see the little ‘backpack’ of a translator he’s got on his back. It’s painted yellow now, so it blends in, and it’s an updated version with multilingual capabilities… Of course it’s only a test version. Wiinston wanted him and a few other birds to beta test the thing before he could give them the final product. 

{{ Hello! }} The voice that came from the pack was his default voice, that of a machine… But he could change that as he saw fit, only needing to twist slightly and press a button…

Perhaps he’d become more of a part of the scenery than he’d thought, if the local wildlife was so at ease with approaching him. He hadn’t quite expected a personal visit, and he cocks an eyebrow at Ganymede as he flies over, a tiny smile finding its way to his face. Was it because he’d been out here so long? He wouldn’t be surprised. Still, it’s pleasant, and Balderich is content to ignore the implications. He leans back, still moving slowly so as to avoid startling his feathered guest--

Oh. The bird is--talking. Hm. He can take that much in stride, he figures--it’s certainly not what he’d been prepared for, no, but it...could be worse. At least the bird’s polite enough to greet him properly...? The device almost slips notice, but with a little careful inspection, he can at least spot it; interesting. Where had that come from? Balderich suspects the translator only has a few prerecorded phrases, but the novelty of it compels him to reply. It’s not as though he has many sources of conversation these days, and he’ll take what he can get.

“And hello to you as well. Taking some time to stretch your wings, hm?” he asks, bemused. It felt a little silly to be speaking with a bird, if he’s being honest, although that isn’t doing much to stop him. “Where did you get that backpack of yours from, I wonder? If I’m not mistaken, it’s a bit more than a simple accessory.”

[mitruhmsterben-blog]

[ alsooo! one more ooc post while i’m working but if you wanna plot things with me, bls. hit me up. i’m always down and i guarantee i’ll be stoked as hell about it ]

[mitruhmsterben-blog]

[ howdy howdy what’s good ] [ sorry about the vanish, there!! rl got a bit busy, but it’s chilled out enough for me to have free time again. gonna try getting to the owed shit today and knocking out a drabble i’ve got in the works, b/c i’m gonna be gone this weekend. gotta do things while i’m here, and i intend to hOPEFULLY get to everything! ]

[ little to-do list here basically : licnhardt (wip) / betterhealing / alalkomeneis | robotfamiliar / sliipstreem (wip) ]

[ aLSO if i missed something that i owe, please do let me know!! don’t wanna leave anybody hanging. ]

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crusadeborn:

❛Balderich? How are you… I thought you…❜ he choked on the last word, unsure of if this, he, was real or not. All this time… No it can’t be, there’s no way that it was him. An imposter maybe? A hoax to try and get a reaction out of him?

@mitruhmsterben

The voice is what clues him in first--he’d know it anywhere, even roughened by age as it was. For a few long moments, he studies Reinhardt’s face, brow furrowed in wordless concern that only deepens. Balderich stays as still as possible, just as careful to keep his composure even despite the confusion building at the back of his head; this is Reinhardt. There’s no doubt about it. But so much has changed, and he’s at a loss for what to say. What’s his best option, then? He clears his throat quietly, shifting a bit in place--keeping at a distance for now seemed like the best idea, and one that would give them both room to process it all. It’s been far longer than he’d thought, and his presence was clearly...a lot for Reinhardt. He should choose his words carefully.

“...and you called me an old man. Seems the tables have turned, now.” Yes, carefully.

[mitruhmsterben-blog]

superchargcr:

Perhaps if the world were different she would realize he was lost out of time, a relic of the past in all senses of the word. But the world is not kind to Omnics. She understands why, but she wishes it were different. His words hurt, but they are words she’s heard before. The anger washes over her and she remains as a stone on the shore.

“I am an upgraded model of OR-15. I was designed with state-of-the-art defense technology and programmed with the Federal Laws of over 200 countries as well as the internationally recognized Code of Police Ethics. My name is Orisa, and your safety is my primary concern.”

The pride in her voice was undeniable. It was not selfish narcissism, but pride that Efi had thought so much of her, seen so much in her, that she spared no expense so she could fulfill a higher purpose. Balderich might not believe it, but it was not about recognition. For Orisa it was about duty and honor, that doing the right thing was reward in itself.

She would continue to do the right thing,” If you are not lost, I must ask if you can direct me to the Eichenwalde ruins? I was separated from my tour group and wandered from the trail.”

Something isn’t right here. Never mind the fact that he’s having a conversation with an omnic--that’s rapidly becoming the least of his concerns, with further still piling on as she speaks. It’s not her (admittedly impressive, although equally confusing) pedigree or her declaration of duty that tips the scales, however. There’s one word in particular that gets him, expression shifting from that cold gaze as a flash of worry passes over his face--ruins. Had they not been able to rebuild, or had it been lost completely? The name seems dedicated to escaping him, and he wrinkles his nose, wordlessly cursing in frustration. No, something definitely isn’t right here.

“You said--ruins. Was there another attack? The town was...not in the best shape, but it wasn’t ruins.” If he didn’t already know how bad off Eichenwalde--that sounded right, but he’s wary of completely accepting information from her--had been beforehand, Balderich would have assumed Orisa was lying. Did combat omnics have it in them to do that--? He’s not sure. Then again, this didn’t quite seem to be a soldier, although he’s not about to test that theory. If Orisa would’ve wanted to kill him, she would’ve tried by now, he figures--she was wasting her opportunities chatting him up as it was. He shakes his head, scowling. This whole situation had grown more complicated than he’d expected, and the more he thinks about it, the more gaps he finds.

“This-- This is not the place for tours, besides. We are in an unsecured area at the very least, and if you’re bringing anything here, safety must not be as much of a concern as you insist it is.”

[mitruhmsterben-blog]

@robotfamiliar – ＣＯＮＴＡＣＴ 

He’s faced with--a bird. It’s not unusual, no, considering the fact that other living things do, in fact, exist in the world, but Balderich is a little surprised his approach didn’t make it scatter long before he even got this close. Either this one is very brave, or very unobservant; he’s not certain which is more accurate, really. It’s a shame he doesn’t have any birdseed to toss for it, although he imagines it won’t have much trouble finding food on its own. There’s...more undergrowth around here than he remembered, and surely some of that is edible--he doubted it would be out here otherwise.

Carefully, he settles down atop the crumbled edge of a low wall, propping his elbows up against his knees. He’s still a good few feet away, simply watching--he needed a few minutes to clear his head, if he’s being honest, and a bit of birdwatching didn’t sound like the worst idea he’d ever had. Still, it made him feel a little old; all he needed now was a proper walking stick, and he’d fit in on any park bench. Reinhardt would’ve already pointed that much out to him were he here, he’s sure. After a few moments of quiet thought, Balderich whistles at the bird, more to give himself something else to focus on than anything. No use getting caught up overthinking things, besides--he could stand to properly relax for once, and he intended to at least try.

[mitruhmsterben-blog]

@sliipstreem – ＣＯＮＴＡＣＴ

The first thing Balderich notices is how small she is. It’s not the only thing, no, but it’s certainly at the top of the list--he can’t help but chuckle a little to himself, shifting back to as relaxed of a stance as he can manage. There’s still a razor line of tension in the way he holds himself, a kind of readiness for...something; it’s clear he’s not expecting any trouble, at least--not from Tracer. While he can’t say he’s completely sure, Balderich is content to put a vote of confidence in her out of goodwill. If he’s wrong--well, that’s something to be addressed if, not when, it happens.

Besides, she appears...rather lightly armored, although he’s admittedly unfamiliar with the equipment. The chronal accelerator’s long since caught his eye, and he cocks a brow at it in a silent question--that’s like nothing he’s seen, whatever it may be. Was it simply a fancy chestplate, or--? There was clearly plenty of tech behind it, although staring at it wasn’t going to suddenly make its purpose known to him. Conversation, Balderich--give that a shot instead, perhaps.

“Interesting choice of gear.” He crosses his arms over his chest, cocking his head. “You’re not one of those stealthy types, I assume--unless you’ve got a way to turn off your headlight, there.”

[mitruhmsterben-blog]

                                   𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐋𝐄𝐆𝐀𝐂𝐘                                                                  𝐢𝐬 𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝒅𝒆𝒆𝒅𝒔.

indie balderich von adler.                               selective. oc/au/crossover-friendly. written by kaiser.                                         

dossier ♛ rules ♛ ooc

[mitruhmsterben-blog]

superchargcr:

There is an addendum to her programming, one which states she must attempt to understand those she wishes to protect. Was it placed there by Efi, or was it simply an evolution of her original code? Who could say. Her eyes click, observing the large man. He too is familiar but for different reasons entirely. Orisa enjoyed research and stories. When her creator was asleep and she was left alone she would spend the nights reading stories of honor, bravery, and valor. She knows the glory of a Crusader. She knows to be respectful.

“I am alone, just as you seem to be.” Her voice is as soft as her design, light and soothing and breaking the silence as sunlight does through the trees. If his cold gaze had not betrayed his nervousness, the tense stance ready for combat did. But there is no need for blows. Times have changed and Orisa was created to carry his torch: To defend, to protect, to serve at all costs against those who would do the world harm. 

“I am not here to harm you, Crusader. You appear lost, and my protocol states it is my duty to help missing persons find their family or escort them to the nearest police station.”

The response catches him off-guard--there’s a solid five seconds before he speaks, brow furrowing as he tries to process the fact that this omnic just talked to him. Balderich lifts his chin, eyeing Orisa with even more trepidation while his mind works to put together a more tactful response than what almost slipped out.

“I am not lost.” But he is, honestly. He should know where he is--it’s on the tip of his tongue, even though he can’t place it. “And I certainly don’t need your help, besides.” He grits his teeth, rolling his shoulders to loosen up his joints. He’s far from convinced that Orisa’s being truthful, and he’s not about to give her the opportunity to take advantage of his uncertainty--never mind the fact that Balderich is entirely sure he couldn’t relax right now if he tried, he’d sooner throw himself to the wolves. Depending on whether or not there actually were any omnic reinforcements around, he could very well be doing just that.

“Never heard of anything like you being search and rescue. You--you’re probably another updated model, here to soften up the ranks. I don’t know what your function is, but if you’re anything like the others, I think I can guess.”

[mitruhmsterben-blog]

@superchargcr --  ＣＯＮＴＡＣＴ

He’s seen something like this omnic before, some time ago--the exact when is a little fuzzy, like it’s just out of reach. But the figure before him is...different than what lingers in his mind--it’s softer, lacking the sharp edges that he knew. It’s familiar all the same, and that’s all he needs to know for instinct to send a shiver of ice down his spine. Balderich stands a little straighter, armored hands curling into fists at his sides. He fixes Orisa with a hard stare, expression close to unreadable; there’s something in the cold steel of his gaze that hints at more than just caution as he readies himself for the conflict he’s sure will come next.

It hasn’t attacked him yet. Why hasn’t it? And what’s it doing here, anyway? He’s got all too many questions, and no answers for any of them--that, and he’s not entirely ready to go toe-to-toe with this omnic if it does pick a fight. It’s a long shot, but maybe he can buy himself a little time to get centered before they come to blows--he could just get right to it, sure, although he’d prefer to be as on his game as possible when fighting one of these things.

“You’re far from the front lines.” he growls, keeping his voice as level as possible. “And where’s your backup, hm? Waiting around the corner, perhaps?”

How well can one talk to a machine of war? Yet another question on the board--at least that one is easy to find out.